[GaladrieloftheOlden]

Herevion watched the battle a bit detachedly, reluctant to put himself into the fray, reluctant to feel his usual nausea at blood, reluctant to feel fear... feel... he stared forwards determinedly. He knew he had to go into the battle... he couldn't push himself out. He had duty. He had nothing else. He needed to go in- he pushed himself forward, though the effort would have seemed, to anybody watching, to have been physical, and showed itself on his face, usually so unused to any expression but his usual stony one that it seemed to creak into place as his muscles moved beneath it.

And he was in, fighting among the others, not watching, just working with his sword, mechanically, methodically. He could almost hope- just almost- that the disgust, the fear, would not come. He almost could. But the moment he thought about them, he looked up quickly, as though he expected them to sneak up on him from behind.

And it did, suddenly, as he watched another orc fall. But then it wasn't "another orc." It was another life, inferior though it seemed, and evil to the core though it may have been. Still another life. Herevion stabbed quicker now, the rhythm of his breath becoming irregular, the hits of his sword faster, more often inacurate. He dodged lower, keeping his eyes fixed on his boots until he had to raise them.

Suddenly, a leering face came towards his, knocking him backwards. As it came down towards him, he drove his sword up, pushing and twisting, and finally chopping the head clean off. It fell onto him, giving him a nasty rush of something he could not identify. He pushed himself up, or tried to, but now he was shaking, physically as well as inside. He could hardly hold his sword... he tried to hack, and must have suceeded well enough to keep the orcs away, though he did not know how. He blundered forward, something wet pouring from his eyes, not caring whether any man saw him... he reached forward, heard one of the men give a yell. Then he saw another fall. For a moment it was unreal, and then he heard the man hit the ground with a thud, blacking out, most likely.

Suddenly Herevion heard a scream, low pitched and throaty, from... somewhere. And then he realized it was he, himself, screaming, and that he was falling. He could not have gone farther from what he wanted to be than what he was now, and knew it, as he picked himself up, and crawled to the side, avoiding axes and maces in some miraculous way. He reached a bush and retched, sick till his stomach was empty. He moved to the side then, and lay down, under another bush, too exhausted too do anything, tired enough to sleep in the midst of a battle.