[Durelin]

Khamir

It seemed a miracle to Khamir that they arrived at the slaver camp in one piece, but it hardly felt like a triumph. There was too much fear and hatred looming over them all for any small victory to matter, and the rain which would typically be welcomed as respite from the heat and the dry did nothing to help their spirits.

At least both Adnan and Vrór were doing well for what they had endured. Khamir, with Adnan’s help, had kept the Dwarf from walking as much as possible, though that was not always an easy task. The way the shorter fellow went on about how hardy Dwarves were, the Southron man was surprised that he had yet to try and get in on all the planning that seemed to be going on, mostly led by Lindir and Aiwendil.

Apparently Beloan had even made way for the two, which Khamir had to admit he did not find that surprising. He was too soft sometimes, too...accepting of whatever was. I suppose that was the only reason he ever listened to my command, the one-armed man thought.

So maybe this was the purpose of the elf and the old man: to lead and rule these poor lost slaves who have no order to them otherwise. With their wisdom they of course knew what was best for these people of Mordor. But they had already proven they knew nothing about this land, as there were nine orcs alive in this very camp.

Finally, though, it seemed they were going to do something about it. Leaving Adnan with a now sleeping Vrór at the back of the crowd, Khamir went to stand along the edge of the throng nearer to the front. Lindir would undoubtedly grant them his wisdom on the matter once again, but Khamir hoped now that with all the surviving slaves here sense would prevail, and he was prepared to make sure it did.

Expecting to hear only more about naïve and soft-hearted ideals, when Aiwendil spoke of yet another terror, Khamir felt all those lovely ideas of hope, freedom, and unity destroyed. Trolls? No…olog-hai. First monsters, now demons… At least orcs were of a size with men, but those… So those that were left, broken and bloodied after the Easterlings were defeated, who had already watched the lifeless bodies of their companions burned, were to have their bones crushed to dust.

And with less than a heartbeat’s pause in between, Lindir moved on to talk about just another of Sauron’s creatures as if they had rights, as if they deserved to live and breathe the same air as any of the good Men who sat here, most of whom had suffered much at the hands of the same animals.

Khamir almost laughed. It was suddenly all so absurd. Free slaves; Free Peoples sparing orcs’ lives; an Elf, a Dwarf, a Hobbit, and some strange old man from who knew were in Mordor; little underlings of ‘Elessar’ playing sovereignty in the land of Sauron; Sauron destroyed, and all over the Wester lands they had rejoiced and were thriving, but here…

“King Elessar’s laws do not apply in this land, much less his wishes,” Khamir spat angrily, not caring if he cut anyone off in their own attempt to speak up. “How can you think so carelessly, so selfishly? Is your ‘honor’ more important than an innocent person’s life? Can you really, with pure and noble conscience – far purer than my own, it must be – simply put those creatures somewhere else, to hunt and kill someone else, so you can sleep at night? Few other than who deserve whatever comes to them at the hands of orcs have weapons or horses.”

In a moment’s pause, though, Khamir’s raging diminished to a bitter laugh as a thought came to him. “If you are so concerned about keeping your or my or everyone else’s hands clean, then we do not have to kill them…but we can at least make use of them.”

The man smiled slightly, fond of his idea. “If we do run into those olog-hai, then surely it would be better for us if the monsters were interested in orc meat rather than our own?”