[Imladris]

Jinan wiped his lip and spat a bit of blood from his mouth towards the captian’s retreating figure. With a toothless smile, Jinan added another name to his list of revenge -- it was dangerous smacking an officer of Harad as a wench would slap a wayward child. Besides the captain’s fault of thinking he was worthless worm, he had acted immaturely, childishly. He shook his head: quite unfitting for his pretenses as a captain of Harad.

With a disgusted shrug he glanced at Frôzhal. The witless, stuttering, stupid fool. He was incompetent and shy -- it surprised Jinan that the man would have the courage to volunteer himself, much less revel in the fancy that he could lead an army, much less a platoon. His lips morphed from a toothless smile into a dark, brooding scowl as he turned his eyes upon his twenty - five men. He, Jinan, was the captain of twenty-five men who did not deserve the name of soldier. They were an utter disgrace. Twenty-five men! He deserved more than that, he was more capable than that.

“Sir! Sir! Your men await your orders,” Gimilzôr cried to them, a mocking smile hovering about his face.

Sir sir , Jinan mimicked mentally as he glanced at the man’s body of troops. Naturally, he himself was stuck with the loafers --the ones that stood like tired reeds at the bank of a shallow river. The ones who picked their noses and scratched at an itch. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the offending man who was staring, entranced, at the green stuff from his nose. At the snap, he jumped and stuck his finger in his mouth before he dropped his arms rigidly at his side.

Arms folded behind his back, Jinan cried in a penetrating, powerful voice, “You are soldiers of Harad! You are not men pining for sweethearts, yearning for their fields, wishing to hold your children in your arms! You are the men destined to drive the Gondorians from their city, to stamp their vile brood from this land. You have been offered this honour! Honour that you do not deserver, albeit, but honour none the less!” Why should he pamper these weaklings with honey sweetened words? “And because of this honour you shall fight and stand like a soldier! Stand with shoulders back, your back straight, noses in the air! You bow to no man, except to me, and you shall not be defeated!” [I] If all goes well with such imbecilic incompetence [I] he thought. He stifled a smirk: Especially with men like Frôzhal leading you.