The Sons of Ventris #2

Two baby boys crawled on their hands and knees around the stone marble of Isilorbor’s house. One boy’s skin was white to almost the point of it glowing, while the other seemed to have darker skin. One had grey eyes like a distant, almost playful, storm, while the others eyes were as green as the rolling hills in the Shire. Their features were different; one was more graceful and fine, while the others were sharp and noble, even for a baby. Their names were Gilendil Ventris, and Lendil Ventris, they were half brothers, due to the death of Gilendil’s mother almost two years ago. Isilorbor had left Annuminas a broken man, his army destroyed, saved for a pitiful few, his lover died in his arms, and his heart broken. He returned him with his son in his arms and placed him down on the bed, watching him fall asleep and turned to a large bottle of wine and started to drink heavily from it. Slowly getting drunk, Isilorbor tears were rolling freely down his face, the pain of so much death pulled down on him like an iron cloak. Lessel and Bellewing had gone to fight as well, and he feared the worst for them. He drained yet another glass of wine in one throw, trying to get the image of seeing Lessel and Bellewing lying dead someone in Annuminas. His thoughts went back to Lithduel, taking another bottle of wine just for her, and pouring a glass to its brim and draining half of it at once. Every moment she shared with Lithduel was coming back to him in one flood of emotion, the time they shared a sun set over Rivendell , a few times they sparred one another, even times when they were lying in bed holding each other all came back to him. He wiped and finished the glass, the images in his mind were almost branded there, never to let him rest. Looking around him, he saw four bottles of wine all emptied and discarded. He stood up and almost fell on his face onto the stone floor, placing his hands on knees down, he crawled to another bottle and popped the cork. He stumbled back to the table and poured another glass, yet again, to its brim. He spent a few days drinking and crying, he fed and played with Gilendil, but the poor child was tried and wanted sleep more then his father. He would tell Gilendil what happened to his mother when he was old enough, if he did not know already, that was. He kissed his son on the forehead and stumbled back to the main room. Looking himself in the mirror for a very long time. A rough beard had grown on his cheeks and chin, his eyes were bagged and the stain in his face quite clear, and the smell of the smoke and blood from Annuminas had not yet been washed off. A few days before the battle and Gilendil’s kidnapping by the Angmarim, Lessel had pleaded with her father to write to her mother, Lendes. He did not find it wise, he remembered so little about his past, even her name was hard to catch, like smoke in the distance, and he was with Lithduel, and he did not want to break her heart. But now, Lithduel was gone, and his heart ripped from his chest, save for one shard that was Gilendil. He stumbled to his study and picked up the letter he had written and finished, he had spent a few days of writing it, when he was not drunk, that was. He rolled it up into a scroll and sealed it with wax, the eagle stamped hard and rough into the scroll and walked to the window. Isilorbor whistled in a high pitch tone, with five shot notes. An eagle flew from the tree outside the house and landed on the windowsill. He tried the note around the eagles talon and gave the handkerchief he had kept for some many years and watched the eagle flew away with a roar. His hopes now rested on that eagle. Months had pasted since the eagle’s departure, and Isilorbor was still in a state of darkness. Lessel and Bellewing had not yet arrived, and his gut told him they were dead, but what was left of his heart said they were still alive. Gilendil at this time was the only thing that was keeping him going, and even off the wine. He never left the house without his son, fearing that the Angmarim would arrive and take him again. He left his house dark and abandoned looking when he saw the army headquarters burnt to the ground, keeping Fireblade close by in case they came to his house to hopeful kill him. But they ran out of the Homesteads, and the army’s defeat was complete. One day, Gilendil was sleeping peacefully in his crib, while Isilorbor and pasted out on a table, a glass of wine spilling over the table and making a pool on the floor. The house was a wreck, save for Gilendil’s room, Isilorbor had kept it clean and tidy at all times, and left the rest of the house in chaos. His dreams were nightmares, hordes of Angmarim pouring from Evendim into Bree and slaughtering everyone