The vast hall of Thamas Lorn was silent that morning. Curiosity drew him to the armory of the Mithdirith, where spears and shields were displayed neatly against the wall. After a few weeks in the presence of the Mithdirith, Armanduil was considering whether he would or would not step forth among their ranks. He stopped before a delicate crafted spear and let his hand glide along the shaft. Gently he took the spear in hand, it was light of weight yet the metal tip was sharp and sturdy. He held the spear firmly in his hands as he inspected it, and a flash of memory rekindled his heart.
… he held his spear and shield close to him following the marching elves of his regiment of Forlindon towards the east, where the shadow of Fornost was ever present. Their combined army of Gondorians and elves of the west crossed the barren lands. Even the dark clouds broke apart before their marching force, allowing the sun to illuminate their path. The banners of Lindon danced proudly in the wind as the many spears were raised high in the sky, dreams of valor and honor sprang to life. The hour had come to face the endless tide of vile creatures that festered these lands. The battle of Fornost was at hand…
These thoughts filled him with renewed strength as his grip on the spear tightened. Yet this moment was only brief, his mind displayed before him the images that haunt him, breaking his will.
… horns were heard in the distant. The battle seemed to turn in their favor. His spear sang when yet another orc got pierced by his thrust. The chaos of battle was around him, the forces of Angmar scattered. The horrific ways of their enemy knew no bounds, even when beaten the orcs were mutilating the fallen hacking in them with some ill-frenzy. When Angmar's force was chased away, Armanduil searched among the dead. He removed one helm and revealed the face of his friend Lingil. His face was hewn almost beyond recognition. Horrified he looked at his comrade and muttered words of farewell. The battle was won, yet brought him no joy, the burden of hatred and sorrow remained ....
It seemed to him the spear felt heavier in his hands, he placed it back carefully. He pressed the memory back to the dark corner of his mind and walked outside where the sunrays of early spring embraced him.
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