The characters in Minas Tirith

s a young woman, I have a short history here in Gondor. I have not only found that Gondor is my true home, but that I have true family here.
I have lived here but a short while and in that time, I have made friends, laughed long and hard at stupid jokes, and have stayed up many nights staring at the starry skies of the beautiful country. Here is my story, from the days when I can remember up to this point in my life.

was born in Anfalas, in a small village nestled up against the coastline. My father was a soldier in a small outfit there, defending Anfalas and the surrounding areas from attacks by sea and over the Ered Nimrais. My twin brother Falon looked nothing like me through all of my childhood spent there, what with his dark hair and blue eyes, so unlike my own. I had thick, wildly curly, dark blonde hair, and my eyes were a dark green. I was also shorter than he was; a hand's length when I turned 11. Falon was my best friend, always willing to share a secret with me or to have a race across the beach, going on one of our adventures with the Elves in our imaginations. He never stopped doing anything with me just because I was a girl, and most of his friends were mine: All boys. The girls in the village made me ill....they only worried about clothes and about doing 'the proper thing' that it seemed to me that they were doomed to a life of spinning, sewing, and terminal boredom. I can remember sitting in the main room of our house trying to sew a shirt with some of the other girls (A terrible effort of my mother's to get me to socialize with those other than the boys of the village) and whining the whole time about how I wanted to go outside. Bleh. I still remember those days. Falon joined the army of Gondor as soon as he was old enough, with my father's blessing and support.

y father was a soldier when I was a young child. He was always away, marching endlessly across Gondor, questing on journeys that he preferred not to share with me, my mother, or with Falon. When my father, Jelinor Findrel, was at home, he often taught my younger brother swordplay and archery before Falon joined the ranks of Gondor. I longed to join in and to lift a sword, but Father wouldn't allow it; "Girls shouldn't play with swords or bows," he often told me when I would watch out the window at my brother, Falon, practicing his swordsmanship skills on a wooden dummy. "They are too fragile for battle, anyway, and would most likely run away sobbing at the first sign of death and killing." Needless to say, I was disappointed in my father, but I did as he asked, staying away from the archery ranges where my male friends went to practice. Jelinor Findrel was not a man to be reckoned with - if I defied him, I would be beaten, and I already had scars to prove that I had gone against his wishes more than once. Falon was the favorite of my father, despite Falon's attempts to defy it. Father sometimes took Falon with him while he was on missions from the army in Gondor, and he took him to see the White City more than once throughout my young childhood. I always begged Father to take me with, but he just snapped back at me some oliphant poo about girls needing to stay inside and take care of the home while the men were away, and rode off with Falon to the capital, leaving me behind, miserable.

iliana Findrel was my mother. She was slender, beautiful, and wise. My mother's family line had Elf-blood somewhere along it, and it was visible in the way that her eyes shone. She loved my brother and I equally and perfectly, and I miss her. Her long hair was dark and straight, and she often told me, "Aerlin, my dear, where did you get such golden hair? And those curls? You'd think that you weren't mine...that you were of the Elves in Lorien!" My mother never told me that there was nothing that I couldn't do, and when I told her that I wanted to go to Minas Tirith and become a soldier, she said to me: "Daughter, never stop believing in yourself, no matter what the others say. You are strong of heart, and strong of mind, and anything is possible. The future belongs to those who believe." Those words haunt me even now, almost 4 years after her death. While my father was gone on quests, my mother secretly taught me some basic swordsman skills, and I picked up archery from her as well. She would take me outside in the yard with two long, simple steel blades, and she would teach me proper positioning and it filled me with confidence and happiness knowing that she supported me, unlike my father. Falon and my father never found out about my mother and I.

still remember the day that she died. About a year after my mother had started instructing me in swordplay and archery, she was waiting for my father and my brother to return from a journey to Ithilien, and was sitting outside near the front door where she could see down the road a ways. I was sitting inside by the fire, when the sound of a bowstring and of a loud thud came to my ears. I ran outside to see a man in dark robes riding off down the road, and my mother lying dead on the ground with an arrow through her heart. I mourn for her even as I write this, and I can still remember...

he next day, my father and Falon still hadn't returned. A messenger fro the White City came to our house, now empty but for me alone, and brought the worst news. My brother and father had been killed, murdered by an unknown assassin. He handed me my father's sword, a long, dark-handled blade with a Dragon on its hilt, and left to return to the capitol. I fell into a depression for around 4 months, through the summer and into the autumn of that year. I had no more family, no brother and nothing keeping me in Anfalas. I decided that I would leave and go to Minas Tirith to join the Rangers, seeing as how it was what I had always wanted and I had nowhere else to turn to. My blood boils with hate at whomever destroyed my family, and I knew that if I joined the Rangers at Minas Tirith, then perhaps I would be able to find the man that had murdered my parents and my brother, Falon, and get my revenge.

I hitchhiked my way from Anfalas to Minas Tirith, bringing only a spare tunic and my father's sword, Cináed, meaning "borne of flames." When I arrived at Minas Tirith two and a half years ago, I was fascinated by the city. There was so much excitement....I lived in the first circle of the city over the first few months, working my stay at small Inns and the houses of generous families. I had no money for rent, so I got a job working with a blacksmith and metalsmith. I chose that job after a rather bad one at a pub in the Third Circle...I got tortured by a few of the other workers there because I have Elf-blood in my veins....but I never figured out why anyone would dislike that, I guess its just one of those "purity is the only way" type of things... Once I got enough money to afford a semi-permanent residence at an Inn in one of the higher circles of Minas Tirith, I set out again and still live in the Fourth Circle.

am a Ranger now, and I love what I do in this city. Minas Tirith welcomed me with open arms, despite how lost I felt when I came, I know feel as if I am part of something that is important, something greater than I am. Being a Gondorian has never been so wonderful; I have pride for my country and for my people, and I hope that things will stay that way for many many years.

Back