#myndilon || thread

[roquenxnar]

@luna-mxth

The old Sentinel stood at the edge of their little camp in the forest, elfroot smoke from his pipe drifting upward to join the streams of water, the smoke of the campfire, and the gathering clouds of the evening. It was, perhaps, against his better judgement to join the younger elves in their little expedition to uncover long-lost treasures in their ancient city, but it was much needed excitement— if he'd had to remain in the lighthouse one moment longer, he would've gone mad. Even if that excitement involved digging about in the dirt, and soiling the only fine boots he'd been able to find in the Lighthouse's extensive (and picked-over) storage.

An ear flicked as he heard soft footsteps on the grass behind him, turning to give Norrim a bright, friendly smile as she joined him; at least, before turning back to Arlathan beyond. His smile fell into something more thoughtful, and he hummed, absently tapping the mouth of his pipe to his lip. "No use trying to travel these woods after dark, da'len," he said with a soft hum, opening his arm for the smaller elf to join him— and for a quick embrace, if she wanted it. "Certainly not as the Veil has become weak, and the creatures have become… odd. We were wise to make camp and continue our search in the morning." What were they looking for? Truffles— that sounded familiar. Or was it some new device for their resident Eluvian Expert to tinker with? The old elf had already forgotten.

With a final, long drag from his pipe, the ancient elf extinguished the remaining flame, and tapped whatever ash was left from the pipe's chamber, rubbing it into Arlathan's soil with his boot. "I must thank you for inviting me on this little expedition of yours, by the way. I hate to think that I am slowing you down, but…" He drew a long breath, and released it through his nose. "It is wonderful to be back. Even better to be here with you. And your friends."

[roquenxnar]

"It was worth a shot, I suppose," he said, dipping forward with a soft laugh. "I think I am beginning to regret accepting tea as payment in sharing my knowledge with these new 'Veil-Jumpers'. You really should meet them, my friend." His smile became lop-sided; for just a moment, he was speaking to an old friend— not the Dread Wolf whose rebellion he'd been too afraid to join. "They are so eager to learn, and learn the truth of it all, as we knew it; not what the ages turned into legends. And—" he gestured behind him, to the supplies he'd managed to store— "they have been very generous when they do visit me. It may not match the splendor of the temple, but it is comfortable."

Ah, the Temple. Myndilon's eyes drifted closed as he thought back to when he'd first met Solas, and the master they both served. "A century? Lethallin, I was nineteen. The wounds of my vallaslin were not even healed when you and our Lady came to visit, and my poor mother— rest her soul— had to find me spare armor, as mine hadn't yet been made! I was so afraid I would make a mistake, that I would do something wrong… and it would seem fate took my idea, and ran off with it!" He chuckled, though it lead to a cough into his arm. "I suppose it is a comfort, to know it did not upset you, or Mythal. The way she looked down at me, when I finally regained consciousness… I can see why you enjoyed her company." He had also mistakenly called her 'mamae', but that was beside the point.

The mirth of memory, though, faded as his thoughts turned to the ritual. His easy smile fell into something more serious, silvery brows knitting as he turned back to Solas. "I am offering to be there because I believe something will go wrong," he said, voice firm in a way he would have never dared when he still served in the Temple. Perhaps there is a chance it will work, but I've a feeling that it will go terribly wrong. And…" he drew a short breath, "I do not think it is worth it."

~ Though Myndilon's fate still brought Solas sorrow, there was something comforting about speaking to the elderly Sentinel. Company was scarce since he had left the Inquisition over a decade ago, and those he did happen to interact with either feared or derided him. Myndilon however treated him as an equal -- dare he say, a friend. A weak smile pulls at his lips at the offer of tea. ~

~ " I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. I cannot remember the last time I was offered anything other than a blade at my throat. " He follows the other's gaze beyond the trees, to the floating ruins beyond them. ~

~ " ...I am sorry to hear that. The vir'abelasan would not give up its knowledge so easily -- even after it is gone. " His head tilts in curiosity at Myndilon's words. He had visited the temple so many times in the past that he was certain he had met the Sentinel before. His eyes widen a bit at the word conscious, and he recalls a trembling young Sentinel, so overcome by the All Mother that he fainted in her very presence. The other Sentinels were horrified -- Solas thought it amusing. ~

~ " I do, in fact! You were young, perhaps not even a century old. Your armor clattered as you trembled before Mythal. " He chuckles to himself, the memory lifting his spirits. " ...She had found it endearing, in private. " ~

( " Poor child! " the woman shook her head with a smile, the purest power of the Fade emanating from her radiant form. Her laugh filled her general's chest filled with warmth. )

~ Solas shakes his head, bringing himself back to the present. " ...I have taken precautious to ensure that the ritual succeeds, " he asserts. " There is little left to prepare, but...I will welcome you if you wish to come. I would be honored to have you by my side as our people are finally made whole. " ~

[roquenxnar]

|| continued from @avoiceofcompassion

It'd been a simple question, really— though, admittedly, one he'd already forgotten. The young spirit-boy seemed to tolerate his presence the best— aside from the Inquisitor herself, and her apostate companion— so it was with Cole the old Sentinel remained… even when he asked the oddest questions. Myndilon looked down at the young man, silvery brows flicking up. He laid a gentle hand on the lad's shoulder, and offered him a small smile.

