On the day Aranel was born, her mother was visited by an Oracle who
prophesized that her newborn daughter would grow to be a savior to the
elves. She would be the one to save Mirkwood from darkness. At that time,
the forest began to decline. Evil was beginning to stir in the East, and
fearful creatures were beginning to appear in the deepest parts of the
wood. King Thranduil was greatly saddened by the state of his kingdom, and
agreed with the Oracle that Aranel should be betrothed to his eldest son,
Belegtathar.
And so Aranel came to live with the royal family when she was 1,999 years of age. She was made a Lady of the Royal House and soon earned the air of one who had lived in a state of power all her life. And yet a hundred years passed, and Belegtathar time and again found ways to postpone their wedding. In fact, she had barely ever spoken to him. Most of the time he was either away at some battle, or else traveling. When she was around him, Belegtathar acted almost as if he were afraid of her. He avoided eye contact, and made excuses to leave as often as possible. Now lately he had gone to ignoring her completely.
It wasn't as if Aranel minded. She actually dreaded the day when the two of them would finally be married. All it would take would be his approval, and they would be joined at once. But since no one could force a decision from the stubborn prince, it was merely a waiting game.
Aranel spent her time waiting with Belegtathar's three younger brothers. They had grown to be close friends, and acted more like a family than anything else. She enjoyed talking with them, and going out on foot or horseback. They had even taught her how to fight and shoot an arrow (all in secret, of course). In return, Aranel used her beautiful voice to tell of the many myths and legends she knew. Aranel had a gift at story telling, and could hold a whole room of the finest elven warriors spellbound by the sweetest of love stories.
This brings us to the beginning of my tale. A tale much like those Aranel loved.
A tale of danger...
A tale of war...
One of betrayal, of love, adventure, and more.
And so Aranel came to live with the royal family when she was 1,999 years of age. She was made a Lady of the Royal House and soon earned the air of one who had lived in a state of power all her life. And yet a hundred years passed, and Belegtathar time and again found ways to postpone their wedding. In fact, she had barely ever spoken to him. Most of the time he was either away at some battle, or else traveling. When she was around him, Belegtathar acted almost as if he were afraid of her. He avoided eye contact, and made excuses to leave as often as possible. Now lately he had gone to ignoring her completely.
It wasn't as if Aranel minded. She actually dreaded the day when the two of them would finally be married. All it would take would be his approval, and they would be joined at once. But since no one could force a decision from the stubborn prince, it was merely a waiting game.
Aranel spent her time waiting with Belegtathar's three younger brothers. They had grown to be close friends, and acted more like a family than anything else. She enjoyed talking with them, and going out on foot or horseback. They had even taught her how to fight and shoot an arrow (all in secret, of course). In return, Aranel used her beautiful voice to tell of the many myths and legends she knew. Aranel had a gift at story telling, and could hold a whole room of the finest elven warriors spellbound by the sweetest of love stories.
This brings us to the beginning of my tale. A tale much like those Aranel loved.
A tale of danger...
A tale of war...
One of betrayal, of love, adventure, and more.