Torment

The Story of Gilrin Hathol

I see a 30-year-old elfling sleeping. She looks so peaceful. Suddenly I hear screaming. The sound of clashing swords, cries of pain, cries of despair. The elfling awakes. She runs outside. She has never seen the likes of this. She knew that her father, Arahaelon, was a well-respected warrior, but had only seen him in practice. She understands at once that this is real. She is in shock. Her mother screams to her to run inside and grab her mother's weapons. She can't find them. She looks in her mother's room, she looks in the sitting area, and looks in the kitchen, but can't find them anywhere. She finally finds her mother's sword in the basement. She runs upstairs and blasts out the door. She runs to her mother. She hands her mother her sword, called Berethcrist. She runs to her father to ask him to explain what's going on.

"Ada! ADA! What's going on?!" she cries.

"I love you Gil! I always will love you my dear!" Arahaelon screams with tears in his eyes.

"What's going on? I love you too! Sevog i veleth-nin!" the elfling cries. Suddenly, for the first time ever, her father's arrow misses it's mark. A dwarf's throwing knife hits his head. His daughter screams out in fear, grief and despair. She runs to her mother who has seen her husband's death.

"Stay close to me Gil. Stay close," the weeping mother whispers to her child.

"Always, Nana," she responds, grief filling every word. Suddenly, twelve dwarves surround her and her mother. She being small was instructed to escape by her mother but wait for her by the palace of Thingol and Melian. She does so very quickly. She is halfway there, but sees her mother fighting off the dwarves. Her mother can not do it alone. The elfling wants to help, so she tries to run back to her mother's side, but she does not make it before her mother falls on a dwarf-axe.

"NO!" screams the child, and for what seems like forever screams.

I awoke with a start, a cold sweat covering my body, and a scream to deafen any. My men started to surround me, thinking that I had spotted orcs, or something of the sort.

"No," I responded, "It was just a dream," and they all dispersed and went back to bed. But it wasn't just a dream. It's never just a dream. It is my story.

I am Gilrin Hathol.


A/N: Hello! This is the prologue to my first story! So just a couple of things, 30 is the physical and mental equivalent of the age of 5 for humans. Second, some elvish translations:

Sevog i veleth-nin: You have my love

Ada: Daddy

Nana: Mommy/mom

Please comment! I always like new ideas!