The Fellowship of the Fourth Age (Part 1): A New Beginning RPG

[Nogrod]

Hadith

Hadith was totally baffled of what had happened. He couldn’t understand Khamir’s decision at all, but even less could he believe his ears about some of the reactions to Khamir’s speech. He glanced at Adnan just to find another pair of confused eyes. Before he had time to actually realise what he was doing, he had already drawn his sword and raised it over his head.

“Fellows, listen!” he shouted from the bottom of his lungs. Hadith was no public speaker. His voice was far from the bellowing of an army general or the soothing tenderness of a rhetorician’s stream of words, but he sounded loud, honest and intense enough to catch the ears of everyone else around.

“Before now, I have not thought why I’m here. I have just followed you others to where you go. Maybe we could be some elsewhere, but I haven’t questioned our path even once... and neither have I heard anyone else to complain about our direction in public!” Hadith’s voice was clearly raising in pitch towards the end of the sentence. But slowly and surely he was getting a hang of what he was thinking about the situation: he started realising it.

“We should act like free men, responsible of our own actions! But that also means we can’t blame anyone else of our decisions. If I follow someone as a free man, it’s my choise and it is I who takes the consequences then...” Hadith draw breath, just not knowing how his words would be received.

“But now, I’m beginning to use my freedom!” he shouted, in a more confident tone. “I will make my choice as a free man not to join the suicidal party of Khamir! You go if you wish, that’s your free choice, but we need people to help the wounded and the elderly... to help us all!” With that Hadith felt he had used all his resources but the silence was demanding him to go still forwards.

“Let us not act as slaves anymore! We are used to do as we are told, being all so ready to blame others if something goes wrong. Let Khamir do as he wishes, but let us others come up with a defence for the rest of us. We maybe forced to fight tonight! I intend to be ready for that... we need a plan...”

Hadith left his beautiful Easterling sword to fell down. He was empty.

For a moment there was no sound around.

[Brinniel]

Shae felt her face turn red with anger, highly offended by the dwarf's reference to the word "slaves."

Slaves?! Is that how these people will always consider us? As helpless slaves? If that were true, then why are we still alive and free?

Shae was quick to make a comment in defense, yet she realized that the dwarf was right. It wouldn't be long before the slavers headed towards her camp, and this time they would not simply be after two children. Without any further argument, the woman followed the others away from the slavers' camp.

Looking around at this strange new company, Shae couldn't help but to feel relieved. Not only had the two children been rescued, but she discovered she had been right all along. The Fellowship had come for them after all. Grinning privately to herself, she couldn't wait to see the look on Khamir's face when she would return to the camp with the children and the Fellowship in tow.

Joren, you would be proud of me.

Her brother had always encouraged her to stand up for what she believed in. He used to always speak his mind and help other slaves in trouble, no matter the consequence. Though he never said it, Shae knew Joren wished for her to have the courage to stand up for herself. But as the quiet sibling, she lacked the bravery to do so. So instead, Joren would fight her battles for her. Such actions was what ultimately led to his death. Shae hated herself for this- making her brother think he needed to always protect her. She knew that secretly Joren had longed for them to escape and find their family, but her timid behavior held him back.

He didn't think I was strong enough.

And perhaps this was true. After all, it took her brother's death to find the courage and will to escape on her own. If only that weren't so. Sometimes, Shae imagined her life as a free woman with Joren still alive. He would be the leader, not Khamir. And he would use his high spirits to keep up the morale of the others, always thinking about them before making decisions. That's how it should be for the ex-slaves. And yet, consumed by depression and stilling lacking in courage, Shae had refused to assume any sort of leadership position. After all these years, it took until tonight for Shae to stand up for what she believed in. If only Joren had seen her tonight- if he could see what she was capable of- she knew he would be proud. Seeking comfort from the memory of her brother, her hand reached for her chest, searching for the familar metal....

