Of Treachery and Trust: A LOTR RPG

[Wolfchild]

A sense of betrayal marked his eyes, yet the king made no faltering in his response "Arayn, do you hold your beliefs upon these men? Surely you are witness to the danger such traitors can beget. I cannot imagine what corruption they have lain upon your mind, but it will cease, here and now."

"My lord!" exclaimed Tlurmin, closing the gap that voided between each man. "Is is you who must cease. Forgive me, but the words of your daughter are true, and this man is as innocent as any other."

Eomer looked over the scrawny build of the speaker with disgust, "Who are you to command me, Wormtongue? Judgement and strength have reigned over this land for an eternity, with good fortune. Now it is with blackened heart that you would undo it all in poisoned whisper, and turn my own daughter against me!"

"She speaks from her own mind!" Tlurmin shouted, equally furious at the accusation.

"And in what way am I meant to trust you? There is nothing I have seen thus far to give me confidence of your loyalty."

"I..." Tlurmin stumbled over what to say. All things considered, he realised he had done very little. "No sir, indeed I have not. But if I am the source of this misalignment in your kingdom, then surely you have ensnared the wrong man." At this moment, he could hear the guards behind him rising angrily. Tlurmin knelt before the king as they began to approach him, swords ready. He continued "Release Svika and I will exchange my life for his."

"We do not barter with criminals here..." the king began, his men bringing manacles and the faint sound of metal chain. Tlurmin brought his head up suddenly, only to see a guard strike him with a punch that cast him aside. As his vision burred, he extended a hand which spouted a toppling gust of wind to prevent any further blow, but it was one guard in a sea of many, and too soon did his consciousness fade.

[Lexicalized]

At the first blow delt Tlurmin, Arayn flew at the guards.  Her sword she cast aside, for in all honesty, she would never use it on a fellow man of Rohan. 

All the frustration and anxiety of the past twenty four hours were set ablaze by the passion that ran in her blood.  She flew at the Rohirrim with her fists, struggling to keep them off of Tlurmin--yet another innocent man placed in chains.

"Stop!  Stop!  Cease this madness!" she screamed, exhaustion and anger producing tears in her jet eyes.

Vaguely through the noise she heard her father command the guards to restrain her.  Heavy, yet gentle hands, fell on her arms and shoulders.  Like a caged beast she fought, giving the Guard who held her quite a time. 

"Father!" she yelled, "How can you do this?  They are innocent!  They are innocent, they have done nothing!  Will you chain me as well?!"

The guard turned her towards the stony face of her father.

"I will not bind my own daughter," he murmured, something like pain in his eyes.

"You will!" she spat out, "for I will not cease to rebel against such injustice.  Where is the truth which you have taught me all my life?  Where now is the nobleness of Rohan?  It has been cast into the mud to be trodden down under the iron foot of hatred.  You are blinded by your hate; you are no better than the orc 'filth,' you do as they.  You hate without knowledge of the truth--you are ignorant."

Throughout her raging speech, she fought the guard.  Once only did she slip away, but quickly his hands were upon her again. 

The pain and anger that flickered on her father's face were momentary, for he quickly masked them and with the silent pride of the Rohirrim, turned his back.

"Bind her then.  With rope though.  No chain will be upon any child of mine.  Bind them all.  Put the traitors in the dark, this evening they will die for all that they have done."

Ropes were put about her wrists, gently but firmly.  There was something sad in the faces of the Rohirrim as they looked upon her.  Whether they were for or against her current cause, she was loved by all.

She caught one last glimpse of Svika and Tlurmin as they were dragged away.  Svika's eyes were silent and sad as he looked back at her.  He looked as if he wished to speak, but a rough shove by a Guard silenced him.  He disappeared into the dark building that was his prison.

Tlurmin they dragged off unconscious, and her last glimpse of him was of his limp, innocent body.  Blood ran from a nasty cut on his forehead, running down his face and dripping onto the earth. 

Tears streaked Arayn's face as the guard pulled her toward a different building.  She did not fight now.  How could she?  Hope seemed to be fading for the innocent.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a hill not too far from Edoras there lay an orc, his distorted body pressed against the earth.  He waited patiently, struggling to see what was going on in the city.  He could tell nothing, however, from his current position, except for the sudden flash of light, and the smoke that streamed towards the sky. 

The storm that had appeared out of no where was beginning to die.  The rain slowly ceased and Khish was thankful for that. 

