Disclaimer: The world isn't mine, but the OCs are.
Tales of the Forgotten
I.
They don't remember not being together. Dustanddirt, that's how they've always been, one person separated into two bodies. Some people can't even tell them apart, though they've figured out their differences. Dust has a freckle right on the point of his left elbow, and Dirt's toes are longer. Maybe their noses are different too, but they can't tell without a mirror, too expensive for them.
People say they're seven, maybe eight. They both can remember six summers, but people also say there's always a few summers right when you're a babe you can't remember. Soon they'll be too old to get sympathy from passers-by, but their large eyes and pink mouths still make them seem innocent and childish. Everyday they go out and roam the stone streets, sometimes sitting in corners and begging. But they're not beggars, not really, they're just hungry.
Sometimes, if they pester them hard enough, they'll get scraps from Daeron, one of the richest thieves in Minas Tirith. But most of the time they'll just skulk around houses or the market place and wait for people to drop bits of food. They never get enough, but it's better than starving to death. They vow they won't die until they've seen twenty five summers so they can experience the better things in life. When they tell the other orphan-brats that, they laugh at them.
"You'll get caught by the law first," the brats say, especially the older ones, but they've managed to avoid the law this far and don't think they'll ever get caught. They're optimistic, these two, even though they've never heard the word before.
When the war starts, and the soldiers start marshalling, it's easier to find food. They take it as a blessing, not really understand the war at all. It's beyond them, in land far aware and as long as there aren't any orcs in their hideaways, they don't care. In a few days they've figured out how to sneak into the soldiers' barracks and grab cake-like bread and cheese. Maybe some wine, too, if they're lucky. Usually they aren't, but one day they sneak in and find a whole feast laid out.
They're immersed in the food and don't notice three men coming form the shadows and grabbing them. When they do, they kick and shove with their pointy, skinny elbows.
"Caught you, you little stealers!" one of the men say, and then Dirt digs his fingers into the man's eyes and he is let go with a howl of pain. Dust works on the two others, first bringing his knee into the larger one, and then his elbow into the nose of the smaller one. The smaller one lets him go and Dirt and Dust dart away, but not before they grab some food to take with them.
That night, they huddle together, full. That can hear the sounds of growls and gnashing of teeth in the distance, towards the darker lands and see the red fire of a mountain, but they don't mind it. There world is one of bread and back alley-ways, of dirty finger-nails and sleeping in a stony corner, cold but satisfied.