((OOC: A four-part story with the first three parts being a recap of peak emotional events between Daerundros and Minyelaírë. The fourth story will evolve around something dramatic between the two))
Daerundros looked on the Valley with Peace within her mind. She smiled as the wind blew autumn foliage in a whirl around her, spiraling up her lithe, atheltic, and slightly broad-shouldered form. She grabbed a piece of leaf and held it up to the sky, comparing it with the daylight as she lied down on the lush, soft grass. With a sigh she let the leaf go, as it flew out of her hand and spiralled into some unknown location. As she let her mind wander around, she closed her eyes and began thinking hard about her comrade. Minyelaírë. The bushes fluttered in the wind and birds chirped in the distance as she focused herself on remembering the day she met the curious Elf.
"You dance beautifully, hiril." He told me.
"Thank you." I said, now thoroughly enjoying myself. I chuckled and danced to the music, not noticing that there were some newcomers.
Suddenly, a peculiar Elf caught my eye. She had a spear tied to her back, and was clad in black armour. But the most prominent feature was the sickly-blond hair and the markings (scars?) on her face. She was leaning against the wall, her fierce yellow eyes surveying around the room, a hint of boredom and interest in them. Beside her was an Elf with Dark hair, who was chatting to her, though she did not seem any interested.
I was immediately intrigued by this Elf. She seemed to be wild, looking uncomfortable standing there and looking at all the other Elves. I could not guess which clan of Elves she came from, judging by her appearance. She did not seem to care about the rules at all, having her spear with her, and refusing to discard it.
I timidly and cautiously approached her, and she took no notice of me. I was like this for several minutes before finding a perfect moment to introduce myself.
"I shall not surrender my weapon!" I heard her say. She had a strange Sindarin accent to it, and this only made my interest rise more.
"Hello." I cut myself into the situation, smiling somewhat warmly to welcome her.
"Hello." She said in turn. She surveyed me with her bright yellowish eyes, seemingly interest, while I promptly listened (yet did not pay attention) to the Elf beside her. We stood there uncomfortably. I could not think of something to say, but then;
"I bid you Welcome to Rivendell."
"Uh... I thank thee, I guess." She said, looking at me and examining me with fierce eyes.
"Have you come a long way to reach the valley?" I asked.
"Yes, I live far far south, in the deserts of Harad."
We chatted for a bit until I was aware another Elf had asked our names, and I promptly introduced myself:
"I am Daerundros." I looked at the other Elf, saying, "And this is..."
"I am Minyelaire Shiannaféya of the Kinn-lai, Fifth Clan of the Avari." She said proudly.
All at once, everything happened fast.
All the Elves surrounding us held their breaths, alarmed at this maiden once she said that she was an Avari; A Dark Elf; an Unwilling. I only took a step backward, but did not seem to be so bothered by the fact that she was different from us.
Daerundros frowned slightly at that memory. She wondered why she was not cautious when she first met Minyelaírë. She looked down on her delicate elven-silk dress and pondered several questions; What had drawn her to such a radically different being? There was something about Minyelaírë that irked Daerundros so. Her head, pillowed upon a canopy of flowers, tilted in the direction of a far-off waterfall, and she watched the water cascading down the walls, thinking hard to herself. Minyelaírë was not known for her generosity and kindness, no. Daerundros knew all along that Minyelaírë tended to be possessive of those she regarded dear to her. But as she remembered how Minyelaírë admitted lying to her, doubt filled her mind; Did Minyelaírë truely mean what she said? Daerundros could only wonder. Minyelaírë was selfish. Minyelaírë was antagonistic, nihillistic, ego-driven, and manipulative. She could have easily bent her own words to make herself sound remorseful, but yet...
Daerundros did not doubt Minyelaírë's dream of someone "wiser than all Eldar-kind", but she was now torn and weary; She had had her pride violated, her honour insulted, and her dignity disregarded for many times more than she can remember. She was used to being provoked now, it had no effect on her, but she felt like an empty husk, something about Minyelaírë's personality drew Daerundros to befriend this obviously pitiful wretch. Something she remembered all to well.
Pride and Ignorance.
The answer came to her like lightning strikes trees. Whenever Daerundros saw Minyelaírë, looked at her through her own eyes... she saw a mirror image of herself. Her own younger self, in the skin of an Avar of the uttermost south. Of course... Daerundros was drawn to Minyelaírë because of what she was. Because of what she did.
A perfect replica of the Old days of near-death experiences, feuds, selfish want and greed, and hubris. All of it rolled up, doughed together, and baked with complexities sprinkled on top.
And as she picked a flower from the ground and plucked off it's petals, Daerundros wondered now at the stranger her friend had suddenly become.