Shae stopped suddenly in her tracks, her face hot and stricken. Her hands grasped at her bare neck, search for something that was no longer there. Her heart skipped a beat and everything seemed to freeze.

Where is it?

Noticing the woman had stopped, the others halted as well.
"What's the matter?" the boy inquired.
It took several blinks and a hard swallow before Shae could respond. "I...I have to go back."
"Why?" This time it was Lindir who spoke up.
The woman had trouble finding the right words. "It...it's gone...my necklace....I...I can't....I have to go back....find it...."

Trailing off, Shae didn't even wait for the others to respond. Instantly, she was off in a sprint, heading towards the slavers' camp. Within seconds, the elf tackled her, pulling her backwards. The woman resisted his firm grip, kicking and hitting at his arms- anything to pull away. She yelled at him, cursing incoherent words. Immediately the elf's hand went to her mouth, attempting to muffle the cries and prevent drawing unwanted attention. After what seemed like several minutes, Shae slowly gave up on resisting Lindir, realizing he was too strong for her.

Tears streaming down her cheeks and short of breath, Shae struggled to put out a few last words of resistance.
"Please," she cried. "I have to go. It...it's imporant to me."
As the woman lay limp in his arms, the elf softened his grip. "I'm sorry," he spoke softly, "I know what you have lost must have been important, but it is not worth your life. If you go back, the slavers will see you and you will put yourself as well as the rest of us in jepoardy. I cannot let you go back there."
Shae nodded slowly, knowing his words were true. Lindir let go of the woman and she turned towards him, wiping away her tears. She stared into his eyes and spoke confidently. "Very well. Then let us keep going."
Lindir placed one hand on Shae's shoulder- a sign of condolence- before turning around and walking away. Shae and the others followed.

Shae continued with her head hung low, feeling rather sick to her stomach.
"What was it of....your necklace?" The woman looked down to her right only to find the halfling staring up at her.
Shae shot her head forward again, hesistating before finding a response. "It...it was an emblem...of the White Tree," she answered softly. "But that's not what made it important. It belonged to my brother. It's really the last evidence I had of him."
"I'm sorry." Shae could tell by his tone that the halfling was trying to be as understanding as possible. "Maybe...maybe you lost it before you reached the slavers' camp. We could look for it, you know, on our way back to your camp." He glanced up at her hopefully.
"Maybe," the woman responded. "But I doubt we'll find it."

Shae appreciated the halfling's kind words, but nothing could comfort her. Just as she thought life was worth living again, she lost her most prized possession. It felt as if she had lost Joren all over again. Shae refused to cry. She had already embarassed herself once- crying a second time would only show these strangers how weak and vulnerable she was. Instead, she dug her fingernails into her palms, deep into her old wounds. Instantly, the blood began to flow, echoing the pain Shae felt inside.

[Undómë]

Brenna


Brenna worked at combing out the girl’s hair. Gwenith, and she was aptly named as her long light blond hair was just the color of ripened wheat stalks about to be harvested, scrunched her shoulders and tried not to cry out when the teeth of the comb snagged a tangle.

‘Hold still, Gwenni!’ Brenna said in a firm voice. ‘I’ve just about got the last of the rats’ nests undone. I’ll put it in a braid for you, then, and that should keep it neat and pretty, even when you sleep on it.’ Though who knew if their would be sleep for any of them this night the old woman thought.

‘Alright!’ the girl hissed through clenched teeth. She hunkered down, prepared to be brave until the battle of the tangles was done.

‘Have you heard what the men are discussing, Granny Brenna?’ Nia asked quietly, coming to sit down near where Brenna was working. Brenna shook her head ‘no’, knowing that Nia was a clever young woman who never seemed to miss what changes were brought on the breezes of camp gossip. ‘That Khamir has the idea to take a number of men and go after the ones who stole the children. But that one called Hadith has stood up and says we should prepare to fight here. He’s sure those slavers will come back to take more of us. And we should be ready for them. Not only that, but there should be enough men here to protect those not able to defend themselves.’ She looked expectantly at Brenna.

