Chapter One
WARNING: Descriptions of child abuse follow this warning. If this offends you, please skip over this section (not the chapter, though) and continue to the one afterwards.
Gilraeth rushed home as fast as his legs could carry him. His hands often reached up to brush his long red hair from his face. It needed a good trimming, but that was not Gilraeth's primary concern. Glancing up at the sky, his stomach lurched. The sun was nearly set. Trouble surely awaited him back at home.
Stopping just before the door, Gilraeth came in, panting heavily. He looked up to see his mother's angry face before him. His heart sank - he was too late.
Gynil seized her son roughly by the chin, digging her fingernails into the skin. Gilraeth did not give her the satisfaction of seeing his pain and kept his face emotionless. His dark brown eyes, though, were deeply hurt and sorrowful. Gynil leaned in, her face nearly touching his.
"Late again, are we?" she hissed menacingly.
Gilraeth did not get the chance to answer. She released his chin, but he did not have time to relax. Her heavy hand found his cheek easily enough. Gilraeth recoiled from the blow - a dangerous move on his part.
Aggravated further by her son's backing away, Gynil took his shoulders and shook him until he was dizzy, yelling.
"Ungrateful bastard! I've given you everything you needed and how do you repay me?! By being late to the supper I've made for you? Do you know how I bought that food? With my own sweat!!" She began to curse him in every tongue she knew. How long it went on, Gilraeth was unsure. He just wanted it to stop.
Gynil roughly escorted him to the cellar and shoved him into the dark, cold room. Gilraeth banged harshly into the wall, hitting his head in the same movement. The door slammed as the boy sank to the floor, silent tears streaming down his face. He lay down upon the freezing floor and welcomed the darkness that came to him.
When Gilraeth again opened his eyes, he had no notion of what hour or even day it was. For a moment he forgot where he was. Sitting up and fighting off the awful pounding within his head, he remembered he was thrown in the cellar for being late to supper. A small moan of pain escaped him as he massaged his temples.
The boy, now eleven, wasn't sure of how much more he could take of living this way with his mother. Ever since his father was killed in battle, she had treated him this way, starting the day after he'd found out the news. Gilraeth had quickly learned not to place his trust in her, for her temper was quick and unpredictable. One moment she was telling him she didn't mean to be like this, and the next she was hitting him for some insignificant reason.
The sound of a screech owl touched his ears, and he realized it was night. Gynil would be sound asleep. Was his escape still there or had she found it out?
Crawling upon his hands and kneed, Gilraeth found the corner he sought after and scooted to the right three crawl-steps, as he called them. Then, pressing on the stone, he felt it slide and sighed in relief. His mother had no notion of his escape route.
He pushed the rest of the stone out and replaced it quickly, crawling up and out of the shallow hole, hidden away by boulders. When he was outdoors, Gilraeth leaped over the boulders and looked around. He had made up his mind - he could not stand another day under his mother's "care".
But where could he flee to? He didn't have any friends. All the boys of the town jeered at his untidy hair and his dirty clothes, his broken shoes. He had no other family.
Rivendell. The name flashed in his mind. He remembered his father telling him tales about the land of the Elves. Once he had asked if Imaldris was a real place of Middle-Earth. With the utmost sincerity, Gomeir had told him it was, and was just a two day journey straight east. Gilraeth was sure he could find it easily enough.
He crept to the other side of the house and entered as quietly as he could. Snatching his pack from his room, he went to the kitchen and filled it with enough food to last him for a few days more than needed, just in case he happened to get lost. He picked up a few items of heavier clothing, grabbed his cloak and shouldered his pack.
Gilraeth stepped outside once more, closing the door in relief. By the time Gynil realized he was gone, he would already be far off. The boy looked into the night sky. The last quarter moon was setting. Dawn was not far off. Turning away from the moon, Gilraeth started for Rivendell.
As he reached the boarders of the woods, he turned and looked back at his house. Never again would it be his home. He uttered a small sigh and entered the forest.
