[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

Despite the sheets of rain, which had covered him through out the night, and despite too, his own conviction that he simply could not rest while the orcs remained in the camp, Carl had slept as soundly as one of the many stones that lay strewn on the dirt of Mordor. So deep was that slumber, after the tumult of the last several days, that the hobbit slept far into the morning, curled up on the modest heap of items he had scavenged in the night, as if he were some utilitarian dragon that lay guarding its hoard. Azhar had done her best to wake him, so that he might be present when the group discussed the hard decisions that faced them, but he had waved her away with drowsy irritation, not realizing fully who she was, or indeed where he was. Folding his arms about himself, it was only when he rolled painfully onto his side that he again remembered the orcs that had stealthily crept into camp at night. That, he recalled, hadn't been a dream. The hobbit's eyes snapped open, and he heard the growing rumble of voices, with the familiar tone of Aiwendil's rising above the them. The old fellow had found them again!

Carl tried to spring to his feet, but found that every inch of his body ached as he rose stiffly, listening to the istar's discourse from a distance. Hearing the old man's tale of the olog-hai, he soon forgot his discomfort. Olog-hai? It was a word he had never heard, though it was not long before he substituted the word troll for them in his mind. Sun hardy, great lumbering trolls, and a bumper crop of them! Well now, if it isn't one thing, it's another! he muttered as Lindir stepped forward to add his thoughts on the matter.

Listening with interest, the hobbit was heartened to hear the elf propose that they carry the orcs away, to leave them unarmed on the plain south of here. Glad not only because he did not trust the orcs, but because it restored his confidence in Lindir. Last night in his weary agitation, the hobbit had been none to sure that the elf was in his right senses when he kept the men from dispatching the orcs while the creatures were in their stupor. But now that Carl himself had slept, he saw how shameful it would have been to kill the orcs when they had been given no cause to attack them. It weren't as if they were a war on, now was it? Still, he didn't care to share camp with them. No good would come of it. War or no war orcs weren't to be trusted, not in the least, and the sooner that they were sentoff, the better. Lindir was right.

Just as the hobbit began feeling contented with the plan, one of the men at the edge of the crowd stood up, and Carl saw that it was that grim fellow Khamir. He had been sitting with Adnan and Vŕor, the latter of whom seemed presently to be dozing. Overjoyed to see his friend the dwarf with the others, not in some sickbed, Carl worked his way over to him, even as Khamir strode forward to address the group. But he had no time to ask Adnan how the dwarf was doing, for Khamir's words stung him soundly. “Strider's wishes don't apply in this land?” the hobbit muttered, scornfully. “That's fool's talk, ...and Strider ain't no fool!” Carl glanced quickly over to Adnan wondering if the lad felt the same way as Khamir, and then forced himself to concentrate on the man's words again. He certainly didn't mince them, but he did have a point. If they let the orcs loose, yes they might cause mischief to someone else. Carl felt as if there had to be a balance here somewhere, but he was quite confounded. And his confusion was replaced by repugnance once Khamir suggested keeping the orcs to appease the Olog-hai. As much as he disliked the creatures, the sheer cruelty of the idea was alien to him, and he felt fleetingly thankful for the King's insight in barring men from the Shire. But reading Athwen's face, he was reassured that not all of mankind stored up their bitterness in a heart of stone. And so the hobbit hung his head, worried what sort of decision might be reached by such a group as this one, and if he'd be bound to follow it.