‘So, what do you think, Granny?’ another of the women asked, raising up from her bed on the ground to rest her head on her hand. ‘Are we supposed to bunch together behind the men or hide away if we can until it’s all over?’

Brenna braided the last of Gwenith’s hair and bound it securely with a strip of old cloth. ‘I don’t think we can do that, dearies,’ she answered, patting the girl on the shoulder as she did so for a job well done. ‘They’ll mow the men down like hay and take us anyway.’ She cackled a little, a grim note to it. ‘’Cept for me, of course. I’m too old. But they’ll be wanting all of you. And you know that, don’t you?’

The women drew nearer, nodding their heads with the cruel knowledge. ‘So what shall we do?’ Nia shivered, dreading the answer she already knew. ‘The sticks…the ones you had us gather as we traveled along; the ones we sharpened. You said they’d be good for planting sticks when we get to our new home.’

‘Yes, those sticks,’ Brenna said, looking thoughtfully at the ground. ‘And they will be good for planting our seeds. But,’ and this time she looked round the small circle of women, ‘first we’ll plant them deep as we can into those slavers’ horses and the men as ride them too. Blood the wood and kill the ones who want to drag us back to the plantations and the old life. Who will do this with me? And live to see our own crops grow in our own soil?’

There were murmurs of assent that swirled about the little group. And those who were fearful were made stronger with the promise that they would not stand alone, but that one or two of their companions would stand alongside them.

Gwenni stood up and raised her voice in a plaintive manner. She was a slight little wisp of a thing, just turned eleven summers this last spring, or so she thought as far as she could reckon. ‘What about us, Granny Brenna . . . us girls? Our planting sticks are way too short. Those slaver-men have longer arms than us . . . and . . .’

Brenna tugged on the girl’s braid and smiled up at her. ‘You got them sharp stones don’t you? The black ones from along the glassy-bedded stream.’ Gwenni nodded her head, her face lighting up as her hand dipped into the tattered pocket of her breeches. She fetched out the cloth bag she’d fashioned from the sleeve of some old tunic. And with a smile drew out the well-used leather sling she used for hunting little animals and lizards. Others of the younger girls had gathered near Gwenni, their soft voices excited with the discovery that they, too, could lend their hands against the bad men.

‘Keep your sticks and slings handy, my friends,’ Brenna told the small group. ‘And why don’t we all just get what rest we can. We’ll sleep together here.’ She looked about the group. ‘And one of us should keep watch for a while, then wake me and I’ll take over for the next bit. Nia, can you do that? Sun’s rise can’t be that far away.’

She motioned for the women and girls to lay out their cloaks or blankets, their sticks and slings close beside them. Nia moved to a small rocky outcropping and hunkered down on the stony surface to take up the watch.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Carl

This land was hard, and the people inhabiting it appeared tough, like the plants that grew here. Even the eyes of animals, the dim lamps of the night, today struck Carl as strange and rather unnerving. In truth, he felt as if he had lived all his life as a blind man and deaf as well. Surely, all the hardships in Lotho’s day, and even when Sharkey had the Shire in his grip, didn’t compare to what these people had endured for years on end. Never were hobbit families torn apart and children cast into lockholes like this - not that he didn’t suspect Sharkey would have tried such tactics, had he been around a bit longer.

But Shae’s tears had been bitter ones and Carl saw that despite her bravery she had not a callous heart. Still nothing seemed simple here, and his “I’m sorry” had sounded so very thin and insubstantial, against the sadness of her confession. He guessed that it wasn’t just the necklace; it was her brother himself that Shae felt she had lost. What else would have brought about the silent tears in one so seemingly fearless?

