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

[Durelin]

Khamir

He had been wrong. He had been dead wrong, about so many things. Right and wrong had seemed so simple to him for the longest time: he was right, the slaves were right, and the Orcs and all the slavers and those who worked for them were wrong. The line was never blurred, and always ran straight and true. But since they had decided on this journey to somewhere new, Khamir found himself lost somewhere in the grey, with only the black clearly on the other side, and the white yet to be found. Everyone had squabbled with each other over things that seemed simple, practical matters to the one-armed man. So many of them with the taste of freedom in their mouths seemed to already have forgotten the laws of this land, which had always been against them. There was never any goal other than survival until now. If only they could remember that it still was one, if only they hadn’t already forgotten the way they were able to escape.

His entire world was falling apart, and he felt prepared to give in to all the stubbornness within him that would force him to continue his aloofness from the others until he suddenly felt a pair of arms throw themselves around him. Khamir could only stare down at Shae’s form with surprise, and when she quickly let go, he was not of the mind to change his expression, much less voice anything he might have wanted to. He was saddened that she moved on nearly before he could blink, but thought it was probably for the best. Most likely if he had gotten any words out he would have regretted them. It seemed that was the way of things these days.

“It won't be long before the slavers arrive, ready to slaughter whoever stands in their way.”

Glancing over the motley crew known as the ‘Fellowship’ – which even included to little men whom he had to stare at quite a bit longer than the others – Khamir considered them practically doomed. But turning his head to look over the crowd of men and women and children he had traveled with for months now, his mind quickly changed. They had gathered themselves quickly, and he had to admit, they appeared a fiercer bunch than he ever thought they could, even if they were on the defensive for entirely the wrong people.

To think Gondor had come through on its promise. He glanced at Shae again, wondering if now was at all the time to apologize. Half of his attention was outward, half inward, as he tried to reconcile the two worlds. All that went on around him rushed by him too quickly for his mind to keep up with, particularly when it had just recently turned in on itself. He felt anger rise and ebb as the tide within him, pushing it down with nearly all his strength, and keeping himself from speaking up with what little remained.

Khamir felt foolish for just standing there, but perhaps that was all he should ever have done. Perhaps he should have simply stood there and listened, for once.

“They will not slaughter us,” he began in a low voice so that only Shae could hear him, and he would not interrupt any of the proceedings around him. “Things have changed, and it seems for the better.” He struggled to keep a certain amount of defeat out of his voice. This was not about him. And even if it was, he had one some kind of victory, as well. There was a short pause in which the woman searched Khamir’s eyes, and he for a moment allowed her. But he had to drop his eyes before he could speak again.

“I am sorry, Shae. I was wrong. Gondor did not fail us, you did not fail, we will not fail,” he gestured to encompass everyone, in particular all the former slaves. “I admire you,” he said suddenly after a second pause, after he could bring his eyes back up to hers, and quickly added, “your bravery.”

Turning away, a slight heat in his face confusing him, he focused on the various members of the Fellowship to dispel it quickly, watching with particular interest a man darker-skinned than the rest, and obviously of a similar origin to Khamir and many of the other slaves. What sort of man was he, to be in those others’ company, to be chosen by the King of Gondor, though he was a man of the South? A strange group, to say the least, but the one-armed man would do his best not to doubt Elessar any longer. He was obviously a good man and an excellent leader, and it was now equally as obvious to Khamir why he had never realized that himself until now: he had never truly begun to understand what that meant.

[Tevildo]

Dorran could see frustration etched on Kwell’s face and could easily imagine the hard objections the young man was forming inside his head: that distance and numbers were no excuse for failing to make some attempt to rescue the prisoners. Truthfully, Dorran felt Kwell was right. At the very least, a group of scouts should have been sent to see what was possible. Kwell had fine instincts and, if he could ever get beyond his mistrust of the world, would make an excellent soldier.

Dorran was also aware that the two men who had spoken seemed genuinely puzzled by the members of the followship. In a land where brute force was a way of life, their own group's odd assortment of talents and sizes did not match conventional ideals about battle- hardened warriors. Part of the problem was that few of the escapees had begun to consider that more than a strong arm would be needed to survive.

Caught up in a conflicting maelstrom of words and emotions, Dorran tightened his grip on the reins and stared out as if mesmerized. It was if he had been transported to another age. Twenty-five years ago, this had been his world. He remembered a small boy standing in the arc of his father’s shadow, staring awkwardly at the ground as the older men and women argued about what to do. Their numbers had been smaller, but the situation they faced was nearly identical to what he was seeing now. Alternating bouts of anger, hope, and resolve—very real and vehement feelings---threatened to dismantle what little unity these men and women had so painfully achieved, just as these same discordant feelings had resulted in the untimely deaths of his parents and brother. A tragedy like that must not happen again. Dorran dismounted and began walking forward, determined to try and do something to help.

Khamir’s brief comment to the crowd had taken no more than a moment. Kwell remained on horseback, a short distance ahead of Dorran and opposite Hadith. The latter had dropped his arm to his side but still doggedly clutched the hilt of his sword and showed no signs of backing down from the comments he had made about not sending out a rescue party. Overcome with frustration and unwilling to wait longer, Kwell spurred his horse forward and headed straight towards Hadith. Dorran was the first of the fellowship to react. Lunging ahead, he grabbed at the reins of Kwell's horse and pulled back on the animal's head, crying loudly, “No. Stop. Do not do this. Let it be. You two will slay each other before the slavers can even get here. Believe me, Kwell, I understand your impatience. I am impatient too.”

Kwell came to a halt and turned a disgruntled face towards Dorran. When the older man responded, his voice was laced with sadness. “I understand more than you realize. I grew up in these parts. We called the plantation the “Iron Cage”. The hunger, the Orc whips, living like a beast….my life was no different than yours. Our family escaped onto the Ash Plain just as you hope to do. Only they never made it further than that. No one could agree on anything; each thought they had the only answer. When the slavers came, they killed my father and mother. Out of seventeen, four escaped. Still, my sister and I were lucky. We journeyed to Rohan and made a new life. ”

Dorran glanced at the rest of the group, intently searching each face for any sign of understanding. “I tell you it can be done, especially now that the Dark Lord is gone. But we must go to your camp and plan. The attack will come soon, as your own leader told you. My friends and I are not here to lead but to help. We are not all warriors but have skills in many areas---healing, building, the crafting of metal and stone, even farming and herding. Lindir and I are experienced in the conduct of war. We will all do whatever we can. I do not doubt your bravery, but courage alone is not enough. You must do what my own parents and others failed to do: to reach some agreement. Look at the man or woman next to you, because their survival is as important as yours. You have made a start. My friends and I can only bow our knee to what you have done. But now we must plan and act together. Night will come too soon.”

Dorran stopped and drew a large breath. His words would not persuade everyone. He did not expect that, but he hoped it would be enough for them to set aside differences and continue planning. By now the darkness was beginning to fade. Soft rays glimmered just above the horizon. Morning, with its shadowy promise of hope, was spilling over onto the plains of Mordor.