About Brenorn's childhood and how he grew up in Anórien.
"Childhood. Parenting figures. Rather strange concepts for someone like me, whose earliest memories are an old, tired woman's face and a noisy orphanage full of boys and girls who shared a similar story with me.
When I got to be of enough age, all I got the old lady to tell me was that my mother died while giving me birth, and that my father was a brave soldier who lost his life in battle shortly after I was born. Such a tragedy, or it would be if I had been sensitive enough to even care about it. I just didn't understand. What I was doing there, why did things have to be that way... All I was left with was an enormous gap in my life, and a name. Brenorn.
For those not familiar with Anórien, a town in northern Gondor, I could say it's pretty much what you expect. Something quite similar to Bree. A noisy, filthy, foul place full of loud taverns, busy markets and dangerous back alleys. Our benefactor was an old woman whose name we never knew, she always said to just call her 'grandma'. She tried to take care of us, keep us dressed and well fed, to the best of her ability, I'm sure. But she was too old and tired to be able to face the vigorous rage of an unhappy, rebellious child such as me.
My childhood in that place wasn't an easy one, and somehow I made sure it wasn't happy either. I kept looking for ways to run away from the orphanage, not to go somewhere else or hide, but to roam free around the streets, to go and do as I would very well damn please. Grandma would get so angry, and the other children would despise me for making her so. Staying in a small, crowded room feeling pity for myself and those around me wasn't what I really wanted, and that's exactly how I would see it back then. The fool I was.
Be it by chance, or Lady Luck's capricious hand, that one day I found my destiny on the very streets of Anórien. While running down the street some ordinary day, looking back to make sure none of the older boys was after me, I stumbled upon what felt like an iron wall. I hit myself against a tall, strong man, covered in grey furs. He was with two others who looked about as threatening as he did, huge strong warriors... but somehow, there was a spark of kindness in this man's scar-covered face. He tried to help me up, but I had already crawled away from him and gotten up on my own. He didn't give up, tho, never hid his smile, and kept trying to calm me down. 'Oi, boy, are you alright? What's your name?'. He eventually got me to open up, and we talked for what seemed to be ages at the time. In the end, he gave me a letter and a handful silver coins - a damn fortune at the time! - saying that if I would deliver it to someone in Anórien for him, there would be more coin and conversation for me in the future. I gladly did so, and after that day, my breakouts would be even more common, setting off in search of the men in grey furs.
It eventually became a routine. The man I crashed against was named Gareth, and he was the proud leader of the Grey Wolves, a well known band of mercenaries. They were despised, pointed at and called brigands, and it was common knowledge around the streets of Anórien to be wary of them. But they didn't seem all that bad to me. I kept meeting them, having long enjoyable chats, and running little errands for them. Then, one day, exactly on my ninth nameday, they showed up at the orphanage. I didn't see what was going on very well, but I do remember them talking to grandma for a long while, and she eventually bursting into tears. 'Oi, boy! We're leaving!', Gareth yelled as he beckoned me to leave. I was in such a shock I barely looked at what had been my home for what back then was a lifetime, and ran to their side, leaving that place for what would be forever.
It was the happiest day of my life. I walked with them, outside the town eventually. Gareth gave me a rather ordinary looking necklace: a leather strap with a wolf's fang on it. It was simple, but it felt like a treasure for me, and I still wear it to the day. 'You're part of the pack, now', he told me. I didn't understand, but I was soon to find out, when I arrived at the hideout of the Grey Wolves. I was very surprised to see, that they weren't actually the ruthless mercenaries everyone called them to be. There were a lot of strong looking warriors, yes, but there were also children like myself, younger and older, whole families living together, old men and women...
It would be the first family I'd ever know, and life with them was everything I would have ever wanted it to. Gareth took care of my training from the very day I arrived at the ruins the hideout was. Those of us that came to be part of the pack and didn't have a last name of our own, would take on the one Gareth would give us: Greymane. How I came to be one of their warriors, what sort of adventures I lived with them, and what eventually brought me to the place I'm at now... will be a story for another day, I guess..."
- Brenorn Greymane