Remembering Dorran’s explanation of the stone Athwen found, Carl withdrew it from his pocket, holding it thoughtfully in his fingers. Such symbols and tokens were made for family members that had been wrenched away. For remembrance, he had said. The necklace Shae lost, had held the emblem of the White Tree, and on the stone was a tree also! Perhaps Shae had made it to remember her brother by, or to leave as a sign for him? Carl wondered briefly if she would be angry with him for having carried it away from that place. And he fancied too, that however unlikely, perhaps the brother she missed might have left it for her. And that she might smile to see it.

Carl held the stone out to the woman. “We found this stone near the caves, and I’m thinking it might mean something to you, seeing as it has the White Tree on it. Not as good as finding your necklace I’m afraid, but have you seen it before?”

Shae wiped her hands on her clothes before taking the stone in her fingers, holding it up to examine it in the moonlight. “No,” she said, with a wistful trace of a smile as she turned to look at the hobbit. “Even still, such things are not uncommon. Perhaps one of the newcomers to our group made it, leaving it at that camp.” She hesitated, looking again at the stone. And following her gaze, Carl saw a single drop of dark blood trace its way over the side of her palm.

“You are hurt!” he said reaching up to point out the droplet to her.

But the woman awoke quickly from her study, returning her hands to her sides before he had the chance. “It is not a new wound, but does not heal well,” she stated matter-of-factly. And Carl felt from her voice as if suddenly some great-uncharted distance had arisen between them. Had he said something amiss? “May, I keep this?” Shae asked, unexpectedly.

Now if a slender lifeline had been thrown to the hobbit in dire need, he would scarcely have been quicker to grab at it. “Why certainly you may,” he said without thinking things though, while at the same time trying to recollect the stone’s markings in his mind eye. He could not believe he would hand the thing over so easily, but was pleased to find that he carried a clear picture of it in his head. And so he removed the teeth of self-reproach, knowing that he remembered the stone well enough, though he dreaded letting Miss Athwen know of his gifting it away. Still, he must brave any tongue-lashing the gentle healer might choose rightfully to give, and let her know too, about Miss Shae’s hand.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The journey west across the plain proved uneventful. The walkers did not glimpse even a single rider who had been sent out to gather information or prevent them from making their escape. With all the noise and confusion that had taken place in camp, and so many horses still needing to be rounded up, the slavers were apparently resigned to waiting for the next day until they attacked. Lindir did not doubt that this attack would come; it was simply a question of when. Likely, it would take place under cover of darkness, yet the elf could not discount the possibility that the attackers might get impatient and plan their assault for earlier in the day. Either way, time was of the essence. Whatever the fellowship and the slaves were going to do, it had to be done quickly. There would be no time for indecision or argument. For the third time that night, Lindir mentally corrected his choice of words. There were no "slaves" here, only free men who had been wrongfully imprisoned and horribly abused.

The band slowly wound its way to the base of the small hill where Athwen and the others waited, Lindir walked by himself, lost deep within his own musings as he tried to mull out what to do. It seemed they had two choices: to attempt to rouse the camp and flee, heading north as quickly as they could, or to stand and fight. He knew what choice he preferred, and did not doubt that his other companions felt the same, even as tired and depleted by injury as they were. A group ofsome sixty slaves, one that included children and elders, and one where everyone was on foot, could not possibly outrun a band of thirty horsemen whose specialty was rounding up human flesh.

The more serious question involved the slaves. Would they understand the danger they were in, and be willing to fight? He and his friends could do little on their own; the commitment had to be made by the entire group.

That word "slave"... There it was again, Lindir acknowleged with a private groan. They had better get rid of those words and images, or it would drag them all under. The escaped slaves were men, no more and no less, and they deserved to be recognized as such.

Aiwendil was the first to spy the returning party and come running down the hill, waving his hand in greeting. Lindir assured him they had not been followed and then listened as the istar explained how the wounded were doing. "Not that it was easy for Athwen, mind you," Aiwendil pointed out. "She can not even light a fire to prepare the healing potions she needs".

