[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Grash was only two or three turns up the stairs when he found the Elves. They were speaking to one another in their own language, and though he could not understand their words, the very sound of their conversation gave him an odd kind of comfort. For a moment he was almost able to forget the terror and panic that had come over him in the wake of the orc’s escape, and he stood frozen before them. The male turned ageless eyes upon him and did not speak, and in that moment Grash felt as though he were a child again. He shivered, and the calming thoughts few from his mind, for this feeling reminded him of the one thing that all people knew of Elves – that they were immortal, and that they kept this immortality by stealing the lifeblood of others…

Aldor came up behind him as Grash spoke to the Elves. He gestured down the stairs with as much urgency as he could, saying, “Come, come, hurry. No time, no time for talking and looking. Orc has escaped, will bring others. Must go now.” For a second it appeared as though the Elves were going to ignore him but then wordlessly they began to descend. The female regarded him with a wary, questioning gaze, but he might as well have been invisible to the male Elf for all the attention that he gave the Man. Relieved that he had found them, Grash was turning to go when he noticed that other slave, Jordo, standing quietly in the shadows. Grash turned upon the Man angrily, for he needed speed from everyone. “Hurry!” he said roughly. “No time to hide. Come now or leave you here to be peeled by orcs!” Jordo’s face took on a look of genuine terror and he seemed to shrink into the wall. Grash felt a wave of emotion that he could hardly understood, for it had been long since he felt sympathy for anyone. That last time he had felt it, he had lost his mind with rage, and that is what hand landed him in the cellars. His mind went back, unbidden, to that day when the orc had attacked the slave woman. He felt once more the heft of the scythe in his hands, and the jarring crunch that came through the wood when he had severed the orc’s head… He reached out to Jordo with as comforting a gesture as he could. “Come,” he said more gently. “Come with Grash, we must go.”

Jordo seemed to relax somewhat, but his eyes moved to the Elves. The female had turned and was looking back at the Men. She waved to Jordo, who broke for her as though he were a hunted thing running from a predator to its small hole. Grash sighed; at least they were all moving in the right direction at last.

As he and Aldor followed the others down the stairs, the other Man spoke to him about the Elves in a low whisper. “I can see that you do not trust the Ageless Ones,” he said. “I’m not sure that I do either, but they are reputed to be great fighters and to have magical healing powers. I think they will be good allies in our escape. Still,” he said, as though a new thought were occurring to him, “we might do well to keep an eye on them. I’m sure they would not betray us to the Enemy, but with Elves, well, who knows? It’s said that they only really look out for themselves. They are much like the Dwarves in that, I fear.” Grash knew nothing of Elves or Dwarves, and Aldor’s words went to his heart like cold iron. He had, to this point, only been concerned with escaping the Tower and then getting by the Monster that lurked in the tunnel. It had not occurred to him that there might be dangers from within the group of prisoners…

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Novnarwen's post

Unexpectedly, a new chance for him to convince Grash was presented to Rhând. The skinny Haradrim had watched the elves (and one man) carefully as he and Grash had approached them. Two elves, both proud and some would say fair, had stood before them and looked hesitatingly at the two men for a moment. Not till after Grash had told them that they should go and meet the others, had they gone. But during those few seconds they had stood still, the look in their eyes could not be wrongly interpreted. It was clear that the elves were most hesitant towards both Rhând and Grash. Instantly, it struck the Haradrim that he could use this. It would be easy; Grash had looked the elves into their eyes himself and knew exactly how they felt.

The minute the opportunity became obvious to Rhând, he seized it. Glad that he had got another chance so soon, he restrained himself from storming to Grash’s side and tell him what he had on his mind. He made his move, putting up a serious face. He made Grash slow down for a moment, looked around being certain that not the elves were listening. Choosing his words with care, he expressed his uncertainty when it came to elves in general. "I can see that you do not trust the Ageless Ones," Rhând said, with a tone that implied that he completely understood Grash's feelings, but had clearly seen the doubt in his eyes just earlier. Discovering, to his satisfaction, that Grash seemed to listen, he hoped that he had managed to make the other freed prisoner doubt the elves even more. It would certainly pay off one day.

Just seconds later, they had gone through the courtyard. Rhând walked a few paces behind Grash now. If he was going to pull this through, he would have to be on the surface a silent man, who spoke little, but acted well. Underneath the facade, he would have to be the good friend of the leader, who Rhând guessed would be Grash, of whom he would trick and cheat. This way, he could control Grash, and through Grash he would be able to control the other ones who trusted Grash. The Elves, even though they were sceptical now, would soon be outnumbered when the dwarves turned against them. Deep in thought, still feeling quite ill after running after the orc and collapsing, he was greatly surprised when the sound of what seemed like an earthquake disturbed him. Looking around, alarmingly, he found himself trembling. The whole ground trembled.

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Fordim Hedgethistle's post (cont'd)

They reached the courtyard and passed through to the stairs. When they were halfway down there came to Grash’s ears faint cries that sounded for the world like children’s voices. He paused and saw that the Elves too had heard the sounds. There then came a rending crash and splintering sound that shook the very foundations of the Tower, and the wailing of the Silent Watchers that had accompanied their every move was suddenly quieted. The silence was profound and eerie, and for a time they stood in wonder of what had happened. Grash was the first to recover himself. “Go, hurry,” he said gesturing them on. “I go and look, see if it’s more orcs.” Without waiting for a reply he rushed up the stairs and once more looked out the door. He was shocked to see that the gate lay in ruins, and that the Watchers had been thrown down. He looked hopefully at the ruin to see if there were some way through the rubble, but it was hopeless: the stonework had fallen almost straight down from above, creating a new barrier as impassable as the old. With a sigh he turned and went down the steps to the storeroom.

Grash was delighted to see that all of the prisoners were finally assembled. The Dwarves had found torches and were quickly setting them alight and passing them about. Grash seized one. He noted with equal satisfaction that the woman Darash had organised some of the slaves in gathering food and water. A quick survey of their stores, however, showed that they were going to be on short rations for the next few days. There was little food, and less water. Grash frowned at this, for he knew that there was little hope of finding water where they were going. He shrugged, for there was nothing to be done.

He turned to face the company. They were standing about in loose groups, clear and distinct in their division. The Dwarves were the most openly clannish, huddled together and heavily armed and armoured. The Elves were equally standoffish, but in their apparently sheltering shadow stood Jordo. The slaves appeared to be divided more naturally into male and female. Darash and Lyshka were standing as a pair, while Aldor, Jeren and Zuromor had gathered closest to Grash. All of them had done their best to look like orcs, and with the exception of the Elves – whose beauty could never be hidden – most had succeeded. Grash drew a deep breath before beginning. “We go now, into the tunnel, into where Monster waits and eats people. There is no turning or bend in tunnel – we go out through the Door, then straight straight straight to other side.”

“Aye,” replied one of the Dwarves, one that had armed himself with a huge mace, “but how are we to reach the other side with that Monster that eats people, just waiting for us?” There were murmurs of uncomfortable assent from the others.

Grash frowned. “Not all reach the other side,” he said with a complete lack of emotion. “Some get eaten, some do not. When orcs go through tunnels they take many orcs. Monster comes, eats three or four, sometimes more, but the rest go through. This is why Grash freed you all; could not go myself and get eaten. Now we all go, not all get eaten. For some there is escape, for others there is also escape, but not from Mordor.” He smiled at his own dark joke. “Come,” he said again. “We must go now, come!” He opened the Under Door. “Into Monster’s tunnel, go now, or stay here and wait for orcs.” Without waiting for a reply, he plunged headlong into the darkness.