Alone
This is my first fanfic, so if it sucks, well, you know why. I have a fascination with sharp objects and fire, so I really enjoy flames; they will be used to make bonfires and warm my hands because my house is incredibly cold. The base of this story is the Narn I Hin Hurin, in Unfinished Tales. The Narn I Hin Hurin gives, in much more detail, the account of the children of Hurin. You don't need to read it to understand my fic, I think.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, never have, and never will.
Summary: Aerin is constantly abused by her churl of a husband, Brodda. In the meantime, Saeros is not dead as we are led to believe, but quite alive instead.
Chapter One
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Slowly, his head cleared as feeling spread through his limbs. The feeling of pain. At least I have feeling, the elf sarcastically reminded himself. Gradually, his vision cleared and with a moan, Saeros lifted his head out of the mud of the river bank where he lay to look around. Where the hell am I, was his first reaction. He had no idea of where he was, though by the look of the clear waters he lay near, he knew that the river must be the Esgalduin.
He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the pain that flared through his entire body. He started to walk towards the beautiful waters of the river. Though they were only a few feet away, Saeros fell to his knees in exhaustion as soon as he reached them. With shaking hands, he splashed water onto his face and body, and through his disheveled hair. As he cleaned his right arm, he felt a sharp stab of pain, and was startled to see blood flowing from a wide gash near his elbow. Saeros stared at the blood as it tinted the crystalline waters scarlet, and suddenly, he remembered.
"Ahhh!" came the tortured cry of Saeros as he fell to his knees before Turin. He knelt, holding his injured right arm to his body, his left hand clamped over the wound to still the flow of blood. His sword lay on the leaves, under his foe's booted foot. Panting heavily, he raised his defiant eyes to meet Turin's gaze. I will not die a coward! I will die bravely, if that is to be my fate, Saeros thought as he waited for the enemy to deliver his death blow.
But Turin did not strike, he merely glowered at the elf. "Saeros," he said, "there is a long race before you, and clothes will be a hindrance; hair must suffice." With that he grabbed the elf's shoulders and forced him to the ground. Very pleased he was to see the defiant look in Saeros's eyes replaced by one of fear. Turin proceeded to rip his clothes from him as he struggled. But Turin let him up, and then "Run!" he cried. "Run! And unless you go as swift as the deer I shall prick you on from behind."
Saeros took off, running blindly through the forest; Turin pursuing him. Then the chasm over the stream was visible. Still running, he gathered himself for the leap. As he landed on the far side, he lost his footing. Saeros tumbled down into the stream, and striking his head on a rock, he drifted into darkness.
He stood slowly, shaking his head to bring his mind back to the present. He was famished, exhausted, injured, and freezing. "How long have I been unconscious?" Saeros said irritably. He glanced up the Esgalduin, the way he'd come, though it'd been against his will. I could follow the Esgalduin back to Doriath, he thought, but do I want to return? Do I want to face the humiliation and exile that is to be my fate among my kin? No! I am already in exile! In exile I shall stay!
Saeros turned and looked across the grass to the forest nearby. The forest that was everywhere, on both sides of the river, sometimes down into the water itself. "How very different it is from Doriath; sweet Doriath with its oaks and maples, elms and birches, and grassy sunlit glades rimmed with the blossoms of dogwoods," he whispered to himself with tears of remembrance in his eyes. The forest in front of him consisted of pine and cedar. The trunks were close together, throwing the pine-needle covered floor into permanent shadow. Having no where else to go, he walked towards it, his arms folded over his broken ribs, his broken left arm cradled against his chest. It began snowing then, and the wind blew in gusts, stinging his bare skin. He tried to walk faster, but that only hurt more, as his left knee and ankle felt as though the ligaments and muscles inside no longer held them together.
Several miles into the forest, Saeros found a thick bunch of cedar trees. He moved in between them, and found a protected niche in the center. "Shelter," he whispered as he sat down. Having never been so exhausted in his life, he curled up and slept.
Over the next several months, he stayed there, nursing himself back to health. He crept up on creatures unaware, and snapped his necks with his bare hands. He skinned them with sharp stones to make leather clothing and boots. Their bones were carved into knives and a bow, the sinews making the bowstring. A leather quiver of cedar-shafted, stone-tipped arrows he made as well. But as his strength grew, so did his anger and hatred of the Edain and Turin, until it drove him north, out of the forest, through the mountains, and into Dor-lomin, seeking revenge.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter, the first few chapters will be about the same length. I won't be updating too much until summer, when I don't need to worry about Geometry tests and English reports. However, if I get no reviews, I won't update at all, I'll just continue writing this for myself. I don't naturally write on the computer anyway, I use pen and paper, the old-fashioned way. So pleaz be patient and R&R(
This is my first fanfic, so if it sucks, well, you know why. I have a fascination with sharp objects and fire, so I really enjoy flames; they will be used to make bonfires and warm my hands because my house is incredibly cold. The base of this story is the Narn I Hin Hurin, in Unfinished Tales. The Narn I Hin Hurin gives, in much more detail, the account of the children of Hurin. You don't need to read it to understand my fic, I think.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, never have, and never will.