"All the more reason then that we get out of here quickly. One more thing. Can you tell me anything more about Dorran? How bad is the injury?" Lindir pressed, loathe to lose the fighting skills of the only member of the group who had actually led men into battle.

"A broken rib. Nothing worse. He is rested and on his feet, but there'll be no heavy swordplay for him. Not if Athwen gets her way." The elf scowled at this piece of news. Athwen had an excellent reputation as a healer and would only recommend such a limitation if she felt it was truly necessary. Lindir was not about to challenge her judgment, but the loss would be felt.

"We must be on our way. Could you ask Athwen to take a quick look at Kwell and Shae. She is the woman who helped Dorran. Carl mentioned that she had an injury, and I know the young man has been though great hardship, although he does not complain. After that, we'll set out. There's much to be decided yet, and we won't have any answers till we get to the camp. Have people double up on the horses so no one has to walk. Best tell Athwen to put the young girl with her, since she seems to be the one who is having the most difficulty."

Lindir started to climb the hill but then looked back and added, "I almost forgot.. Aiwendil, could you speak quietly to the others and ask them not to voice or even think the term "slave"? Call these people free men, call them rebels, whatever they prefer, but I don't want us to brand a man with the same label that the Dark Lord tried to pin on him. I'll be back to help you with the horses in a minute. I have an idea I want to try out on Dorran."

[Durelin]

Khamir

Remembering when he had first learned Hadith’s name, Khamir’s eyes were locked on the young man. Eighteen years old, but he had the emotional strength one might expect from someone much older. The older man had always thought of himself as a weathered veteran, having seen and done much more than a young one such as Hadith had. But he had underestimated him once. How long had the boy been a slave? True, he could be naïve at times, but only in an idealistic sort of way, and not a foolish sort of way, that was quite refreshing.

“I will make my choice as a free man not to join the suicidal party of Khamir!”

Those words were like a stab through the heart. “Suicidal party?” Khamir and his gang had raided huge plantations without losing a single man before. Suicidal? What did this boy think? They weren’t out to be heroic – the plan wasn’t to run in and slaughter the bounty hunters. That would be suicide. But the one-armed man hadn’t given up on living the two years he had been a slave, nor the nineteen years he had been struggling for survival in Mordor as a supposed “free man.” Dying a true free man was not even something the man looked forward to.

Khamir spat, but said nothing, listening to the rest of what the boy had to say.

“Let Khamir do as he wishes, but let us others come up with a defense for the rest of us. We maybe forced to fight tonight! I intend to be ready for that... we need a plan...”

The Southron man glanced at Beloan, who could only stare back at him. The former gang leader shook his head, knowing no other way to show his disappointment. Here was the idealist. In his self-righteousness and head-in-the-clouds ways, he forgot that his feet were stuck on the ground, on accursed ground, on ground that had soaked up the Dark Lord’s evil for millennia.

As if this bunch could defend itself from behind two-foot thick stone walls…

But they were not his concern right now.

“You wish to join their defense council?” he asked Beloan, bitingly sarcastic. The other man still made no answer.

Khamir turned away from him, and stalked off further from the camp, his hand reaching into his bag to retrieve one of his throwing knives. He gripped it while it was still concealed by the ragged cloth, and removed it swiftly and yet carelessly, flinging it to come to rest with a thud in a small, sickly looking tree: a sapling that had been bold enough to attempt to grow tall above the plains of Mordor, but was struck down by its disease, an invisible sickness with no physical symptoms but that still ended in death and destruction.

Suddenly he felt something crunch under his feet, and he felt something hard even through his boots. Removing his foot from it, he crouched down to see what it was. Moonlight glinted off metal, and Khamir quickly slipped the necklace into his bag.

That woman…

He would go alone if he had to.

