hird Age, M
orth. There must be at least one hundred of them. We are
ere are my
time I saw them, my Lord, but that
they wouldn't win that battle. He knew by reputation Gundabad Orcs, They were ruthless beasts, trained to fight, and they were
the
e calling him amid th
ere, f
towards the child, hacking and slashing as many beasts as possible, in a desperate attempt to keep him safe. A 9-year
m into a breach in the walls now fa
you must
Fat
ister and head south, follow the Misty Mountains
ve you! Not now! I can
not today. There will come a day when you will show your strength
n, gently putting a
the great Kings of Gondor have worn it, and your turn will com
her,
till resting on his shoulder. But it was useless, Arathorn would not liste
you, burn them! They must no
ye, fa
fast as he could, heading to t
to leave his father, his mother, his friends, his home. Angry because the flames were blazing in his city, which was now falling apart, destroyed. Angry because his childhood was being torn away from him and there was nothing he could do about it. All due to an Orc that neither he nor his sister could ever forget: Azog the Defiler. With these thoughts in mind, Aragorn slew his enemies,
rd, not practically at least.
ing for them, he knew of their arrival: he had foreseen it. Aragorn and Arya, exhausted by the journey, received a warm welcome in Rivendell: they finally had a bed to sleep on, a hearty meal and the
excellent warriors, capable to handle both bow and sword. They were taught everything there was to know about Middle Earth: its history, its geography, its inhabitants, each people with its language and culture. They studied medici
in and finding information about their father. Having to part from her brother was really painful f
t heirloom, Aragorn had always kept it since his father had entrusted it to him before saying goodbye many years before, but at least she would have had something more than the o
an issue to be addressed, an issue that would have
other of Ara