"I like to believe," he said, gaze turning to the mountains beyond Skyhold's walls, "that they find each other eventually. Perhaps not with us, or those we know, but somewhere out in the world. Besides, can you imagine how large your head would have to be, to be able to match every question with every answer?" He gave a hearty laugh. "You would fall over!" He gave a soft hum. "Not even Mythal herself knew all— that is why she had friends, and family." He dipped his head. "And that is why you have your friends." He pulled a small pipe from a pocket of his armor, squinting as he looked into the chamber. Good— a little elfroot remained. With a quick spell, it began to smoke. The ancient Sentinel brought it to his lips, and puffed on it for a moment.

"I must ask, what in my Lady's name is so urgent about your question? You are not a spirit of Curiosity, as I recall. Though, I admit, my mind is clouded."

[roquenxnar]

@suledein asks: “i can feel lingering magic. powerful magic.” from abelas for myn!

The old elf looked up at the sound of another's voice, lips pulling into a wide, crooked grin. The years since the Witch had consumed the Vir'Abelasan hadn't been kind; he'd joined the so-called 'Inquisition', left it, spent time with their members, and tried to aid his people's mortal descendants as well as he was able— and in all those years, he had heard scant word from his fellow Sentinels. He might have believed meeting his once-leader in the forest to be some cruel trick of his failing mind, if he didn't so clearly hear Abelas's voice, and finally see the other Sentinel's face as he stood and drew closer.

"Abelas— Mythal's mercy, it is good to see you," he said in their shared tongue, stopping just short of throwing his arms around the other elf. He dipped forward in a short bow, only wrenching himself back upright when his back could no longer take the strain. His smile fell for a moment as he looked back to the blurred vision of the ruins of Arlathan, still standing deeper in the woods, a husk of what it once was. "You can feel it too," he repeated, voice soft, head dipping forward, silvery brows furrowing thoughtfully. "I wondered how many of us were left, and how many could feel it. Something has changed, Abelas— it has been different here for… oh, some months now. The spirits are misbehaving— acting out, warping the creatures who live here." And it was true— in the few months he'd been living near their long-conquered capitol, he'd had to defend himself from no less than twenty 'rifts', as the members of the Inquisition had dubbed them.

"I was hesitant to investigate myself— these woods are positively crawling with newcomers— I do not mind the company, I assure you, but I could simply not abide leading them into greater danger. But with you here, and any others that may join us…" He grunted and shook his head. "Oh, never mind that. Where have you been, all these years? You are looking well— from what I can tell."

[roquenxnar]

i owe you a debt. (Beleg for Myndilion) @thegreatstrongbow

Pulling the Marchwarden from his current travels was the last thing Myndilon had wanted— and certainly, not something the former Noldor really should have been doing himself: after all, he hadn't been freed from Sauron's prison long. But the old elf was simply itching to return to something-like-normal— and guarding the roads, close as he had to stay to Rivendell these days, seemed something like that.

He gave a hearty laugh, shaking his head as he slapped Beleg's back, and nodded toward the gates. "Very well, then! You do not have to ask me twice for company. And, should we stumble across any danger, your help will be most appreciated." His smile fell into something more thoughtful as he turned down the path, shrugging his shield back to its place on his back. "You know," he said, turning back to the March-Warden, "you did not have to remember that you owed me a favor— I certainly did not remember. But, perhaps that will return to me, after I've recovered from Morgoth's hospitality."

[roquenxnar]

@luna-mxth || here

Ever since arriving at Tarasyl'an Te'las— no, 'Skyhold', as the men had taken to calling it— it felt like he'd been underfoot. Giving his opinions on the soldiers' training, attempting to help correct their mages— even demonstrating how to properly practice Dirth'ena Enasalin… only to be chased away by one Imperial Enchanter. So, instead of causing yet more trouble— and more headaches for his kind hosts— the old man found the little shrine to the Evanuris, pitiful as it was in its own corner, and meditated. After all, it's what he'd been doing for so many years before; there was little issue, from what he saw, with doing it just a little longer.

