My Cursed Mate Fate Of The Last Luna Heir

Year 2940 Third Age, Middle Earth.

"My Lord Arathorn! My Lord, the orcs attack us from the north. There must be at least one hundred of them. We are surrounded. I don't know how much longer we can hold out!"

"Baeron, where are my children?!"

"They were in the gardens the last time I saw them, my Lord, but that side of town has already been taken!"

A terrible fear immediately took hold of the King: he couldn't lose them, his children, his heirs, the last of his line. He knew they wouldn't win that battle. He knew by reputation Gundabad Orcs, They were ruthless beasts, trained to fight, and they were superior in numbers: it would have been impossible to defeat them. But his children had to live, they had to escape at all costs.

"Father!"

The King heard a voice calling him amid the noise of the battle.

"I'm here, father!"

That voice again. Arathorn knew well who it belonged to. It was his son, Aragorn, who was calling him. He began to run towards the child, hacking and slashing as many beasts as possible, in a desperate attempt to keep him safe. A 9-year-old boy, not used to the horrors of battle, was looking for him from a high ground in the middle of the destroyed city.

He came close to him and brought him into a breach in the walls now fallen, so that he could talk to him.

"Aragorn, you must flee..."

"But Father!"

"No, but nothing! Listen to me, kid. Take your sister and head south, follow the Misty Mountains to Rivendell. King Elrond will take care of you."

"Father I will not leave you! Not now! I can fight, you taught me!"

"No Aragorn, there's no hope for you if you stay, you cannot fight, not today. There will come a day when you will show your strength and your courage, changing the fate of history, but it's not today."

The King told his son, gently putting a hand on his shoulder.