This is the first time I have attempted to write a Silmarillion story, and surprising enough, I choose a subject that takes up less than three pages of the book. (And just so you know, some of the chapters will contain quotes from the book.) Although it is gone into hardly any detail at all, and dips only shallowly into the emotional aspect of it, it is interestingly one of the stories from the Silmarillion that really caught me in a way only few stories have, LOTR or otherwise. Also though, because of the vagueness of the story in general, I am able to make some assumptions to further advance the plot I have in mind, which will make writing the story a lot easier.

In case you wanted to know, this story is mentioned at the very beginning of the tale of Beren and Luthien, so if you want to find book reference, that's where I would direct you.

But for now, I direct you read and review, but most of all enjoy the tale of Gorlim the Unhappy and his wife Eilinel.

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It has been told that Barahir would not forsake Dorthonion, and there Morgoth pursued him to his death, until at last there remained to him only twelve companions. Now the forest of Dorthonion rose southward into mountainous moors; and in the east of those highlands there lay a lake, Tarn Aeluin, with wild heaths about it, and all that land was pathless and untamed, for even in the days of the long peace none had dwelt there. But the waters of Tarn Aeluin were held in reverence, for they were clear and blue by day and by night were a mirror for the stars; and it was said that Melian herself had hallowed that water in the days of old. Thither Barahir and his outlaws withdrew, and there made their lair, and Morgoth could not discover it. But the rumor of the deeds of Barahir and his companions went far and wide; and Morgoth commanded Sauron to find them and destroy them . . .

(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)

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It was morning at Tarn Aeluin, and what a morning it was. It was unmistakable now why the stories deemed the lake hallowed by Melian the Maia herself. As the black net of the night sky gave way to a cloudless blue sky, the mirrored images of the stars melted into a myriad of pools of light reflected back at the rising sun. The splendor of the revered lake was only lost on one.

With the rising of the morning son, also came the rising of twelve men who braved the wilderness of Dorthonion to seek refuge on the shores. Warriors all, Tarn Aeluin they made their home, hiding from the vengeance of Morgoth the Dark Lord, who sought to find and destroy them for their efforts to keep Dorthonion free from the stain of darkness. Their leader was Barahir, and they were his companions.

Slowly, they crept from their tents to greet the Sun. Some began to work at lighting a fire for breakfast, while others took part in other various chores to begin the day, but not one.

Gorlim, son of Angrim, sat on a rock at the shores of the lake, staring listlessly at the spectacle before him.

Another man, Beren, the son of the leader, noticed his companion's withdrawal from the group. Covering his concerned frown with a cheerful smile, he came over and sat beside him. "Why are you up so early, Gorlim? I did not even notice that you were already up." Beren glanced to the side and saw Gorlim's blank expression, his concern growing deeper when Gorlim did not answer. His smile now disappeared, he lowered his voice and added earnestly, "You did not sleep again last night did you, my friend?"

Again he was met with silence.

Beren sighed; the fact that Gorlim's expression had changed slightly as if he was trying to hold back tears did not escape his notice. Gorlim did not speak for fear of inadvertently letting loose those suppressed tears, and the humiliation he would suffer if he, a grown man hardened by battles and death, cried like a child. Understanding this, Beren simply put a friendly hand on Gorlim's shoulder for support, waiting for him to be ready to verbalize his distress.

Finally, biting his lip as he did so, Gorlim spoke quietly. "I miss Eilinel." It was all he needed to say. Beren nodded, squeezing his shoulder slightly in reassurance, but Gorlim was not done yet. "I haven't seen her for a long time. I came with your father after the battle wanting to help him defend Dorthonion, not knowing that by doing so I would be separated from her."

Beren nodded again, his expression somber. Gorlim loved his wife very much, even more than the land he wished to protect. When he joined Barahir and his companions, he had hoped to be able to keep one foot in each life, and for a while he could, leaving now and then to go spend time with the woman he loved. But when the danger of the group's situation increased, his visits with Eilinel grew few and far between. Then, when Barahir announced that leaving would endanger the twelve men, they ceased completely. That was unfortunate, for the distance between him and his loved one had begun to wear away his spirit.

