"Mama! Could you tell me a story!" Malthon absolutely loved his mother's stories, no matter what they were about. It wasn't like he really paid all that much attention to the content of them (she had a tendency to go on about boring things like decoration), he just loved the soothing sound of his mother's voice as he drifted off to sleep. When his father told him stories, they were always something adventurous and high-paced, full of battles and heroes saving the day, leaving the six year old far too excited to close his eyes long enough to sleep. As such, it had become an unspoken rule that his father was not allowed to tell stories before bed.
Malthon was staring wide eyed at his mother, who smiled as she finished drying that evenings dishes "Are you ready for bed?" She asked, gesturing vaguely to the slight disaster that the young boy had left next to the washbasin. With a sheepish look on his face, he bounced back across the room to clean up his mess.
Their house wasn't very big, being the standard farm house found in Rohan that it was. Standing in the right corner it was possible to see everything going on in the house at any given moment. His father, who was in fact an elf of Rivendell, had told him stories of his previous home, before he left in order to be with the daughter of a Rohirrim farmer. The idea of so much space to play in had seemed impossible to his young mind. Perhaps he was used to it, but the warmth of the hearth, his father's cooking giving off delicious smells at meal time, being able to see his parents if he woke up in the middle of the night, and the knowledge that he need not go to far for anything, seemed unnatural to live without.
"When Malthon had finished cleaning up and crawled back into his small bed, his mother sat down on the edge with a smile. His father had come in from securing the horses while he was occupied, and took up the spot on the opposite side of the mattress.
Together, his parents told him an impressive tale involving all sorts of creatures and an incredibly talented archer, and the young half-elf wasn't sure when the story moulded into a dream. More than likely around the time that all the food the adventurer came across turned into his mother's delicious sweet rolls.
"Malthon, sweetheart, wake up!" The unusually urgent tone, unfamiliar despite the voice belonging to his mother, shook Malthon awake much quicker than he normally would in the morning. He heard a shout, and the panic on his mother's face came into sharp relief in the low light coming from the hearth. With a rather rough pull, Malthon was on his feet and being shepherded towards a window facing the fields in the back, as well as the tool shed.
"Hide in the shed, love, and do not come out no matter what you may hear." Tears had started leaking down the young boy's face, his father rushing in and urging them to hurry not helping his fear.
"Mama, papa..." His mother ignored his weak pleading, kissing him firmly on the forehead as she lifted him over the windowsill, just before the door cracked loudly.
"Stay quiet, and be strong. I love you, my son."
Despite the urge to climb back to his mother, Malthon ran across the yard, tears streaking down his face, and made it to the shed just as the yelling started. He stumbled to a stop, his small hand resting on the open door, and turned to see a vague outline of his mother and father through the window, as well as several men he did not recognize. He couldn't tell what was going on, but his mother screamed, and the young boy swallowed a loud sob, stumbling blindly into the shed.
It was dark, the tears in his eyes making even the subtle outline of the objects around him indistinguishable, he was wearing nothing but his night shirt and underpants in the cold spring night, and as he sat there with his hands covering his ears and the door opened wide enough to see a portion of the house, his young eyes caught a shimmer of orange. A small glowing light that grew bigger, bringing with it smoke to blot out the starry night.
Malthon cried, not bothered any more if he was sobbing loudly and uncontrollably. He was sure the men were gone anyway, now that his home was being reduced to ashes. He cried until it hurt to cry. He heaved and hiccoughed, curling into a ball and silently whimpering until blackness crept into his mind and pulled him into the clutches of sleep.
His dreams were filled with fire and screams and at some point he was sure somebody had picked him up, but his mind was far too exhausted to care. The fire played through his dreams, alongside the horrible screams, over and over again.
He was woken several hours later by sunlight streaking across his face. His parents were gone, along with his home. And he had no idea where he was or how he came to lie in this new bed.
A/N: Another chapter will be up very shortly, as this is more of an introductory thing than anything.