Board Thread:Fan Fiction/@comment-26295802-20170429172351

The rains have come again to Linhir. The thunder rolls, and the rains pour until there is nothing left of farm, or forest, or road. Nothing left in the entire world, but mud.

The soldiers of Dol Amroth looked so proud and indomitable marching out of the Swan City, in all their orderly lines and shining armour. Now they struggle through the endless brown muck, their gilded blue surcoats coated in filth, their chainmail caked with mud. Imrahil stands silently amid the mud and muck, rain dripping from his helm, the beautiful gull feathers on his helm filthy and drooping. Behind him, his soldiers straggle on in sloppy formation, trying to keep some semblance of order. Bowmen attempt to keep their precious bows above the water,  men-at-arms hold their swords over their heads in hopes of preventing rust, Swan Knights, forced to dismount into the knee-deep mud, try to help their priceless mounts across the field.

But suddenly they hear the braying of trumpets and the splashing of horse hooves: Their enemy has come.

The foes they faced were a huge army of Southrons, mostly Umbarians under the command of Lord-king Veauntur Eldarion. The enemy army had landed on the Eastern coast of Dor-en-Ernil and for weeks had been playing cat-and-mouse with the forces of the prince, burning villages then disappearing into the forest. But now the Southrons saw their chance, and took on the prince's army in true combat.

The battlefield was once a huge farm field, but it was made into a wetland by weeks of heavy rainfall. Huge ponds of stagnant water were almost three feet deep, with much more mud that swallowed men like quicksand. It was in this place that the forces of Imrahil were ambushed.

The rain poured so hard that it was hard to even see anything. The only thing they heard was a Southron battle-horn before they were engaged in battle. Indeed, battle doesn't seem a descriptive word for it. It was a massacre, a route. Imrahil's army was completely unprepared, unorganized, and at the disadvantage. But the mud made retreat next to impossible. Southron spears and arrows flew down on the prince's force almost as thick as the water.

Travian stood atop a hill, casually brushing off an arrow that had lodged itself in his surcoat and almost pierced him.

"This isn't war, it's a rampage!" exclaimed Imrahil, his eyes wide. "Travian, if we have even the slightest chance of getting our army out intact, we need a solid rearguard. I need you to round up all the men you can, and try to form a defensive line in those trees up ahead."

Travian saluted and ran down the hill towards the chaos below.

"Eredan!" Continued Imrahil, turning, "We need to stall. By Eru, we need to stall. I don't care if it's thirty seconds, I need all the time you can give me. Take the Swan Knights and see if you can cause some kind of flanking maneuver. Anything that will keep them from hunting our men like rabbits."

Eredan saluted, and ran down the other side of the hill. Imrahil sadly shook his head, observing the utter destruction of his army. Taking it on himself to try and form some kind of centre, he quickly called a handful of Swan Knights to his side, and marched down the hill towards the thick of the battle. Imrahil drew his sword, and carefully wiped it off with the only clean part of his surcoat. Then, with a yell, he personally led the charge into the enemy forces. There he fought alongside his men, driving back the enemy warriors, at least for a few moments. It gave his men time to rally, to regroup. For probably about a half of an hour he fell into the endless rhythm of swordplay and fighting. But suddenly, he heard Travian's voice from behind him.

"Sir!" exclaimed Travian. His arm was dripping with crimson and wrapped in part of his surcoat as a makeshift tourniquet.

"Travian!" shouted Imrahil, "I thought I told you to stay at the rear!"

"There is no rear!" replied Travian frantically, "The Umbarians flanked us from both sides! We're completely surrounded!"

No sooner had he said this then Eredan came running in, his head bandaged.

"Eredan, your Swan Knights were supposed to protect the flanks! Where are they??"

<p class="MsoNormal">"Sir, I regret to inform you, they're lying face-down in the mud."

<p class="MsoNormal">"Fine, fine! We'll make due with what we have! Travian, take your division, and-"

<p class="MsoNormal">"Sir, I don't think you understand." interrupted the squire, "Imrahil, I no longer have a division."

<p class="MsoNormal">Imrahil sighed, trying to comprehend the situation.

<p class="MsoNormal">"We need to form a salient." he said at last, "We need to pull every single soldier and make one last try to fight our way out. For death or glory!"

<p class="MsoNormal">Travian and Eredan saluted and went off to carry out the order. At last there was the mighty call of a silver trumpet, and all the soldiers of Dol Amroth concentrated their forces and made one last charge into the Umbarian lines. Surprised by the ferocity and suddenness of the movement, the Southrons were caught off guard, and for just a moment, they wavered and fell back. That was all Imrahil needed. Charging across the muddy field as fast as they could, they drove through to the forest and broke free of the encircling enemies.

<p class="MsoNormal">The Umbarians were too tired and loaded down with plunder to pursue, and so what little remained of the Dol Amrothian force were free to retreat over the Hills of Tarnost.

<p class="MsoNormal">Two days latter, ragged and beaten, the exhausted soldiers of Dol Amroth marched back through the gates of their city. They were covered head-to-to with mud and blood, and they were loaded down with all the wounded they had tried to carry off the field. Imrahil the so-called Magnificent faced one of the worst defeats in the history of Gondor. The Prince himself had been injured during the last charge, and his wound was infected. The soldiers of Dol Amroth, who had looked so indomitable when they first marched out in their shiny armour and blue banners, now marched home in total humiliation and defeat.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p class="MsoNormal">Their prince was nearly dead, their soldiers were massacred, and a fresh Umbarian army was now on its way towards Tirith Aear itself. Things looked very bleak indeed for Dol Amroth. Things were looking desperate. But it is in such circumstances that the truly great men show their valor. It is in such circumstances that heroes are born. <ac_metadata title="The Battle of The Fields of Gilrain"> </ac_metadata>