Beren stood and turned around and headed back towards the camp.

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"Father, I think you should let him go back to his wife for at least a little while."

Beren stood facing his father, speaking with vehemence, determined to aid his friend. But Barahir would not be so easily shaken.

"No, Beren," he stated firmly. "His leaving now would endanger the lives of the other men, and I could not allow that."

Clenching his teeth, Beren replied, "But don't you understand? He's miserable!"

Barahir shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, my son, but I just cannot endanger anyone's lives."

"Father, you do not understand!" Beren raised his voice, trying so very hard to get his point across to help his friend. "You are already endangering a life; HIS life! Haven't you seen him? He hasn't slept in days!"

Barahir eyed his son uneasily. "Are you sure of this?"

"Yes!" Beren all but shouted. "He's been sitting out there by the lake every night, just staring into space. I'm worried about him Father! This restlessness and anxiety is going to catch up to him next time we go out to fight. It won't be long before he drowns in his homesickness! Father I will not let that happen to him! Would you want that to happen? Would you?" Beren was breathing heavily, and staring defiantly into his Father's eyes. Barahir locked on to his son's gaze intently, but did not reply.

"Beren took a deep breath. "Father, please. For my friend. Let him go to his wife."

Once he looked down for a moment, contemplating his son's words, Barahir looked up, his face softened, showing the heart he had under his stern exterior.

"For your friend, I will take the risk, though I am worried that something evil may come of it."

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Gorlim stepped lightly through the woods of Dorthonion. Finally he was going back to Eilinel! When Beren had told him of his father's decision, Gorlim's dismal mood had evaporated quicker than the joy of the news could fully settle in. He had stared at Beren uncomprehendingly for several long moments, while running over in his mind an image of his wife's beautiful face: Her long, braided red hair, her blue eyes, her smooth skin.

Whistling, the man pushed aside the branches and plants and made his way towards his home. Home, a lovely word, but it was more than a word. It was a feeling that he had lacked even when with his friend's and companions at Tarn Aeluin. For him, home was where his love dwelt.

"And I'm coming home!" Gorlim said aloud in his elation, throwing all caution to the winds, laughing to his heart's content. He was almost there! He knew the way well, and the land became more than merely familiar. He simply had to go up this hill, and he would enter the field were his house was built, and where his Eilinel was waiting for him.

Gorlim began to run. Almost there! Only a few more steps and the trees would thin away to the long expanse of grass! Only a few more steps and he would see his . . .

Gorlim stopped dead in his tracks, horror written on his face. The trees had thinned away, and the field stretched out before him. He took a few shaky steps forward, toward the house . . . HIS house . . . or what it was once . . .

The door had been torn form its hinges, and lay smashed upon the ground, beside ragged remains of the window curtains. Gorlim, too shocked to be able to react fully, watched as the wind picked up one of these ripped cloths and brought it up over the roof, which had caved in between cracked walls. His eyes were drawn to the earth, seeing bits and pieces of shattered glass strewn about and . . .

His breath caught in his throat, and he choked down a sob. There, amid the ruins and debris, lay a small silver bracelet. The very same bracelet he had given his dear Eilinel.

Gorlim, with a trembling hand, untangled the small chain from the wreckage, and stared at it, as if afraid to admit to himself what he saw. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet.

"Eilinel!" He cried, hoping against hope to hear a reply, but he heard nothing but creaking of battered wood in the breeze. "Eilinel!" He tore his way into the remains of his home, completely smashing anything that came into his way. He searched every room, every corner of his house, but found no trace of his love. Despairing, he let the tears flow from his eyes unchecked.

"EILINEL!" He finally choked in anguish. His legs, no longer able to bear his weight, collapsed beneath him, and he fell amid the slivers of broken glass, not caring that the shards cut into him. He lay there, sobbing with every ounce of his strength amid the ruins of his home, and the ruins of his heart.

TBC