[Novnarwen]

Trapped in a circle with some of the others, facing the cruellest and most disgusting creatures of the Dark Land, Rhând grabbed the hilt of his sword and charged towards their attackers. Having great difficulties in keeping up with the ferocious battle, he threw his sword from side to side. From the sound and the feeling of thrusting the blade through flesh, he knew that he hit some of the creatures now and then. However, not being used to this kind of weaponry, (in fact not being used to any weapons), he thought he was doing a splendid job so far.

It scared him immensely that he felt exhausted after a few hits, and he was utterly terrified by seeing the dead monsters. It had never occurred to him that this could be so tiresome. He wanted to sink down on his knees; he needed rest. Knowing, naturally, that that would be suicide, he fought on. Alarmingly, he looked around for more enemies and more of the prisoners. He realised, that many of them were far more experienced than himself. This, he realised, bothered him terribly, because he knew he would have to be very careful. Getting into a warrior's way would be highly dangerous. Such experienced men could easily end his life.

“Come, brethren! Dorim and Dwali, rally and fight! To me! To me!”

A voice, masculine, rang in Rhând's ear and made echoes in the tunnel. Seeing clearly who the cry belonged to, but not being able to understand what the voice had pronounced, he gazed at the Dwarf with great surprise. At the dwarf's side was no other than the elf Rhând had bumped into when not paying attention to where he went. It was the elf Rhând was very tempted to kill. Why were they together? Were they not enemies as he had thought? Just earlier, while walking in the tunnel, before they had been attacked, Rhând had heard Zuromor offer his friendship. And now, the elves were joining the dwarves too. What about Brór's statement then, about not trusting neither men or elf? Had it been a trick? Why would they trick him? A thought so frightening, even Rhând felt his heart grow cold, struck him; perhaps they knew who he was! Maybe this whole thing was a scheme. They were after him, all of them! How could this happen? he wondered, not knowing for certain what to think anymore. But why hadn't they killed him off sooner, if they knew he was an Easterling and not who they first had been tricked into believing? Gritting his teeth, thrusting his sword into one of the beast's flesh, he said some foul words feeling the rage rise inside of him. All this stupidity! How much more was he to suffer? If they knew, it would surely be over. There would be no way they would let him live for long. He would have to escape as soon as possible. He would have to survive this, get out of the tunnel and leave them the second night under the sky.

Seeing to his left that there was a little crack in the wall, he sprang unnoticed in. It was just big enough for him to get a fair view of what was going on, without necessarily being spotted himself. Bathed in sweat now, shaking and trembling, he cast his gaze over at the dwarves who came darting towards Brór and the elf. He could seize this chance now. If they had figured him out, nothing mattered anymore. What was there to fight for? The prisoners would get their hands on him as soon as they were out of the tunnels. Shivering, and as a lightening the feeling of insecurity ran down his spine as well. What if they waited for the monster, the big monster, to take him? Rhând looked desperately around. The big monster, the spider, could be anywhere; waiting for him. They had arranged it. They had arranged for the spider to take him out of the twelve others! Those cursed filthy traitors! You shall pay . . They hadn't only betrayed him, by leaving him to the spider, but they had betrayed Him as well. There was no punishment that could make up for the damage these prisoners were about to cause. They had to die, one by one. With these thoughts in mind, he grabbed the dagger he had hidden from the others. "My darling, make the elf pay this time . . ," he whispered slowly as he held it in firm grip.

Praying to Him that he would hit his target, the elf, he breathed heavily half closing his eyes. How wonderfully well he would feel after ending his life, he thought happily. Not reluctant about the future event, he lifted his arm above his head, aimed, and . . . What was he thinking? He had already decided that twelve prisoners were the least he could do for his Master, and now he was about to kill one of them. What was driving him insane? Was it the air of Mordor, the beasts surrounding him, the current company or his fright? He could not afford this absurd behaviour. Filled with reproach for even thinking of letting down his Master, yes he would surely be letting Him down if he killed His prisoners, he hid the dagger again. The prisoners, all of them, should with Rhând's help return to the Master healthy and alive.

Still the thought of the others being aware of his lies lingered in his mind, suffocating him slowly.

They had found him in his little crevice. He would have to run for it.