Mirestal – Lord of the Rings Online
Mirestal was a character created for as vanity role play centering around a player who nevertheless did not committed to the project, and therefore it was never completed, although the rest of us tried to make something of the poor start. Set in Middle-earth, and championed by the talents of the talented Giladain, Tolkien lore-master, it had some of my favorite players in it – its a shame it lost focus and drive.
That is what he had called her, more than once. And the name of his boat, The Ancalima, so close to the name of her mother. Calimë. Her mother had been Calimë. He had said she looked like her, didn’t he? Isn’t that what he had said?
Calimë. Her mother. She had a halo of golden hair that floated around her shoulders, a tender mouth that was always smiling, and kind, blue eyes. The last time she had seen those eyes, her mother had been crying, tears falling from those blue eyes, yet her voice had been so soothing, so loving, as she bade Mirestal to follow the man who grasped her hand so tightly, her five year old hand. Shouts and cries filled the night, yet her mother still smiled, even through the tears, and promised that everything would be all right, and they would be together again, but her babay needed to leave now, now… and the man had gently pulled her away and then they had been running, running. She could not run fast enough, and the man has picked her up and held her to his chest as he ran, and she remembered the smell of horses and leather on him, and smoke, and she remembered how the metal of his chestplate had bit into her cheek as he ran, and she cried, terrified shrieks of momma, momma… But he had not raised his own voice, simply murmured huskily into her ear as he ran, and eventually her cries had stopped but her tears had not. Finally, the man had set her in front of him on a horse and they had ridden fast, so fast, and he held her close and the night slid by and eventually she slept, the cries in the night replaced by the sound of hooves on the road and the wind in the trees…
“Mirestal?” She startled, so deep had she been in the memories. But it was not a ghost, but merely Liathorn, offering to take the wine glass that she held unknowingly, untouched, threatening to spill. She smiled at him, and indicated that she was fine. But he pulled a chair up next to her, and said to her in a soft voice, “You’ve been very quiet, my lady.”
She smiled again, and took a sip of the wine, thinking of what to say. My lady. How could she share all that was in her heart, all that had been dredged up by a few words, an image? “I was just…” She shook her head. “Memories, good Liathorn. Memories that had been buried, from so long ago.”
She looked up at him, and her gaze was questioning. “Lady Falavantar. That’s what he called me, this Tealar. But I have no knowledge of him, or the House Falavantar, nothing to tell me why he calls me such.” She turned tortured eyes to him. “I know so little, Liathorn, of a world that seems to hold so much.”
She saw him shift in his chair, and whet his lips as if he had to say something but didn’t know how to say it. He opened his mouth once, twice, but nothing came. And then, a commotion outside the room seemed to take the opportunity away. Dîndae, who had been sitting on the other side of the room, quiet for once, and watchful, rose from his own chair and held up his hand as if beckoning them to hush. They heard the voice of Andrel, but they could not make out his words. Still, it seemed like something was happening outside the cabin. She rose, and Liathorn rose with her.
“No, Mirestal,” he said firmly. “You stay here. I’ll find out what is happening.” He put his hand on the hilt of the sword and made a move to the cabin door. But her own voice rang out, calm yet strong. “No, Liathorn. I am tired of always waiting in another room while that which touches my life happens elsewhere.” She looked over where Dîndae stood, taking all in, straining to hear what was going on outside. “We all go.”