Piecing Together the Broken Puzzle

    I never knew my parents. I’ve only been able to know them in the form of stories. Bits and pieces fitting together like a broken puzzle. There are some things that I know and there are other things that I know I will never know. Growing up, the elves would tell me stories of my heroic father and how he died fighting for our people. I have painted such a clear picture of it in my head. It has been said that he lasted a long time in this battle, only to lose in the very end. The humans had already lost, this was quite clear, but my father and my Uncle Hurin fought off the orcs until the bitter end. I can see him, my father, as the poisoned arrow pierces through his eye. The look that he gave his brother as he fell, knowing that he was never to return to his pregnant wife and never to meet his unborn child. My mother was not long for this world after that. The love of her life had been slain and so had her heart. After leaving me in the care of the elves, she made her way to the final resting place of my father. Surrounded by the decomposing bodies of thousands of men, my mother sank to her knees on the same hill where my father died and joined him in the afterlife. Their love was so deep, that one living without the other, was simply impossible.

    The only family I have ever known, the elves, have told me how much I look like my father. They say he was one of the tallest men they had ever seen. Although now that I am grown, some say I might be even taller. My golden hair is long and thick, just like my father's. On days where it tangles into hundreds of knots I long for my dad even more, wishing he could have taught me how to control it. My heart, however, I got from my mom. Even in her grief, the elves say that she was very gentle and full of compassion towards them. Once when I was younger, I was playing with some of the elven children, when a spider scurried across the room. The others were frightened and wanted to kill it, but I told them not to. Instead I picked it up and took it outside so that it could live the rest of its life in the forest where it should be. When I got back into the house, my foster-father, Annael, was staring at me. At first I thought he was mad, but then he smiled, bent down, and whispered in my ear, “You have the heart of your mother. It beats strong and true just like hers”. It is small pieces of information like these that I hold dear. The more I learn about my parents, the more I feel connected to them. I will continue to piece together these fragments of my heritage until my very last breath.