Middle Earth Gamer

The Storm Before the Calm

Chapter Title: "The Storm Before the Calm"

It had been nine years since Taranis and Liriel had found their home in the desolate, windswept lands of Forodwaith, far from the events of the past that had haunted their lives. The world outside was still full of uncertainty, but here, among the icy plains and beneath the grey sky, they had found a peace they had longed for. They were not alone—together they had their son, Maedhros Feanorian Storm, named in honor of Liriel's uncle, the mighty Maedhros the Tall, a name carried with pride and a legacy of power. Maedhros, though only eight years old, was already showing signs of strength and courage, his striking silver hair and deep blue eyes a mirror of his mother's beauty and his father's quiet determination.

Taranis had put the past behind him, or at least, he had tried. His body had healed, his heart had softened, and the echoes of battle had faded, replaced with the responsibilities of family. But one could not easily erase the storm that had shaped him. In the harsh wilderness of Forodwaith, where survival was an unforgiving teacher, Taranis honed his skills, not just as a warrior, but as a father. His days were spent training, sharpening his blade, and spending time with Liriel and their son. He still practiced the swordplay he had spent so many years perfecting, but now he did it with purpose, each swing a reminder that his family needed him to be strong, not just for himself, but for them.

Life had been difficult, yes. The loss of his former life, the past he had once known, weighed heavily on his mind. But now he found solace in the arms of his family, and he had given up any hopes of a different fate. He had learned that peace was fleeting, but love, however fragile, could endure.

On this day, Taranis was making his usual journey to trade with the Lossoth people. The Lossoth were a hardy and proud people who lived in the icy tundra, known for their skills in hunting and fishing. The village he visited was small, but it was a place of commerce for those who called the icy wastes home. Taranis had been to the village countless times before. He knew the traders, spoke with them as equals, and exchanged his goods for the necessities he could not find in Forodwaith. But there was something in the air that felt different today—something unsettling.

Liriel had kissed him goodbye before he left, her silver hair gleaming in the pale sunlight as she held their son close. Maedhros, her miniature image with silver hair and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean, had hugged his father before he left, his small arms a strong embrace, full of affection and pride. Taranis had smiled, a flicker of hope filling his heart.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Taranis arrived at the Lossoth village, his horse's hooves crunching over the thick snow, and the weight of his cloak heavy against the wind. As usual, he made his way to the market square, where the traders were setting up their goods, preparing for the day's barter. He nodded to a few of the familiar faces, but his mind was elsewhere.

His thoughts were with Liriel and Maedhros, wondering if they were safe at home, surrounded by the cold but comforting familiarity of their cabin. A shadow crossed his mind, but he pushed it aside. There was nothing to worry about. The Lossoth were peaceful, even if they were often wary of outsiders.

But the silence of the village was shattered when the first scream echoed through the market.

Taranis's instincts kicked in immediately, and he drew his sword, the weight of Anguirel a reassuring presence in his hand. He moved swiftly toward the source of the noise, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw it.

A group of men—bandits, Taranis recognized immediately—rushed toward the village center. They were armed with crude axes and knives, their faces obscured by the snow-dusted hoods they wore. These were not ordinary thieves; they were professional mercenaries, and their eyes were cold, calculating.