Okay! I am back, and updating sooner than usual, so don't think that I'll be able to update daily for a long time! But, as long as I have the time, and am in the right state of mind, I might as well write.

Thank you Staggering Wood-Elf and purple-sorceress for the reviews! Feedback is graciously accepted, and helps me significantly in getting into my "writing mood."

All right, enough rambling, and on with the story! Enjoy!

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Now among the companions of Barahir was Gorlim son of Angrim. His wife was named Eilinel, and their love was great, ere evil befell. But Gorlim returning from the war upon the marches found his house plundered and forsaken, and his wife gone; whether slain or taken he knew not . . . .

(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)

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When Beren saw Gorlim returning to the hidden refuge by Tarn Aeluin, he knew, even before catching a glimpse of haunted eyes, that something was horribly wrong.

It had been the evening on the day following the date of Gorlim's departure, while the company was preparing to plan to scour the surrounding forests of Dorthonion and cleanse it of wandering Orc bands that threatened the land. It was the reason they were there in the first place, and Tarn Aeluin only posed as a lair for the twelve men, not a place for them to spend the whole of their time. Pressing deeds awaited, and Dorthonion was not free, no matter how much peace the band had gained for it. The Dark Lord may be hunting for them, but they would not forsake their task.

Being short one, the eleven members were seated in a circle in the center of the camp. Maybe it was by chance that Beren was peculiarly uneasy, sitting on the outskirts of the discussion, or perhaps he had some sixth sense that forewarned him of his friend's suffering. But for whatever reason, Beren, being the farthest from the group and closest to the edge of the wild, was the first to witness Gorlim's return.

Although, he almost missed it entirely. As silent as a fox on the hunt, Gorlim had treaded through the border between forest and clearing, stealthily making his way towards the dwelling the company had put together.

When Beren looked up and saw a dark figure creeping from the trees, he silently motioned to the others, alerting them to the potential threat. The fire was immediately doused, throwing the camp into shadows.

Beren could barely make out his father's shape, motioning for Beren and two others to follow him. The four of them quietly took their places in ambush positions around the mysterious figure. They would wait for their leader's signal, and only seek to trap and detain the intruder, for they wished to bring no harm on him if he be innocent, or if he be not, and rather an enemy who chose to give up the fight, they would not bring harm upon one who laid down his arms. That did not mean, though, that they would be easy on whoever it was. Their lair by Tarn Aeluin was secret, and they could not afford for that secret to get out.

Barahir gave the signal, and the four of them pounced on the figure, tying his limbs with thick rope. When he had been successfully caught, Barahir pushed him down to the ground with a foot on his back, and a sword to his throat.

"Who are you," he hissed threateningly, "and what business do you have in our lands?"

The only response was a weak moan, but at the sound, Beren shoved his father out of the way and dropped to one knee beside the person.

"Gorlim," he said urgently. "Say something Gorlim!" When Beren heard no more from the limp form of his friend than a choked sob, he turned to one of his companions. "Radhruin, go fetch a light, quick!"

While the man quickly left to do Beren's bidding, Barahir knelt down beside his son. "What is wrong with him Beren? Is he injured?"

Beren could only shake his head in frustration. "I . . . don't know." He shook Gorlim gently. "Gorlim, please speak. Tell us, are you hurt?" Again, Gorlim did not speak. Radhruin returned with a small lamp, and held it up so all could see Gorlim clearly. Both Beren and his father gasped at what they saw.

The clothes that were normally worn, but well kept, were ripped and muddy, and leaves and twigs were tangled in his hair. His face was pale; dark smudges beneath his staring, bloodshot eyes. Beren pulled a cloth from the pocket of his coat, and wiped beads of sweat from Gorlim's brow, while checking the rest of him for any wounds. Except for several tiny scratches and bruises, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him.

Beren took his friend's face in both hands and forced the crazed eyes to look directly into his, as Barahir and Radhruin cut the cords that were bound around him. "Gorlim," he said steadily. "I know that something is wrong, but we will never be able to know what unless you tell us. Do you hear me, Gorlim?"

The pale face nodded slowly, the wildness in his eyes starting to fade. Beren sighed in relief. "Good. Now we need to get back to the tents with the others. Can you stand?" Gorlim nodded again, and with some support from Beren and his father, he was pulled to his feet.

He stood there numbly for a moment, and then suddenly gasped in a strangled whimper, and collapsed to ground, out cold.

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When awareness returned to him, Gorlim found himself lying on a makeshift bed in one of the tents. He blinked, bringing the world into focus, to find Beren bending over him.

"Beren?" he said in a cracked whisper, astonished to find that he could speak.

Beren tried to give Gorlim a reassuring smile. "Yes, it's me. We were all worried when you fell."

Gorlim simply sent him a puzzled look.

Beren's smile faded. "You don't remember?"

Gorlim lay still for a moment, trying to center his still-fuzzy mind. Fell? Did he get wounded in battle? No, he had been hurt many times before, and he would have been able to tell if he was in pain, which he was not. What then? What could have caused him to collapse? Wait . . . where had he been before he came back? He remembered Beren telling him good news and then . . .

The memory of the destruction of his home rushed back to his mind in a tidal wave so fast that the room began to spin and Gorlim felt his mind beginning to be gripped once more by weakness, and the corners of his vision began to go black.

He felt Beren shaking him, and faintly heard him shouting, "No Gorlim, don't leave yet. I want to help you. What is it that plagues you?"

Gorlim only managed to force one words past his cracked lips. "Eilinel . . ."

Then, his tormented spirit too immersed in grief to keep himself rooted in awareness, he was once again hurled into the dark vastness of unconsciousness.

TBC