Ararusco was born the third son of a smith and a seamstress in the fortress city of Himring under the lordship of Maedhros.  He and his brothers were raised in the time of Watchful Peace, after the might of the combined houses of the Noldor had driven the forces of Morgoth back into Angband and the sons of Fëanor had fenced them in, but ‘peace’ meant very little to a people who lived in the cold north under the shadow of Thangorodrim.  The trade he learned was that of the sword and spear and shield, and he joined the garrison of Maedhros once he came of age. 

He proved himself a capable warrior, brave and proud of his house, and spent many a year serving under his prince’s banner.  His loyalty never faltered, though that banner led him into the deepest darkness and drenched him in the blood of yrch and kin alike.  He lost family and friend alike in that long march from Himring to Doriath and Sirion and beyond; some falling beside him in battle, some fleeing in shame from their own sins.  He hardened his heart against the horror of it all and let his pride simmer into a low hot flame.  He kept marching, the star of Fëanor on his breast, stained with blood and tears.  He was a soldier.  He marched.

When at last both Maedhros and Maglor were lost, Ararusco felt lost himself, a soldier no more and simply a refugee in this new world full of refugees.  When some of his company decided to make a new life for themselves in Lindon, he followed, and made himself useful the best he could by helping to build houses for the orphans of Beleriand seeking sanctuary in the already-packed city. 

There, in the ashes of his former life, Ararusco discovered a love and aptitude for the art of carpentry.  The wood that he shaped did not care if his hands were stained in blood.  The small Sindar family did not know that the roof above their heads was built by one who might have burnt their last home to the ground.   He did not find redemption in his work – and never sought it – but he found peace in the act of creation. 

When a number of elves – among them Celebrimbor, the last prince of Fëanor’s line – departed from Lindon to found a city of their own, Ararusco joined them.  He learned to live a life of peace and prosperity in Eregion for a time, focusing on his craft and the community of craftsman he found himself in.  But that peace was to be short-lived. 

In the years since the fall of Eregion, Ararusco drifted back to Lindon, and then in recent days to Imladris, following this lord and that as they marched against the darkness of Sauron.  He fought in all the bloody wars of the past age, but never with the same pride and devotion he had had for his fiery-haired prince.  Though he will not readily admit it, a part of him is grateful for this ambivalence.  He does not yearn to wash his hands in blood again out of love for his lord.