Chapter Two
First Age, 3994
In the time after what became known as the First Sack of Doriath, I travelled far and wide. Gradually growing into what was my mother's sword, I found solace in nothing. Occasionally, I would visit the Edain for clothes, I had grown, after all. Also, I needed treatment sometimes. I would often find myself being tracked by orcs, and most likely I would attack them, kill every one of them, then have severe wounds that had to be treated. Then I would need new clothes for all the times I had them cut and torn from skirmishes. Said skirmishes is where I honed my sword skills. The Edain also would let me use their practice dummies for sword skills. I would stay there for weeks on end. I couldn't find any Elvish colonies, and these people were so accepting, I just decided to stay for a while before I left to look for more Elves. In about 3 weeks, I got completely lost. I couldn't find the Edain again. All I could do was wander. Wander until my horse could not carry me anymore.
Suddenly, Orcs were behind me. Chasing me. Fuirnil, my horse, could not carry me any further. She was exhausted. I jumped off of her back, and faced them. The Orcs were hideous. It nearly pained me to look at them. But I had to fight. There was no choice left. I unsheathed Berethcrist, and fought. I used all the sword skills I had learned from the Edain. I had finally grown into my sword as well. Suddenly, an Orc charged at me. He looked different though. A sorrow in his eyes. This one used to be an Elf. He was one of the second types. This should not have affected me so. I decided not to kill him. I simply dodged him and dodged his blows. He was a good fighter, he would have been graceful when he used to be an Elf. I ducked and rolled, ducked, jumped. I killed all of his companions. But why could I not bring myself to finish him? Suddenly, I saw deep into his eyes. This was my friend. My childhood friend of Doriath, Agarion. I remembered how he disappeared during an Orc raid. All Orcs in that were killed, it was nothing more than a skirmish. But after that I never saw him again. He must have been tortured. Forced into this. I lost my balance. I fell onto the cold ground. His sword hovering above my heart, I was prepared to accept my fate… but the sword never fell. He had to have seen who I was. He did not simply end though. He struck my leg. I screamed out in pain, a pain I had never felt before.
"How?" was my only question, "How could you do this to me?" He did not reply, simply ran. And I was alone and hurt. Alone.