It was all over now. The elves and Easterlings had parted without coming to death, and now they headed for Lothlorién, to see what battle had done to the west. It was indeed a strange fate that after so much threat and bother and holding of hostages, both races, had decided that bloodshed was not the way for things to be settled.
The Easterlings are a surprisingly noble race, thought Erdaminéon, as he followed slowly, what is it that sets them apart from those of the west? Why are they despised, as are Orcs and other foul things?
He was one of the few who had not been severely injured. In fact the battle hardly showed on him at all. He had been right in the prediction that he would be of little use, although it was not his injury that had made it so. Even in the discussion that had followed the battle he had been silent, unresponsive, and he’d barely noticed the chase of Telpheled after one of the remaining enemy. And now he felt just as insignificant to the party, but it didn’t trouble him anymore.
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