WARNING: Descriptions of child abuse follow this warning. If this offends you, please skip over this section (not the chapter, though) and continue to the one afterwards.
Gilraeth rushed home as fast as his legs could carry him. His hands often reached up to brush his long red hair from his face. It needed a good trimming, but that was not Gilraeth's primary concern. Glancing up at the sky, his stomach lurched. The sun was nearly set. Trouble surely awaited him back at home.
Stopping just before the door, Gilraeth came in, panting heavily. He looked up to see his mother's angry face before him. His heart sank - he was too late.
Gynil seized her son roughly by the chin, digging her fingernails into the skin. Gilraeth did not give her the satisfaction of seeing his pain and kept his face emotionless. His dark brown eyes, though, were deeply hurt and sorrowful. Gynil leaned in, her face nearly touching his.
"Late again, are we?" she hissed menacingly.
Gilraeth did not get the chance to answer. She released his chin, but he did not have time to relax. Her heavy hand found his cheek easily enough. Gilraeth recoiled from the blow - a dangerous move on his part.
Aggravated further by her son's backing away, Gynil took his shoulders and shook him until he was dizzy, yelling.
"Ungrateful bastard! I've given you everything you needed and how do you repay me?! By being late to the supper I've made for you? Do you know how I bought that food? With my own sweat!!" She began to curse him in every tongue she knew. How long it went on, Gilraeth was unsure. He just wanted it to stop.
Gynil roughly escorted him to the cellar and shoved him into the dark, cold room. Gilraeth banged harshly into the wall, hitting his head in the same movement. The door slammed as the boy sank to the floor, silent tears streaming down his face. He lay down upon the freezing floor and welcomed the darkness that came to him.
When Gilraeth again opened his eyes, he had no notion of what hour or even day it was. For a moment he forgot where he was. Sitting up and fighting off the awful pounding within his head, he remembered he was thrown in the cellar for being late to supper. A small moan of pain escaped him as he massaged his temples.
The boy, now eleven, wasn't sure of how much more he could take of living this way with his mother. Ever since his father was killed in battle, she had treated him this way, starting the day after he'd found out the news. Gilraeth had quickly learned not to place his trust in her, for her temper was quick and unpredictable. One moment she was telling him she didn't mean to be like this, and the next she was hitting him for some insignificant reason.
The sound of a screech owl touched his ears, and he realized it was night. Gynil would be sound asleep. Was his escape still there or had she found it out?
Crawling upon his hands and kneed, Gilraeth found the corner he sought after and scooted to the right three crawl-steps, as he called them. Then, pressing on the stone, he felt it slide and sighed in relief. His mother had no notion of his escape route.
He pushed the rest of the stone out and replaced it quickly, crawling up and out of the shallow hole, hidden away by boulders. When he was outdoors, Gilraeth leaped over the boulders and looked around. He had made up his mind - he could not stand another day under his mother's "care".
But where could he flee to? He didn't have any friends. All the boys of the town jeered at his untidy hair and his dirty clothes, his broken shoes. He had no other family.
Rivendell. The name flashed in his mind. He remembered his father telling him tales about the land of the Elves. Once he had asked if Imaldris was a real place of Middle-Earth. With the utmost sincerity, Gomeir had told him it was, and was just a two day journey straight east. Gilraeth was sure he could find it easily enough.
He crept to the other side of the house and entered as quietly as he could. Snatching his pack from his room, he went to the kitchen and filled it with enough food to last him for a few days more than needed, just in case he happened to get lost. He picked up a few items of heavier clothing, grabbed his cloak and shouldered his pack.
Gilraeth stepped outside once more, closing the door in relief. By the time Gynil realized he was gone, he would already be far off. The boy looked into the night sky. The last quarter moon was setting. Dawn was not far off. Turning away from the moon, Gilraeth started for Rivendell.
As he reached the boarders of the woods, he turned and looked back at his house. Never again would it be his home. He uttered a small sigh and entered the forest.