Middle Earth: High King of The Avari

The sun was sinking low in the sky as Aurion and his escort of Avari soldiers approached the plains of Estolad. The golden light bathed the rolling hills and scattered trees, casting long shadows across the earth. The air was quiet, save for the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the soft rustling of armor.

Aurion rode at the head of the column, his keen grey eyes scanning the horizon. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a gleaming weapon crafted by his own hand, its edge as sharp as his vigilance. The soldiers behind him were silent and disciplined, their presence a testament to the martial prowess of the Avari.

Suddenly, a distant cry pierced the air—a guttural shout followed by the clash of steel. Aurion raised a hand, signaling his men to halt. "That came from the west," he said sharply, his voice carrying authority beyond his years. "Ready yourselves. We ride to investigate."

The Avari soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons, and with a nod from Aurion, they spurred their horses forward, galloping toward the sound of battle.

As they crested a hill, the scene below unfolded with brutal clarity. A group of men, poorly armed and outnumbered, fought desperately against a horde of orcs. The beasts snarled and howled, their black blades flashing in the dying light as they pressed their advantage. Bodies of the fallen lay scattered across the ground, blood soaking into the earth.

Aurion's eyes narrowed, his heart burning with righteous anger. He drew his sword, its polished blade catching the light like a shard of the sun. "For the Avari! For justice!" he cried, his voice ringing like a clarion call.

The soldiers echoed his cry, and together they charged down the hill.

The orcs barely had time to react before the Avari fell upon them like a storm. Aurion's sword cleaved through the first orc he encountered, severing its head with a sickening crunch. The air was thick with the scent of blood and the sound of steel meeting flesh. One of the Avari drove his spear through an orc's chest, pinning it to the ground, while another hacked through two more with a sweeping strike of his axe.

Aurion fought with a fury that belied his youth. His blade danced through the melee, slicing through limbs and torsos, each stroke precise and deadly. An orc lunged at him, its jagged sword aiming for his throat, but Aurion sidestepped with elven grace and drove his blade through its heart, twisting the weapon as black blood sprayed across his armor.

The men, emboldened by the arrival of their saviors, rallied and joined the fight with renewed vigor. One of them, a tall figure with dark hair and fierce eyes, stood out as he barked commands and fought with ferocity, cutting down orcs with a broad sword.

The battle was over in minutes, the ground littered with the mangled corpses of orcs. The survivors among the men and Avari stood catching their breath, their weapons slick with blood.

Aurion wiped his blade clean and turned to the tall man who had fought so fiercely. "You led your men bravely," he said, sheathing his sword. "Who are you, that you fight with such spirit against these foul creatures?"

The man inclined his head, his expression a mix of gratitude and respect. "I am Boron, son of Baran, leader of this group and heir to the House of Bëor," he said. "We owe you our lives, my lord. May I know the name of the one who has saved us?"

Aurion inclined his head in return. "I am Aurion, son of Arinyanénar and Aistalë. My father speaks of your House with great respect, Boron. Your father, Baran, is an old friend of his."

Boron's eyes widened with recognition. "Your father! Of course, my father has spoken often of him. He will be glad to hear of your arrival. Come, let us lead you and your company to our settlement. You shall be welcomed as kin."

Aurion nodded, and the Avari fell into formation behind him as Boron led the way. The settlement of the House of Bëor came into view as the sun dipped below the horizon. Smoke curled gently from chimneys, and the sound of laughter and music floated through the air, a stark contrast to the violence they had just endured.

Boron guided them to the great hall, a sturdy structure of wood and stone, its interior lit warmly by flickering torches. Inside, Baran sat at the head of a long table, his hair streaked with grey but his bearing still noble. His eyes lit up with recognition as Aurion entered.

"Aurion, son of Arinyanénar," Baran said, rising from his seat. "It has been many years since I saw your father, but you carry his strength and your mother's grace. Welcome, young prince."

Aurion bowed respectfully. "Baran, leader of the House of Bëor, I thank you for your hospitality. My men and I are honored to be here."

Baran smiled and gestured to the table. "Sit, all of you. Eat, drink, and rest. You have done us a great service today, and we are in your debt."

The Avari soldiers joined the men of the settlement at the table, sharing stories and laughter as they ate. Aurion, however, noticed Baran watching him keenly.

"You bear the weight of your heritage well, Aurion," Baran said softly as the hall began to quiet. "But there is much to learn in this world, and much to fight for. Remember that the friendships you forge here are as important as the battles you win."

Aurion nodded, his thoughts turning to the journey still ahead. "I will remember, Lord Baran. And I thank you for your wisdom."

As the feast wound down, Baran rose and announced that rooms had been prepared for Aurion and his men. Grateful for the respite, they retired for the night, their hearts lighter despite the challenges yet to come.

Aurion stood at the window of his chamber, gazing out at the stars. The weight of his journey and the promise he bore felt heavy, but in the quiet of the night, he resolved to honor his duty to his people, his family, and the alliances that would shape the fate of Middle-earth.