[Durelin]

Khamir felt the unbridled hatred he had allowed to fester for years - a deep-rooted hatred not only of Orcs, but of the day he was born and the family he was born into, the life he was forced to lead in captivity and then as a killer and a thief, the people of the West who sat in their ivory towers and thought of him as scum like the rest of his people - he felt it rise in him, wanting to explode. He hated so much of what defined him, he was only glad it left no room for him to hate himself. It filled him up, it kept him going.

It was obvious that simple words were not going to get through to this old man who Khamir was, who these creatures were, and what the laws of Mordor were. The only sort of person who could be so concerned with hierarchies of morality was one that saw the world through eyes distorted by wealth and intellectualism: exactly the sort of condescending do-gooders Khamir had expected to come from Elessar.

If he had to endure this much longer, he would kill every one of those Orcs himself, with his bare hand, with his teeth…he would make sure they felt pain.

But before he could say more or act on his anger, Shae spoke up, and Khamir felt his eyes glue themselves to her, watching and listening to her strength. Seeing her own anger was soothing, and the man found himself smiling. She…she defended him, stood up for him. He met her eyes for a moment, and found it difficult to turn away. His focus was still on Shae even when Beloan began what would surely prove a speech.

The man had some charisma, that was sure. He put value in inspiration as a leader, something Khamir never really did. He was practical and perhaps reckless, and was accustomed to having natural purpose driving him that did not need to be justified, explained, or encouraged. He supposed Beloan was more the sort of person many of these former slaves needed.

But was he ever kissing up to those Westerners, as if they determined who may speak, who may think. And at the word ‘forgive’ and at the way his name was used, Khamir’s rage was fully renewed, and he felt like a cornered beast in a mad world, not knowing who his friends or his enemies were. The one armed man’s breaths were quick and deep, and his hand was itching to tear something apart.

And then the woman started…the brainless, spineless woman who thought she could speak to them that way, who could not stand the weight of killing even someone or something out to kill you.

They didn’t know when to stop. They would persist with their nonsense until he broke. They were provoking him.

Morons! Brutes! Their blood won’t be on my head…

Her voice was loud for one so weak. Khamir would have almost pitied her, had she not also turned her lofty, insulting tone specifically on Shae.

“You can show me as much disdain as you please in your self-righteousness,” he exploded at Athwen, “and you can call me all the names a child would, but you do not insult my…my people! Shae speaks like a hardened warrior because she is one, and an excellent one at that. You watch your own tongue, girl!”

Suddenly Khamir felt a hand grasp his arm not roughly but tightly, and he turned to see Adnan staring up at him. The one armed man froze in surprise, and in that moment the younger man spoke softly.

“And how does vengeance feel?”

~/*\~

“Enough!” Aiwendil shouted with even more power in his voice than when he had spoken to Khamir. “We will decide this as people and not as animals. It is left up to us all, no one can avoid the responsibility of this decision…and so I call for a vote.”

As the old man called first for those who wished to spare the Orcs’ lives and then for those who thought they should be killed, Khamir watched those around him with a troubled mind. Holding up his hand as part of the second group, he did not need to count to know the verdict. But he could not feel smug. No, this was not the sort of battle that had a winning side.

“Sense prevails,” he muttered to Adnan.

“Then it is death,” Lindir announced, for Aiwendil stood in silence.