[Novnarwen]

Soon enough, the frightened Haradrim soldier realised that running away was probably not the best solution he could have picked. As he looked around, desperately trying to excuse his action, he couldn't seem to find a hiding spot. He was in a middle of a field; men fell before him, next to him (on each sides) and behind him. How could he have possibly thought that it was a good idea to run away? Frôzhal shrugged. Again looking around, he could see a part of his platoon and the disgraceful face of Erfâzh. He stared at him. The other Haradrim was fighting like mad with his shiny sword. Frôzhal hoped he could see him die. Hopefully some Gondorian would kill him, making it very painful. However, as he had stood dreaming of Erfâzh’s death, he became aware of a Gondorian seizing the upper part of his arm. Before he could think twice, he had lost sight of Erfâzh. Trying desperately to thrust his own sword into the Gondorian who had come charging at him, Frôzhal looked for where the armour was weakest. With great effort, he managed to push the Gondorian onto the ground. Not wanting to kill him, he beat him unconscious; hoping that no one else of the Haradrims would find him and kill him.

He turned, anxious to get his eyes on Efâzh again. The treacherous little twit was still holding off a Gondorian, but seemed, to Frôzhal's disappointment, to be doing fine. Suddenly, as Frôzhal was about to go look for a hiding place, of where he could hide until the battle died away, he remembered something. Where had he put the Gondorian knife he had found on a dead soldier when the Haradrim army had attacked the first Tower? Clenching his teeth, sweating, he came to realise that it hung steadily from his belt. He grabbed a hold of it, now desperate to get it over with. With a grimace in his face, he gave a sigh as he flung it through the air. He saw the knife glittering in the dim light, getting nearer and nearer its target. But as Frôzhal had sighed, when putting all his effort into throwing it, Erfâzh had turned and spotted him. Casting himself aside, Frôzhal's flying knife hit Erfâzh's attacker instead. Realising his mistake, Frôzhal tried to make a run for it. But Erfâzh had spotted him once again, and came darting towards him with his sword firmly in his hand.

"TRAITOR!" he called.

Frôzhal, who was very surprised by Erfâzh's reaction, managed only just to draw his own sword and meet his attacker. Both of them tried to end each other's lives with the first hit, which only resulted in both getting wounded. Frôzhal looked at the side of his arm. The feeling of pain struck him and affected him more than he could ever dream of. Having no choice however, he lifted his sword again to give Erfâzh something new to think about. Knowing that he was much stronger than the other Haradrim, he knew that he stood a pretty fair chance of surviving when his opponent was wounded. Gritting his teeth, he gave another thrust but Erfâzh protected himself easily.

"I should have known," Erfâzh said loudly, as they both advanced towards each other; blades raised again. "You've been in the lead with Gondorians, but of course I knew that . . ."

Frôzhal didn't at all like the smile Erfäzh had on his face. It was a smirk expressing all the evil he possessed in himself. It was a highly uncomfortable situation Frôzhal found himself in. Both because, he wasn't in the lead with the Gondorians, but nevertheless; he had tried killing Erfâzh, who was one of his own. If this wasn't treachery, what was? Still, Erfâzh had it coming, and there was no way he could do anything about it now. If he didn't kill Erfâzh now, Erfâzh would certainly kill him. It was impossible to have it otherwise, now as Erfâzh had seen him throw a knife at him. Unfortunately, Frôzhal had failed..

There was a loud crack as another cannon had been fired. As any other soldier, Erfâzh got distracted (just like another Gondorian Frôzhal had faced,) but this time Frôzhal didn't run.

***

A scream. A scream filled with terror, a scream filled with desperation.

Frôzhal turned around. A few paces away, a group of Gondorians had gathered. What were they doing? Again, Frôzhal had tried looking around for a hiding spot, but he thought the loud screams were highly annoying and he found it difficult to concentrate. Turning again to see what was going on, he saw some familiar boots. He cast himself to the ground, looked in between the Gondorian's feet; and there on the field in the middle of a group with attackers stood Jinan. Frôzhal looked twice. Was it really Jinan? Smirking with pleasure, he laid still to enjoy the show.

Surely, after the last days, Jinan certainly deserved what was coming. Frôzhal had thought from the very beginning that the two of them were friends, partners. He didn't know at the time though, that he and Erfâzh would go behind his back and together make his life miserable.

With a crack, Jinan fell. One of the Gondorian soldiers had beaten him, and he had falled to the ground. Now, writhing in agony, he looked desperately around to find a saving angel. Frôzhal met his eyes. Not daring to blink, feeling that he was the only person who could save Jinan, he stared. He kept staring, and Jinan returned the stare. Knowing that he was moments from a gruesome destiny, he looked at Frôzhal questioningly. Jinan's eyes were red and bleary, and seemed to lack the spirit of life. His sword lay beside him, but he seemed to be unable to grab a hold of it. Pathetic, Frôzhal thought to himself. For a long time he had looked up to Jinan, respected him. He had always seemed to know what he was doing. His skills were of great value to the army, unlike Frôzhal's lack of skills. But guess who was crying for help? Guess who was lying on the sand floor, shaking with terror? Guess who was meeting his fate now?

Frôzhal rose slowly, turned his back to the Gondorian soldiers who hadn't spotted him, and walked quickly away. Now and then, he offered his ear to listen to the voice that gave the loudest cries at the whole battle field.