[Tevildo]

Child's post for Lindir

Lindir reached inside his satchel and pulled out a small leather bag full of tobacco. Then he handed Dorran a wooden pipe with a wide flattened bowl, took another for himself, and gestured for the man of Rohan to sit beside him on the ground. The pair smoked in silence for a while, lying on their backs and staring up at the stars. These had come out from behind the clouds and heavy mists so that they were clearly visible for the first time that evening.

Finally, Lindir sat up and spoke, “A moment to rest and think….sometimes it can be a precious thing. But who would believe it, even in these times? An Elf and a Man sitting and smoking Longbottom Leaf in the middle of a Mordor plain.” Lindir sent a thin steam of smoke out from his lips in a curlicue fashion and glanced over at his friend to explain, “Carl gave me this when we started. I’ve been saving it for the right time.”

“The right time?” echoed Dorran in a puzzled tone. “I know of no reason for celebration. We have taken only one small step and still have many to go.” The man stared across the glade to where his wife was working on those who had been injured.

“No reason to celebrate yet. That is true. But there may be other reasons for two friends to share a pouch of Longbottom.” Lindir gave Dorran a sidewise glance and then plunged ahead. “I find it helps if I sit down and have a smoke before I do something that I find very difficult. Actually, I was thinking that you might want to keep that pipe with you and fill it with tobacco for when we come into the camp later tonight.”

“You are trying to tell me something? Even a thick headed soldier can see that. What is it that you would like me to do? I am afraid I can not help much with a sword or bow right now.”

“Yes, I heard. Aiwendil told me. I am just glad it was no worse. And though I would love to have your fighting arm, your knowledge of strategy and traps and ways to deceive an attacker may prove just as valuable. Still, that wasn’t what I was talking about.”

There was another moment of silence between them while Lindir struggled to find the right words. “You are the only one among us who has actually done what these men are setting out to do: to escape from the heavy burden of being a slave and find a way to build a life. Somehow I think that what you say could mean much more than anything I or the others could offer. I can tell these men and women I grieve for what they have been through and that I believe in their ability to forge a new path. But coming from me, those are just words. But if you could talk and honestly tell them how it was for you and your sister, perhaps they would listen not just with their heads but with their hearts. I am not sure I should ask you to do this. Speaking before a group of strangers is one thing, but speaking about that part of your past will not be easy.”

Lindir stared down at the ground remembering the day that he had been asked to appear before the White Council and talk about the years he had spent serving under Celebrimbor, a time in his life which had had such calamitous results. He had not found that easy; nor would it be easy for Dorran.

[Folwren]

Kwell felt surprising relief when they came to their stopping place. He had feared being stopped by the slavers, attacked and forced to fight. He said nothing about it and he hated the fear. It was childish to be afraid, he thought. But, at least now, they were safe.

Lindir stopped to speak with the old man. For a few moments, they stood with their heads together, then Aiwendil came away from Lindir and approached Kwell and Shae, who stood together, uncertain of what to do or where to go.

“Come with me,” he said. “You are Shae? Lindir told me that you had an injury?” Shae made a very slight inclination of her head. Aiwendil turned and led the two of them to where Athwen stood by her packs, speaking to Carl. She turned towards Aiwendil as the elderly man approached and as he began to speak, she nodded and looked towards Shae and Kwell.

“Yes, I know. Carl just told me about it.” She stepped forward towards the two new comers. “Welcome, both of you. We don’t have very much time, but I will do what I can now. You are hurt, I understand?” she asked, looking directly at Shae.

Shae quickly put her hands behind her back. “See to Kwell first,” she said, taking a step back. “I can wait. He might be more damaged than I.”

Athwen smiled a little and she looked at Kwell. He stood a little shorter than she and his face, so hardened and stern that it held no mark or sign of boyishness, brought out her easily stirred pity. Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder. He drew back, twisting his body so she couldn’t reach him. She drew back in surprise. The gesture had been meant in friendship and encouragement, but he hadn’t accepted it. Athwen nearly gasped with the shock of being rejected, but quickly she shut up her feelings.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly and then asked him if there was anything she could help him with.