Summary: Aerin is constantly abused by her churl of a husband, Brodda. In the meantime, Saeros is not dead as we are led to believe, but quite alive instead.
Chapter One
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Slowly, his head cleared as feeling spread through his limbs. The feeling of pain. At least I have feeling, the elf sarcastically reminded himself. Gradually, his vision cleared and with a moan, Saeros lifted his head out of the mud of the river bank where he lay to look around. Where the hell am I, was his first reaction. He had no idea of where he was, though by the look of the clear waters he lay near, he knew that the river must be the Esgalduin.
He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the pain that flared through his entire body. He started to walk towards the beautiful waters of the river. Though they were only a few feet away, Saeros fell to his knees in exhaustion as soon as he reached them. With shaking hands, he splashed water onto his face and body, and through his disheveled hair. As he cleaned his right arm, he felt a sharp stab of pain, and was startled to see blood flowing from a wide gash near his elbow. Saeros stared at the blood as it tinted the crystalline waters scarlet, and suddenly, he remembered.
"Ahhh!" came the tortured cry of Saeros as he fell to his knees before Turin. He knelt, holding his injured right arm to his body, his left hand clamped over the wound to still the flow of blood. His sword lay on the leaves, under his foe's booted foot. Panting heavily, he raised his defiant eyes to meet Turin's gaze. I will not die a coward! I will die bravely, if that is to be my fate, Saeros thought as he waited for the enemy to deliver his death blow.
But Turin did not strike, he merely glowered at the elf. "Saeros," he said, "there is a long race before you, and clothes will be a hindrance; hair must suffice." With that he grabbed the elf's shoulders and forced him to the ground. Very pleased he was to see the defiant look in Saeros's eyes replaced by one of fear. Turin proceeded to rip his clothes from him as he struggled. But Turin let him up, and then "Run!" he cried. "Run! And unless you go as swift as the deer I shall prick you on from behind."
Saeros took off, running blindly through the forest; Turin pursuing him. Then the chasm over the stream was visible. Still running, he gathered himself for the leap. As he landed on the far side, he lost his footing. Saeros tumbled down into the stream, and striking his head on a rock, he drifted into darkness.
He stood slowly, shaking his head to bring his mind back to the present. He was famished, exhausted, injured, and freezing. "How long have I been unconscious?" Saeros said irritably. He glanced up the Esgalduin, the way he'd come, though it'd been against his will. I could follow the Esgalduin back to Doriath, he thought, but do I want to return? Do I want to face the humiliation and exile that is to be my fate among my kin? No! I am already in exile! In exile I shall stay!
Saeros turned and looked across the grass to the forest nearby. The forest that was everywhere, on both sides of the river, sometimes down into the water itself. "How very different it is from Doriath; sweet Doriath with its oaks and maples, elms and birches, and grassy sunlit glades rimmed with the blossoms of dogwoods," he whispered to himself with tears of remembrance in his eyes. The forest in front of him consisted of pine and cedar. The trunks were close together, throwing the pine-needle covered floor into permanent shadow. Having no where else to go, he walked towards it, his arms folded over his broken ribs, his broken left arm cradled against his chest. It began snowing then, and the wind blew in gusts, stinging his bare skin. He tried to walk faster, but that only hurt more, as his left knee and ankle felt as though the ligaments and muscles inside no longer held them together.
Several miles into the forest, Saeros found a thick bunch of cedar trees. He moved in between them, and found a protected niche in the center. "Shelter," he whispered as he sat down. Having never been so exhausted in his life, he curled up and slept.
Over the next several months, he stayed there, nursing himself back to health. He crept up on creatures unaware, and snapped his necks with his bare hands. He skinned them with sharp stones to make leather clothing and boots. Their bones were carved into knives and a bow, the sinews making the bowstring. A leather quiver of cedar-shafted, stone-tipped arrows he made as well. But as his strength grew, so did his anger and hatred of the Edain and Turin, until it drove him north, out of the forest, through the mountains, and into Dor-lomin, seeking revenge.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Author's note: Sorry for the short chapter, the first few chapters will be about the same length. I won't be updating too much until summer, when I don't need to worry about Geometry tests and English reports. However, if I get no reviews, I won't update at all, I'll just continue writing this for myself. I don't naturally write on the computer anyway, I use pen and paper, the old-fashioned way. So pleaz be patient and R&R(