A first account of my early days, by Eärnio.
I do not remember much of the days before the fall of Nargothrond. I recall childlike play and many faces, but very few names. I remember songs but not the words, and the food but not how it tasted.
Like cowards we then fled the hoards of Glaurung as they marched for Nargothrond and broke through the gates. Our parents told us to flee as the army approached, and so we did, while the brave and strong wardens held the line for as long as they could. A few others and us fled far into the night, where in the distance wolves howled with cold, demon-like voices, and every step taken was a step into the unknown. The days were short, and the nights would never end. The sun rose from beyond the hills and laid but a short and soft gaze upon us before it vanished again, as if it had never been there at all.
No warriors were we, myself and my older brother. He, a tailor who knew how to thread a needle but had never known a true battle nor drawn blood; and there was me, still a child by all accounts, naive and not understanding the evils of the world. Still, he kept me safe, and even took with him a hammer to protect us with. There was our father, a warden in the service of the city, trained with a shield to guard its people, and with a hammer to crush its foes. He fell at the gates as they were broken, it was said, guarding it with his last breath and all the might he could muster, just like every other who gave their all for the protection of our beloved city. What happened to our mother we never knew, though it is fair to assume that she was taken a prisoner like the others. She was never to be seen again.
It took a long, long time for me to realize what had actually happened that day. It was a blur of raw, conflicting emotions; there was so much anger and rage, sorrow, sadness and confusion, that everything felt like nothing more than a dream. No sleep or rest did I have until we - together with some other survivors - reached Doriath. There we found more of our people, and learned how Glaurung's hordes had laid complete and utter destruction upon our city, and that nearly everyone had fallen or been taken as slaves. The shock was still too great, and I could not cry nor scream, even if I wanted to. There was nothing but a cold, dark void where my heart once had been. My brother noticed me in that near catatonic state and did all he could for me, and eventually he persuaded me to follow him towards the sea. Afraid of the dark forces that might still be out there in wait for us, I initially refused but gave in when he told me how beautiful the sea was, and that our destiny laid in wait there. One morning we reached the shore, and the sight of the vast, blue greatness overwhelmed me. All that had held me down just broke and shattered as the spray of water touched my face, like the Doors of Felagund fell when Glaurung breathed down his terrible fire upon them. My eyes watered, my body shaking, my hands clenched into fists so tight that I could have crushed rocks, and the tears came like falling rain. I wept for so long that I cannot remember where one day started and another ended. I wept for our lost parents, and for the love of my brother who had kept me alive, and I wept for all lives that were lost, and for everything that was still to come. My brother named me that day, and I will forever keep that name to remember the day I was born and alive again, after being broken and dead inside.
