[Novnarwen]

Hidden in the shadows of a green bush, some paces away from the where he had ended the poor Haradrim's life, Frôzhal lay quietly and listened to the battle continue. He watched the sun make its way downwards. Hurriedly it went, making the sky reddish all over. Wonderful, he thought grinning to himself. Yes, for it was with great satisfaction he laid here. After a successful murder and seeing Jinan being left to his poor fate, he could do nothing but smile. Little did he know, however, that the sound of the last breath Erfâzh made in this life, and the cries of pain Jinan let out, would haunt him forever.

**

It was a fact, the Gondoirans had lost, and the Poros Settlement was theirs. By this, seeing the Gondorians retreating, he finally realised that he and the Haradrims had successfully accomplished their goals. He had seen Erfâzh die, or rather, he had killed him. Jinan had been screaming to the very end, and the Poros settlement was theirs! What more was there to do now? He thought, shaking with joy. After a few minutes though, he couldn't help feeling just slightly sorry for the Gondorians, but thinking it through he realised that he was a Haradrim. He was supposed to be their enemy. Moreover, he hadn't killed many of them, so it didn't matter. After this whole affair, who knew, maybe he would get another position in the army, a better position. Collecting his sword and his other belongings and putting on his armour, he went and joined the rest of the celebrating Haradrims. All the emotions he had kept inside of him for so long, all the emotions that had arisen inside of him due to the troubles that had evolved during the last days, were surprisingly just released. He sighed, smiled and waved to Gimilzôr, who didn’t actually offer him a look. This sudden feeling of freedom, the sudden feeling of finally being in control of his own life again, made him absolutely aware of his situation. He grabbed the hilt of his sword and held it high over his head as he fell to the ground on his knees. He sat silently watching everything and everyone.

For a long while he sat there, finding comfort in his great personal victory. The two he had learned to fear during this time, were gone. They were simply gone, gone, away! He had nothing to worry about, not even his conscience; as it was quite clean. For the two of them had deserved it, so it didn't matter that he had killed one of them and left the other to be tortured to death by the Gondorians. He stood up again, but to his great surprise he found himself struggling to control his limbs. They were weak. No, just stiff. After all the effort he had put into this last battle which had finally freed him of all fears, he felt nevertheless that a big lump had found its way into his throat. Suddenly, he had difficulties swallowing. An ocean of sweat ran down his forehand and down his back. His veins turned as red and bloody as the sky was when the Sun was on its way down. A feeling of being a helpless creature, made him realise that he had got it all wrong. No matter how he turned it, he had made a terrible mistake. Again his naivety had fooled him, but he was yet to realise how he had been fooled. He stood silently, staring into the air, looking utterly miserable. Feeling the wound on his arm being filled with pain, he realised that that pain was only a fraction of the pain he felt inside of him. Why did everything he had accomplished during the last hours or so suddenly feel like a downfall to him? Being rather confused by the mixture of his feelings, which he figured he had no control over, he tried searching within himself for a satisfying answer.

You've done wrong, when thinking you've done right. Unjustly, you have taken what is not yours . . . Treachery, you have committed of the worst kind, but still you are satisfied over your deeds. Who are you really? A Haradrim in mind and heart, or a Haradrim by looks but someone else in heart and mind? For nevertheless, the deeds you have committed suits none. Treachery is not supported by any, neither Haradrims nor Gondorians.

It became clear to him what he had done in the hour of sunset. At that time, the Haradrims started looking for more survivors. Searching the battlefield, Erfâzh was found; naturally dead. Not daring to approach the body, Frôzhal went with some of the others to search for others. Time passed slowly, and few were found. Frôzhal was not at all aware of whom they were approaching now, lying on the ground. He was too caught up in his thoughts and the question, whether he ought to regret his actions or not. Killing Erfâzh had felt so good. It had felt right, and now a voice in his head, which he had never heard speak before, told him otherwise. Yes, for he had figured it out, the riddle. He walked with stern steps, looking downwards when a horrible sight met him. There, just by his very feet was the man he had respected, until Erfâzh had joined him. There he was. The smell of the dead body made him sick and he turned away in disgrace for a few moments to digest what he had just seen. There was blood everywhere, a limb or two were gone; simply cut off, dirt and sweat mixed with the smell of dried blood. He wanted to leave instantly, but it would only cause suspicion if he did. After all, he was partly guilty of this soldier's death. But he did not at all regret it, he thought to himself, still not offering the body another look.

The other Haradrims Frôzhal had followed to look for wounded soldiers, had gathered around the stinking body. A few minutes passed by when suddenly Frôzhal heard a whispering sound coming from below; the sound of something moving in the sandy ground. He wasn't able restrain himself as his curiosity arose inside of him. With a hurried movement, he turned to face the man on the ground he thought had been dead.