The Inquisitor's presence, of course, was a welcome surprise; she certainly didn't seem particularly interested in worship, or the gods of their shared people and yet, here she was. He gave her a gentle smile, and patted the bench next to him. He gave a soft hum, staring up at the mural before him— Mythal, the All-Mother.

"This place is… certainly different from my home. The cold is eating right through me, but there is warm food— stars, more than I have eaten in years! And the company can be… nice." With a heavy sigh, he returned to staring at the mural. "Though sometimes I admit, I feel out-of-place. Like a great hart in a crystal shop— and I don't believe I am of much use to your people." He stood slowly, joints still stiff, as he approached the mural, brushing a hand over it. "Perhaps I can help the younger folk in giving this shrine a little more care; I am no artist, but I know how to follow directions!" He turned back.

"You have not received complaints about me, have you? I would hate to wear out my welcome so soon."

[roquenxnar]

@rangers-are-cool || continued from here!

The old elf watched as Aragorn hopped back upon his horse, shaking his head with a soft huff, before pulling himself onto his own— with quite a bit less gace than he would have liked. He rocked to the side as he tried to adjust his seat, before glancing back over to the other rider. "Well, I'm certainly glad he's gone but— oh, come now, won't you indulge a nosy old man?" He removed his helm, setting it on the pommel of his saddle, and letting the reins fall where they would; his horse was far too old to make sudden movements, let alone throw him. "Besides, you and I both know I will forget by morning."

Myndilon similarly glanced up, silver bows flicking as he noticed the waning light. Even for one as experienced as he was— or, as he once was— nothing good happened in the night. It was the time of trolls, goblins, and wargs. Probably even the orcs that had taken him captive.

"Oh, fine, fine," he said with a scoff, "you keep quiet about it. But if something has happened, and you are hurt because of it, Lord Elen will never forgive me! Neither will little Undómiel, I suspect. I advise against making a habit of hiding your worries. You will live far longer if you confide in others— be it me, Lord Elen, or this mysterious Second of yours."

The knight frowned, looking around, a certain worry flashing in his eyes. He had, of course, planned to return to Rivendell that very night, the ranger in tow; but now, the route he'd planned was forgotten. He was lost, in a place he'd once known so well no less. Myndilon cleared his throat, and turned his horse to follow after Aragorn. "Well, then, I will join you! If you do not mind, of course. Fresh air is good for the lungs, and it's been an age since I slept under the stars. And I promise—" he winked at the younger man— "that I will not make a peep while you speak with your friend."

[roquenxnar]

❝ you have your trophy , i have mine . ❞ (for Myndilon)

The elf gave a soft hum as he went about cleaning the hulking tooth in his lap— taken from a drake, slain by himself, his brother, and Beleg. The Noldorian king's brother-in-arms, so Myndilon guessed, though he hadn't yet been able to speak to the man much. He sat back against the wall, and set his trophy aside with a soft hum, stretching his arms over his head. Now that winter was upon them, he could hardly force himself to patrol the grounds, not in the snow and ice.

"Well," he said with a twinkle in his eye, and a boyish smile, "I think a tooth is even better than..." He frowned. "Didn't you take something from that thing? I imagine it will be the only way anyone believes we killed a dragon." He gave a soft hum, lifting the great tooth once more. "You know, I think we could make a knife from this. It'd certainly be intimidating."

[roquenxnar]

Continued from @thegreatstrongbow​ || here

“Nice. It would be, yes.”

He remembered more than he let on. Painful memories. Bittersweet and full of longing for days long since gone. But he smiled all the same. When Myndilon put it like that, it did sound so very good. Those were all the things he had liked about - the freedom and glory and the adventure, even more than the knowledge he had been protecting his home.

“It was. Dangerous, and sometimes miserable, when the rain gets in your good boots and you have no dry socks left. But I loved it. I wish I could live like that again - more people should. It is how elves are meant to be.”

The younger man stood, sliding the sword he’d been sharpening back into its sheath, and set it aside. He moved to the window, leaning against the windowsill, as he gazed out upon the world. He, unlike his current companion, was doomed to remain here, in Maedhros’s House, until the fighting stopped, and the world was once again safe. He rolled his eyes, absently pulling at a string on his shirt, and shook his head. “Not all of us are lucky enough to be able to see the world.”  Myndilon listened carefully, a rapt audience as Beleg spoke of the past, of the adventures and the worries of the road. “My father sometimes spoke of things like that,” he said quietly, glancing to the door; somewhere in their shared home, his father slept, still recovering from the attack that blinded him. “And I’ve always wanted to experience it for myself. Though...” He frowned. “I imagine it’s rather hard to have a family like that, isn’t it?” 

