What in all of Rohan had that argument been about last night? Hama wondered. Some sort of problem, some kind of trouble. They certainly didn’t act like the brave heroes of the Mark that he’d grown up worshiping, like his namesake, Hama of Helm’s Deep, and Eomer, and Theoden King. They acted more like the petty criminals that he’d guarded in Edoras.
He shook his head as he saddled Lluagor. That was silly—wasn’t it? There was no reason for them to be suspect of anything worse than losing their tempers, and if people started to get arrested for that—well, Hama wouldn’t be one of the guards, he’d be one of the prisoners. He was sorry that he hadn’t managed to find anything last night; they weren’t the only ones who hated salt pork, after all. But what right did it give Archim to call him incompetent!? He was a soldier, not a huntsman. There was no reason for him to know how to do this sort of thing. Stupid man. Still, he probably shouldn’t have blown up at him…oh, who cared? They wouldn’t be stuck with each other again if Hama had anything to say about it. He might even resign his commission to get away if all the older soldiers were like the Forgoils.
He tugged Lluagor’s girth a bit tighter than he perhaps should have.
****
“I’m starving here,” groaned Archim, with a sharp glance at Hama, who hunched his shoulders and tried to look submissive. None of the older men had allowed him to forget coming back with nothing the previous evening, but Archim seemed to have a special grudge. Since they started that morning, it seemed that every other remark that the man made was either a slur on Hama’s nonexistent hunting prowess or a complaint about the lack of food. Hama was having a difficult time keeping his temper in check and several times had started to tell the man what he thought.
Only there were three of them, and only one of him. If the brothers, however poorly they got along, decided to step in to defend their younger brother, he would have a serious problem on his hands. Besides, there was something that told him he would probably not survive if he really made them angry.
What was he thinking? They were men of Rohan, how could he attribute such actions to them? But then, there was the reason for this predicament to stand against that line of reasoning. If a hero of Helm’s Deep could commit mur.der, then what would really stop them from getting rid of him if they really wanted to?
Hama was shaken out of this melancholy line of thought by Graitwa, who’d been scouting on ahead.
“Tharbad is just over the next hill!”
[ August 14, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]
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