he knew while he was nailed to a tree and forced to watch his son thrown into the fires. He had this dream for a long time, but tonight, he would be saved. The door opened slowly, Isilorbor must have forgotten to lock it and a hooded figure stood in the door way, looking into the house. Slowly, Isilorbor raised his head and looked at the person. The sun was right behind them, making it imposable to tell who it was. His vision was blurred and hazy, but his hand slowly reached for his dagger. “If you think I will be easy meat for the slaughter, you are wrong, Angmarim.” He croaked in a weak voice, still slumped over the table. The figure walked into the house and gently shut the door behind them, but even with the sun blocked out, Isilorbor could not tell who it was. The figure looked slim and gently, clothed in rich purple, but he could not make out any details, no matter how hard he tried. Then, the person did something Isilorbor did not expect. The figure started to slowly bend down and pick up each wine bottle and place them neatly together and tidying the house slowly, keeping their head away from Isilorbor. The figure had picked up fifteen wine and placed them neatly on the floor, shaking their head and walked towards Isilorbor. “Who are you?” He asked with a weak voice, his hand on his dagger hilt. The Figure looked at Isilorbor, but the darkness hide the face, unit it spoke. “Oh Isilorbor, what has the world done to you?” The voice made Isilorbor’s head raise and looks into the darkness of the hood. He knew that voice, he had to know it. It sounded so familiarly. That voice brought back memories, but none he could grapes and get a firm image of. “Bellewing? Lessel?” His voice croaked again, but some hope resorted to it, his eyes trying with all their might to break the darkness in the hood. The woman’s hand, which was now a woman by the voice, gently cupped Isilorbor’s face and slowly moved her hood down from her beautiful, soft brown face, her eyes blue and deep as the sea, her skin as soft as milk as she touched Isilorbor. “Close, so very close!” She whispered, holding Isilorbor’s face tight, tears showing in her eyes that rolled down her cheek. Isilorbor felt a thunderbolt down his spine as he knew who it was. “Lendes?” Lendes nodded and threw her arms tightly around Isilorbor, the lover she had been parted with for ten years finally in front of her. They held each other tightly, Isilorbor felt his heart slowly being rebuild piece by piece as he held Lendes. She broke the embrace slowly, looking at Isilorbor with tears flooding down her face. “Come on, lets get you cleaned up, my love!” The last words of Lendes seemed to help Isilorbor greatly, she took his hand and slowly helped him back onto his feet. She spent almost two months helping the man she loved regain back to his former glory. Isilorbor told Lendes everything, about his time in the Bree Guard, the First of Eriador, even the battles in the army, and now the death of Lithduel and the rescue of Gilendil. During that time, Lessel and Bellewing returned and helped their new family grow and recover from the battle. Lendes did not hold it against him, saying that she was glad that someone gave him a small time of peace in a life time of war. She looked after Gilendil as if she was her own son, and then helped Isilorbor gather his pride together and set off to rally the ruminates of the army to Rivendell, to form the Defenders of The Free People. The only set back the family of Ventris had was the death of Bellewing and her lover, they were buried together. Then Isilorbor took the final step and asked Lendes to marry him, Lendes did not even so much as pause to give her answer, and they invited Lenwenn to come to Eriador to restart their family a fresh. After the wedding, a blessing happened. Lendes gave birth months afterwards to a baby boy, which they named Lendil. Isilorbor’s recall was slowly pulled back from him as Lendes wrapped her arms around him his neck from behind, looking with tears in her eyes at Gilendil and Lendil, now playing with blocks and bricks made of wood, making a small fort and laughing loudly. “They’re so nice together!” Lendes said, her voice thick with emotion. Isilorbor held her arms and kissed her cheek, looking back at their sons and nodded. “Indeed…I do not want them to grow up…They are perfect as they are.” Lendes giggled as Lendil waved to her and flapped his tiny hands and arms at her. “That’s the thing, my love…They do grow up.” Gilendil crawled towards Lendil and passed him a block and they both started to know their work down to the ground, laughing loudly. Isilorbor and Lendes watched their sons giggled and laughing in their little high voices, and neither of them wanted them to grow up