Maldrial

Born a sindarin elf prince under the weary and dark boughs of Murkwood, Maldrial was always a queer child. While born of the noble-elven blood and expected to one day join as a gentleman among the elflords and ladies under the banner of elfking Thranduil's woodland realm, he held little interest in such future duties, often shirking obligations and study. Even when his mother did eventually compel his attendance at his lessons, he took to matters of culture and history poorly and that of etiquette poorer still.

That was not to say though that he was especially boysterous either, for at least such could have then been ascribed to the light hearts of youth. Quite the opposite, for he was a rather solitary child, typically holding few friends and taken to bouts of melancholy. He did however have one particular fascination: that of stories of far off lands and great battles and even greater romances. But while the other elf children appreciated the prose of the works and the beauty with which they were written, Maldrial found himself inthralled in their promise of something beyond the dark forest of his birth. He would long pester the forest scouts of their adventures and any word of outsiders or even just a glimpse of a world not always shaded by amber leaves. He only stopped when his father forbade the family's men from speaking to him, as much to let them get on with their work without interruption as to spurn his son's pointless curiosity.

Eventually of course, the boy's excitement and wonder waned as the years grew long and his studies more rigorous. As too did his melancholy grow however and he little spoke to many beyond his immediate family. To his parents it had seemed he had grown out of his childish ways, but in truth Maldrial had locked away a part of himself. A part that only grew in captivity, snarling and raging like a mad wolf on a leash.

His studies flagged and at last, on the third day after the coming of his hundredth year, those walls he had fashioned broke. 

Maldrial's father had pressed that he marry, for such was their custom. And so Maldrial's father and mother had begun to find a suitable match. Of course, such a match would require some feeling between the two future lovers and so they asked what woman their son would wish to marry. A great healer perhaps they first asked. No. A scholar then of some repute? No once again. An artist then, or a singer with a voice like glass, or even a baker or cook? No was the answer every time. A warrior then? They had asked, growing desperate, but again Maldrial had refused. And at long last, she had admitted that secret she had hid for so long. She did not wish for a wife.

And that she would never be a man.

That was the last her family spoke of such things with her. Her mother quietly arranged a betrothal with an elven girl Maldrial had met but once and though she had seemed nice enough, Maldrial had no intention of such a marriage. She told her mother so, though the woman would hear none of it. Though their argument lasted long into the night with the recitation of many a foul word passing over Maldrial's tongue, she ultimately left defeated and brow beaten. It had been decided for her. Just as she had been compelled to follow through with her studies, this also would be for Maldrial's own benefit her mother had said. Ultimately she would grow out of this foolishness and once again be a proper elven princeling.

In truth, Maldrial almost believed it. Perhaps she wanted to believe it. But as the days to her wedding neared her heart grew ever more stricken. And at last, just a fortnight before the event, Maldriel fled. She took what belongings she could carry and snuck out, following the routes those scouts had told her of in such detail. Was it cowardly? Yes. Was it honorable or noble or graceful or whatever else her tutors had demanded of her? Most certainly not.

But it had been her decision. And maybe it had been a bad one, but at that moment, fleeing into the night with the wind in her hair, she didn't rightly care

 

Personality: foul mouthed, with a short temper and a stubborn streak a mile long, Maldrial is hardly the epitome of quiet elven dignity (not that that stops her from seeing men and dwarves as petulant children of course. And don't even get her started on hobbits...) 

Still, beyond her facade of self-importance and confidence, Maldrial is deeply self-conscious and fearful. She is terrified of not being taken seriously and paranoid of any mockery against her. Most of all though she is terrified that her parents are right and that she has made the worst decision of her elven life.