[Daniel Telcontar]

Durelin's post, for Snyd:

"You must realise, none of us have planned to return."

Snyd shivered, roughly swallowing the dried venison he had so greedily grabbed, at the elf's words. There was no fear in his voice, no bitterness, and that was what caused the sickly cold that had ran down his back and his arms. He was sure that he felt the tingling of every hair standing on end. How anyone could be so ready to die was completely unimaginable to Snyd, as he had always valued his life so greatly. Survival had been what he planned his life around. Never had he been cautious, really, but he had also placed his well being above all else many years ago. And it still sat there, of course, governing his actions from the highest seat of his mind.

His mind raced now, fear pounding in his mind. Though his heart had certainly been pounding even before their elven ambushers had made their presence known, this fear was that which overcame a man faced with death. Overcame a man such as Snyd, at least, a man unlike those who sat around him.

Snyd swallowed the venison and choked as it scratched the back of his throat as the dried piece went slowly down. His wild coughing brought a hard slap from Jaheira. When the coughs finally subsided, when Snyd was able to determine that he was all right, he looked at the woman in wonder. He was a man unlike any person who sat around him; he had been mistaken. Jaheira's face was as grimly set as the elf's.

For at least the hundreth time in the past few minutes, Snyd found himself in wonder of people he thought he knew. These people were strangers; he had not traveled with them, fighting for survival, caring not about others, about this much talked about honor. He remembered watching the embrace of Jaheira and Vlad, and so remembered the one evil eye of Vlad staring him down when he sat too near her. He found himself looking for a way out. His eyes swept the surroundings, finding nothing but trees, seemingly filled with elves and men in armour, preparing for war. For war! They had to get out of here. He glanced at Vlad and Jaheira. He had to get out of here.

Snyd sat shivering for another moment, and then reached for more food. With a shaking hand it took him longer than expected to place some in his pockets and belt pouch discreetly. He looked once more to Vlad and Jaheira, and scanned those around him once more for any other familiar face. Finding none, his decision was made. Snyd rose, and staring into the one eye of Vlad, defiantly, holding the man's gaze longer than he had ever found the strength to hold it before, he ran.

"Stop him!" someone yelled, and Snyd pressed harder, then found himself searching for the belt knife they had taken as a hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the ground. Hitting the forest floor, he quickly scrambled away from his pursuer. But as the man rose from his own fall and turned to look down at Snyd, Snyd felt his mind seize again in fear, and so he lay paralyzed for what seemed too long a time for anyone to bear, hearing only his own breathing.

"Let him go," a voice said, calmly and sadly. So calmly that it took Snyd a moment to recognize the voice as belonging to Melost. He now had one thing to thank the elf for. It was unfortunate, and yet fortunate beyond comparison. Those three words became a command that must be obeyed, and immediately Snyd was able to rise only to turn and run, fear driving him with a steeled whip.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Daniel Telcontar's post for Khalad:


The young Númenorean held his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword as they marched forward, a gesture intended to show how much at ease he was. And in truth it did to those who looked closely, for his hand shook slightly and had he spoken, it would have been in a similar manner. It was not because that they were marching towards a battle; he had fought enough times not to be affected by that anymore.

Nay, it was the knowledge of how close he was now to redemption. He had been promised that if he fought with valour today, he could return to Pelargir with his head held high and without feeling shame. Today was the day when he would forge legends and epic tales, he felt that in his heart. Switching from his left to his right hand upon the sword hilt, he heard the noise of the battle and as they walked up a little hill, the armies came into vision.

Thelian:
The joy that was supposed to follow with such a reunion that Thelian and Melost had experienced, did not linger. Thelian felt now only deep fear of what the battle would bring. So many dark words had been spoken that Thelian had begun to believe them, and a shadow of foreboding was upon him. Everything seemed an ill omen to him, the shrieking of a crow heralding doom in his ears.

His Elven blade was already unsheathed and rested nervously in his hand. Unlike Khalad, Thelian did not hide his anxiety for what the battle would bring. At last his mind found some peace in accepting that they were all in the hands of the Valar. Little could he do to affect what would happen in this epic battle, and he only hoped that his fate would ensure that he remained together with Melost. Narrowing his eyes he saw the fighting armies. The battle had begun.