The Sons of Ventris #1

Annuminas, once a great city of kings, now drowning in great flows of blood. The Eriador Army, under command of Legate Isilorbor Ventris, launched a great attack on the city to stop a war before it had a chance to start. Over 5,000 Free Peoples of Middle-Earth banded together to reach one common goal: The rescue of Gilendil Ventris, and the end of the Evendim War. The plan was simple. The most elite of the army would land in the port of Annuminas and forge ahead towards the tower of Akallabêth, where Gilendil was being held. The Wardens already inside would launch an attack to open the second gate of the city’s defense to let the port landers in. The rest of the army would attack the first gate and battle for the entire city. The plan looked like it would work, many of the army were Men, Elves and Dwarves. The Rivendell Lancers, Thorin’s Thunderhammers, Wardens from Bree-Land, all gathered to do battle in a once glories city. All they found was death. Lithduel never broke step when she rammed her spear into an Agmarim’s throat, pushing him down and twisting it, before pulling it with a wet sucking sound and threw it at an crossbowmen aiming at the aim she loved back. The spear imbedded itself in his chest and the crossbow fired into the air, the bolt flying away harmlessly. Isilorbor slammed Fireblade behind him and twisted the blade, the Angmarim on the end of his sword gasping for breath and fell in the floor dead. He nodded a thanks at Lithduel under his red and gold full face helmet and looked towards the stairs to the tower of Akallabêth. He saw that all the guards were being finished off by Isilorbor’s men and Lithduel’s elven bodyguards. “Elves and Men, fall back to the Port, we are losing this battle and I want the port held no matte what cost!” The Elves and Men nodded to their Legate and ran past them, leaving the way clear for Isilorbor and Lithduel. Lithduel walked next to Isilorbor, her elven armour dipping with blood, her hair dirty but her eyes alight with fire. “Isilorbor…This is our last chance to get him back to us.” Her breathing was heavy, they had been fighting for hours. Isilorbor nodded and removed his helmet, even under the heavy steel armour, his face was covered in dust and dirt. “I know, my love, I know…The army cannot hold for much longer…I am going to send a retreat once we get our son back.” The army had suffered greatly. Thousands were already dead, or dying. The Angmarim were fully ready to deal with such a large force, their crossbowmen rained death from the rooftops. Swordsmen carved apart so many of the Free Peoples that their bodies were made into barricades and great pools of blood filled and ran down the streets. Lives were snuffed out in seconds, yet the Angmarim hold of the city would not break, and now that grip was fasting around the neck of the army, ready to rip its heart out. The only way was for the army to make for the port before the way was cut off from them all together, many soldiers were sent to hold the single road linking the port to the city. The wounded were already resting at the port, medics’ were run off their feet trying to keep them alive while Angmarim assault boats launch daring raids that were starting to pay off. Isilorbor and Lithduel only had two hours at the most before the army was destroyed, along with themselves and their baby son. Placing his helmet back on his head, Isilorbor nodded to Lithduel. They both ran up the stairs onto an open area over looking the battle. At the center of the area, was a stone alter with a small baby boy wrapped in a rough grey cloth, a baby with storm grey eyes and grace full features. He looked terrified as the sounds of war were all around him. Next the area was a grand feasting table with most of the food already eaten, but all to one man, who was over Gilendil with a dagger posed to end his life. Akallabêth, the Captain of Angmar. He was a dark man, his eyes almost completely black, with handsome but arrogant. His face clean shaven, and wore black robes of Angmar with skulls hanging off them. He was chanting in a dark tongue and was poised to slam the dagger down on Gilendil, before a spear flew straight and true. The spear did not head Akallabêth’s head, but the two blades clashed in sparks and the dagger fell from Akallabêth’s hand, both spear and dagger fell into the chaos of the battle. He snarled and drew his sword, but not before Isilorbor let a roar from his lips and charged Akallabêth. The two blades clashed together, just above Gilendil, close enough to make him cry loudly. Akallabêth and Isilorbor duelled above Gilendil, each of Akallabêth’s attacks were meant to end Gilendil’s life, and each counter by Isilorbor was one to block the death strike to his son. Lithduel drew her elven sword gracefully and slowly, looking for a chance to jump in and save their son. She lopped from foot to foot, keeping herself ready to jump into the fight without a moments pause. Gilendil cried loudly, watching his father battle a great monster above him, hugging his blanket tightly with great tears flowing down his cheek. “Hold on, son!” Lithduel screamed, watching Isilorbor block a downwards sweep from Akallabêth , holding the blades in place by sheer strength as Lithduel darted forward. Akallabêth drew a dagger from his side, grinning evilly at Isilorbor. “I have ripped thee army asunder, now thee will lose thy son!” He shouted, raising his blade and slammed it down towards Gilendil. That moment seemed to last a life time. There was nothing Isilorbor could to. He watched the dagger fall as if in slow monition, but a shadow covered Gilendil and a wet, sharp ring seemed to make all around them silent. Lithduel placed her arms on the alter and saw the tip of the dagger thought her chest, gasping for air as her wind pipe was cut, blood spilling out of her wound as Akallabêth looked confused, then slammed his knee into Lithduel’s face and send her to the ground hard. Isilorbor watched Lithduel fall, the woman who had saved him from losing his mind to war, and the mother of his only son, fall onto the stone ground of Annuminas with her lifes blood pouring from her. Akallabêth took his chance and threw his blade away from Isilorbor’s, dashing past him and ran as fast as he could to the stairs they had fought up from and vanishing into the darkness. Dropping on his knees, Isilorbor let a wordless cry of sorrow, looking at Lithduel gasping for air. He threw Fireblade and his helmet on the floor and crawled towards Lithduel, finding her hand and holding it tight. The cold was deepening, as he looked into her grey eyes, the light of life was fading away from her. Lithduel coughed blood and was moved lye down on Isilorbor’s lap, holding his hand tight and coughed more blood. “Gilendil…?” Her whisper was almost too low to hear, and so weak. “He lives!” Isilorbor whispered desperately, holding her tight to him. “Can I see him…?” Isilorbor gently placed Lithduel down, picking Gilendil put and placing him in her arms. She smiled weakly and dryed her lips from her blood and kissed his cheek for a long time, before tears flooded her eyes and she placed him down next to Isilorbor. “I am going to miss you both…!” Her breath was more laboured, holding Isilorbor’s hands as the fires of Annuminas and the battle raged around them, sending long shadows. “Do not leave us, Lithduel! Please!” He begged to her, tears of his own running down his cheeks. “I cannot, my love…I must leave you both…Take care of our son…Kiss me…One last time…!” Their lips met in a deep kiss, both of their breaths were deep and warm. Their lips joined and parted again as they kept kissing for the last time. “I love you…!” And with that whisper into the kiss, Lithduel died. Isilorbor held Lithduel’s body for a long moment, a cry building in his throat, until it became a roar. He threw his head back and screamed his lose into the fiery sky, his roar long and painful. He at last placed Lithduel on the floor, the fires would reach her soon, so no Angmarim would dishonour her body. He picked up Gilendil and ran to the port of Annuminas. His heart heavy and in many shattered pieces. He looked back and saw Lithduel’s sword on the ground, picking it up, along with Fireblade and ran. He ran over boides and pools of blood until he got to the port, jumping into a boat and nodded to the rowers. They left the city on fire, a dark cheer of victory behind them. Isilorbor held Gilendil in his arms, kissing his cheek and sighing deeply to himself. He lost his army, he lost many friends, he lost his lover. But he had his son, and he would guard him with his life, in Lithduel’s name.