“No, nothing,” Kwell answered shortly.

“Were you hurt at all when the slavers took you back?” The boy shook his head. “Can I see if you have any sort of fever? You’ve been with Azhar a long time and if whatever is causing the fever can be caught by you, I’d like to know if you’ve got it.”

“I’m not sick,” Kwell said stubbornly.

Athwen shook her head and pursed her lips, her hand reached instinctively towards his forehead, but he tilted his head back and pushed her hand away. She sighed in defeat. It was no use whatsoever to work on a patient who wouldn’t be worked on. She’d watch him closely, though, and if she saw anything that indicated any sort of injury or sickness, she’d check on him, whether he liked it or not.

“Very well. If you’re hungry or thirsty, tell Carl and he’ll get you some bread or water. Later, hopefully, we’ll have something warm to give you.” She smiled at him and he turned away. She shrugged at his back and turned to Shae. “Now, I can help you,” she said.

[Brinniel]

Shae stared back at Athwen, her hands still hidden behind her back. The last thing she wanted was a stranger to examine her self-inflicted injuries. She had been careless, letting the halfling see her hands. Shae couldn't help but reprimand herself for such foolishness. What would these people think, if they knew the truth?

"Well, come on over," Athwen beckoned. "We do not have long."
Shae hesitated, shaking her head. "Really, I am fine. You need not waste time tending to me."
"Now, we both know that isn't so," the woman spoke kindly. "Please let me have a look. I promise I will be gentle."
Shae hesitated once more before sitting herself down next to the healer. There seemed to be no avoiding it. By refusing, she would only raise more questions and the young woman figured it'd be best to get it over with sooner than later. She opened her hands, palms up, for the healer to see.

Athwen examined the cuts on Shae's hands and wrists gently, as promised. As Shae expected, the healer looked slightly puzzled.
"These are not new wounds," she noticed.
"No," Shae replied. "They do not heal so easily."
"And why is that?"
"I work with my hands a lot. I do not give them time to heal." Shae had hoped that this answer would be enough, but the healer still stared at her hands, unsure.
"These wounds are very strange," Athwen commented. "How did you receive them in the first place?"
Shae paused, unable to find an immediate answer. Why was it this woman's business to know anyways? "I...I don't know," she stuttered. "Life has been rough on us here in Mordor. I can't remember an exact time I injured them. It most likely happened when I was on a raid, or something...."
Shae knew this was a terrible lie, and it showed on Athwen's face. The healer didn't look convinced, yet she didn't press further.

Athwen throughly cleaned Shae's mutilated hands and put some healing salves on them before dressing the wounds. After the last bandage was on, Shae bent and flexed her hands and wrists, testing their mobility. The healer had done good job bandaging; even with the dressing Shae's hands remained flexible- it almost felt as though there were no bandages on at all. For a moment, Shae almost felt grateful for Athwen's skills.
"Now, I need you to leave those bandages on for now," Athwen spoke. "They aren't too restricting, but you still need to be careful. It'll be awhile before your wounds completely heal, as an infection was already beginning to take. You are lucky I managed to take care of it before it turned into anything serious."
Shae nodded at these words and the healer responded with a warm smile.

Athwen gave the young woman a gentle pat on the shoulder before standing up and turning away, leaving Shae to sit alone. In those short moments of waiting, Shae replayed the night's events in her head. The thought of losing her brother's necklace brought back the lump at the bottom of her throat. She pulled out the stone Carl had given and studied it, letting her finger trace over the engraving. Clutching the object, Shae allowed the feeling of loneliness to slowly seep back in.

[Firefoot]

Johari sat broodingly, preferring to take a background position in the more recent happenings of the camp. Why did she really care whether they chose to rescue the children or to defend the camp? She felt no personal duty towards either. This was nothing like how she had imagined escape would be, living in one large communal group like this, trying to find that enigmatic someplace to live.

