Working-Class Hero

Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine. Can't sue me.

I wrote this because I always imagined Tuor's foster-family as being kind of poor and down on their luck (you'd have to be, to live in the caves of Androth), and so that got me thinking about what kind of a future Tuor thought he had, not knowing that he was destined to end up in Gondolin and all that.

This will probably just be a one-shot, but I might add more if people ask me to.

So, hope you like it!

Fifteen-year-old Tuor son of Huor finished chopping the firewood and set down his axe, completely worn out. He wished briefly that he could go a day without chopping wood for once. It wasn't that he hated working— he'd been doing it all his life— but it wasn't like firewood would help his family that much. His adoptive parents Annael and Loswen tried their best, but they were still dirt poor, and none of them ever had quite enough to eat.

Sighing, he picked up the chopped wood and went inside, where his foster-sister Laera was doing laundry. "Valar, I'm exhausted. Chopping wood is the most evil chore ever invented."

Laera, a thin, wiry girl with shoulder-length blonde hair, snorted. "You think you've got it hard? It's not easy getting all the grass stains out of your clothes, brother. That's the problem with you boys. You never appreciate all the work us women do. Now, if you'd try a little harder to keep your clothes clean…"

"And you women are always nagging us men," interrupted Tuor. "How hard can getting grass stains out of cloth be?"

"Um, hard," snapped Laera. "Ever wonder why they're called stains? Sometimes I wish we could switch places for a day, so you could see how hard a woman's work really is."

"You and me both," said Tuor. "But Uncle Annael and Aunt Loswen think it's good for me to do stuff like chopping wood. They want me to get strong."

"Why do Mom and Dad want that?" asked Laera, temporarily forgetting about the laundry. "Both of us are pretty tough already. We've got to be, in our circumstances."

"Uncle Annael said, and I quote, 'You're going to do great things someday, Tuor.'" Tuor rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right. Like what? Save the world?"

"I know, that's dumb," agreed Laera. "Like you could do anything great."

Tuor ignored the comment. "Besides, just read any of the old stories. Only rich kids have adventures."

"Or at least kids who have been rich at some point in their lives," Laera put in.
"Exactly. Whereas we're broke, we've always been broke, and we're always going to be broke. If there ever was a kid not destined for greatness, you bet your life it's me."

"Well," said Laera, picking up the shirt she had been washing, "someone's got to chop the firewood."

"I know, I know," said Tuor. "I'll be outside if anyone needs me." Laera nodded absently as her foster-brother slipped out of the cave.

The sun had already set, leaving the landscape cold and dark. Tuor sighed as he stared up at the stars. Was this really all there was? Working twelve hours a day but never getting anywhere, always being hungry, not knowing what he was supposed to do with his life?

"You're going to do great things someday, Tuor," Uncle Annael had said.

In his heart he wanted to believe it.