[roquenxnar]

Spotify wrapped thing, #8!

-- fxrest-bcrn

Answered || Myndilon || Spotify Wrapped Song #8: The Dawn Will Come

The gardens of Rivendell, in his experience, were a beautiful place to sit and think. After all, he'd seen it when they were first being planted, watch them grow over the years into something truly magnificent… not unlike the Lord of the House, and Myndilon's own family. The old elf closed his eyes with a soft hum, hardly minding the gentle winter snow that fell down onto him. Oh, he might have been a little cold in the robes he'd been given in the healing ward, but he could stand the weather. He always had, and always would.

An ear flicked as he heard a soft pair of footfalls behind him, a small smile spreding over his aged face as he turned to look down a the visitor. "Ah," he said with a gentle hum, his breath escaping as a cloud in the cold air, "little Halanor! Oh, dear, me, you should be in bed, hina." Myndilon looked up at the sky above, taking in the falling snow, the stars, and the sliver of a moon that peered out from the clouds.

"Tell me," he said with a small laugh, and a wry smile, "did you come all the way out here to join me for a walk? It's a rather nice night for it, and I don't believe I could stand to remain in bed for one more moment!" He offered his grandson— his own little grandson, who'd been just a child when he'd been taken captive— his arm, now that the boy was tall enough to reach it. "Tell me then, what's on your mind? You've got that… 'thinking' look. Your father had it, too."

[roquenxnar]

❝  honestly,  it was a long time ago.  i don’t really remember the details.  ❞

It was strange, watching the older elf as he himself continued to polish his armor. All his life, he'd wondered what it was really like being a Marchwarden, out on the very edges of polite society, always in danger from one thing or another. It surely had to be exhilarating; after all, the Wardens were true warriors. And they got proper recognition, not like the humble knights that served royalty. Myndilon sat up a little, tilting his head, nose wrinkling for just a moment. "Surely there is something you could tell me about being a Captain. A Captain of the Marchwardens! I've never been in charge of anything in my life! Not really." He sat up, folding his arms over his chest. "Unless you count a run-down tower in my brother's House." The knight gave a soft sigh, shaking his head. "They have all the fun, really. The rest of us are stuck where we are, trying to see to everyone's safety... a bit of travel like they get would be nice, don't you think?"

[roquenxnar]

Myndilon scoffed as he drew his spirit-blade, and studied the glowing magic, how its light glinted off the streams of wild magical energy flowing up through the ruins, to the city where he'd been born. "The forest has become dangerous, da'len," he said, gruff voice quiet, an attempt to keep his concern to just his surrogate granddaughter. No need, after all, to worry the other two young elves in their party. "There was a time where I might have joined you, but... no. I hate to admit it, but I simply must rest— and I made an oath to your mother that I would not lose sight of you. That no matter what, you would remain safe under my care."

"If it is of any comfort," he said, voice gentle as he pulled the young elf close, into a one-armed hug, his blade dissipating with the steams of magic already there, "Arlathan is more beautiful in the daylight. The gold gleams in the sunlight, and the magic—" he gestured up with the end of his pipe— "is the perfect prism to create colors the mages of today could only dream of."

His smile fell, though, at her question, his lips drawing thin as he considered it. The ancient Sentinel's eyes fell shut, and he gave a soft hum, drumming his fingers against his equally ancient plate armor. "I was only seven summers old when we left, da'len," he said, something hitching in his voice, between sorrow and the joy of memory. "I remember small things. The smell of incense, when we went to pay our respects to the other Evanuris. The fountain my mother drew water from, and the crackle of the fire in our hearth. It was always so... so busy here." He drew a sharp breath, like he'd been jabbed in the ribs. "It was so alive. And now it is not."

Camp was set up. Their group had wandered far enough from the eluvian that they'd decided it wasn't worth it to hike back through the forest to sleep in the Lighthouse. Norrim and her friends had waved the ancient elf away, told him it wasn't his job to help them, they could handle it; he needed to take some time to rest, anyway.

"I suppose you're telling me not to go on any solo midnight strolls, then."

Norrim approached and tried not to cough at the smoke from his pipe. (Elfroot, she figured; seemed to be the preferred smoke of the ancients.) She rocked back on her heels next to Myndi, then forward, eyes on a mid-air stream of wild magic.

"You're not slowing us down, grandfather. At least, not any slower than we ought to go. Finding parts for the nadas dirthalen takes time... and persistence, apparently." The younger elf couldn't help but turn her eyes to the floating remnants of Arlathan city.

"Do you remember being here? What it was like... back then?"