When she looked around her, she did not feel amicably towards her companions. Rather, she felt a sense of loathing or disgust at the disorganized, pettily fighting mass of human flesh that did not even know what it wanted – and she was a part of it. She had stood up and complained and been compensated as if she were one of them, and she had been satisfied if only for a short time. It all seemed so pointless. Maybe they were meant to be slaves. Maybe that was all they were fit for. She reached across her body to touch the dark brand on the back of her left shoulder, and a brief but fierce fire burned up in her again. Never. She was a fighter.

The futility of it all still loomed behind her like an abyss, the abyss that she had not even realized was there until she had finally escaped the bonds of slavery, the abyss that had pulled her in a little deeper every day that she had chosen not to fight.

Because what was the point?

Kalin.

How long had it been since she thought of him who had once governed her thoughts? Where was he now? That had been the reason: to find him. So why was she here, and not looking for him? The thoughts had a well worn feel to them; she remembered thinking them before. He was looking for her, too, of course, and news of their large group, if they could ever settle somewhere, would surely reach his ears – he would come find her then. That was why she stayed with this group.

She shook herself from her reverie to see not too far away a small circle of women sitting around an elderly woman that Johari vaguely recognized. Overhearing them without really eavesdropping, she realized they were talking about the defense of themselves so that they could someday, “see our own crops grow in our own soil.” Pretty dreams, Johari scoffed, but she nevertheless felt a wistful smile tug at the corners of her chapped lips. For their sake, she hoped it might happen; crushed hopes were a hard thing to live with. It was better to simply live by fact.

With those opposing ideas meshing peacefully in her mind without the slightest conflict, Johari spent the night in restful wakefulness, by turns dozing and watching.

[Nogrod]

Hadith

At first there were not many reactions to Hadith’s speech and that made him all the more lost. Others seemed to be as baffled as he himself was. Hadith hadn’t quite been able to follow himself anyhow. What had made him to speak out aloud, even speaking against Khamir? Well, he had defended Khamir too. What is this? What is happening? So this is freedom: not knowing what to do as you at last have the choice and you have to make it solely by yourself?

Hadith stood there, standing straight and drawing breath, deep inhales followed by as long bursts that started to make foggy patterns in the air. It was getting colder.

I’ve been a slave all my life. It’s almost like from the moment of my birth I have been a slave. I will not go back to that, even if it costs my life. I have no memory of not being a slave... What might it be, to have memories of being free? How it would help now!

Hadith took a look around. First his eyes met with Joshwan some twenty yards away from him. Joshwan nodded to him approvingly. Hadith was unsure about how to react, but nodded Joshwan back slightly. Then Joshwan turned to argue about something with Fewerth, tugging him on the shoulder. Guilledean was there too, just looking at what happened from aside.

Then Hadith met Johari sitting on her own, seemingly deep in her thoughts but looking and listening intensely at a group of women on her left. Hadith tried to hear the discussion too. It was about arming themselves and fighting with planting sticks or something. Then he heard Granny Brenna saying: “Keep your sticks and slings handy, my friends”. He didn’t hear the next sentence, but then again the following was loud and clear as Hadith had instinctively started moving towards the group. “And one of us should keep watch for a while, then wake me and I’ll take over for the next bit. Nia, can you do that? Sun’s rise can’t be that far away.”

Hadith approached the women with confidence in posture but inside he was even more baffled than he had been before. What am I doing? What am I going to say to them?

“Friends! Let’s plan together, all of us?” Hadith called the women from some ten yards away as his approach was noticed. Brenna looked him straight in the eye and Hadith started to feel even more insecure. He had learned to respect older women and Brenna really had a commanding presence. He remembered her from the camp now.

"I mean that if we all just stick together in small groups, its of no use... I mean... erm... I mean we should all hold together..."

Hadith stopped and was not sure where to lay his eyes.