Time slowly went by and still he lay waiting.  Finally a small black speck appeared on the horizon.  Half an hour went by and Khish watched the speck slowly grow in size as it drew nearer.  He pressed himself closer against the grass until he was sure it was Lhej.  When he recognized the outline of his friend, he jumped to his feet. 

Lhej came to a panting halt before Khish, bent over double.  Some odd light flickered in his tiny eyes--whether excitement or fear could not be determined.

"Almost we were too late!  He was...He was to be killed this morning.  Some...someone interfered," Lhej gasped for air, "and now they are...both of them, to be slain this evening.  Odd events occur in this land, Khish.  The lady Arayn, daughter of the King, interfered!  In the defense of our man!"

Khish smiled.

"Good news then.  We have someone of high quality on our side.  Sit here and watch awhile, Lhej.  Great work.  I shall report to the commander."

With that Khish raced off, a smile...which resembled a smirk more than a smile, twisted his black lips.

[Wolfchild]

Half conscious, Tlurmin's mind thudded with echoes of endless voices, bringing with them a fear to open his eyes. A stab of pain gave the vague sense of dread that proceeded reality, and when he went to touch his head, his hand was stopped midway by the chain that clung to his wrist, wrenching his palm backward. His surroundings were unveiled slowly with an audible curse as his senses gradually returned. He did not need the overwhelming darkness to know that something terrible had happened.

"Svika?" he whispered, in a low voice.

Voiding silence was broken by a glazing "Yes."

"I appear to have done something incredibly foolish."


Another moment passed, in which Svika seemed to consider the validity of each word. "Fools are we both then, for coming to this forsaken place." He sighed, and spoke no more.

Trying to take his mind away from the stinging in his wrists, Tlurmin lit a ball of fire within his restricted hand. It illuminated his face, and showed Svika's not five foot away. His fingers danced with the embers, prompting a small, if not lightly entertained smile.

A banging of crude hands to unlock the doors of their chamber brought into view a guard of typical appearance. Noticing the flame, he withheld his announcement, and the madness in Tlurmin's eyes told him the judgment was right. Madness indeed...if a strange absence of life amongst the darkness. 

"Be not halted on my account. Speak. Tell me I have slept too long amid unwanted dreams. Declare us both dead men, and put an end to this dallying."

"You have an hour" was the sullen response. 

[Lexicalized]

"You have an hour."

The words echoed in the dark abyss of Svika's mind.  An odd thing words were, a few short sounds pronounced the imminent truth--Svika and Tlurmin would die only an hour hence.  And who would stop them?

Vaesh.

Vaesh would stop this injustice.  He must.  The Uruk-Hai, leader of the Orcs of the Misty Mountains, was all but Svika's father. 

Vaesh was one of the few flickering flames of hope that Svika allowed to still burn inside his chest.  That and the Lady Arayn.  What she could do, he knew not, but a warm thankfulness seeped through his cold, shivering body at the thought of her deeds. 

She did not believe him entirely, but she was willing to risk it all.  Such a staunch defense of the innocent, such a hearty passion for justice, the girl held within her.  As ignorant and hateful as her father was, she was every bit as understanding and wise. 

Svika's mind wandered in and out of consciousness, more often than not turning to the Lady Arayn.  He did not wish to think of his coming death...and the pain that resounded in his body was growing harder and harder to ignore.  His strong, proud body was being pushed beyond it's limits.  Soon death would seem not a curse, but a relief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arayn sat in a well lit room in the Golden Hall.  Two guards stood outside the door, and there was a blazing fire in one end of the room.  The ropes that bound her wrists were tight, but not tight enough to cause any unneccessary pain.

She was being treated as every prisoner should be treated. 

The injustice of even this small thing struck her like a blow.  She sat as far from the fire as she could get, as if to punish herself for their leniency.  Her thoughts never left Svika and Tlurmin.  Their death would come soon if there were no interference by outside forces.  And what could she do?  What would her father do to her? 

He would not hurt her.  Perhaps keep her bound until the two 'traitors' were slain.  But their relationship would never be the same again, this much Arayn knew well.  She had come to see clearly the fault lines in her father's character.  He had taught her that which was right, yet had shown now that he did not live by it. 

Arayn cast her eyes to the rafters above her head.

"Eru, if you still care for the second born, if you still aid mankind, stop now this unjustice," she whispered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vaesh listened to Khish's tale very intently, staring at the mangled, twisted form of the orc.  Vaesh stood an imposing three feet above the orc, his massive chest exposed to the sunlight. 

Khish squinted under the light of the midafternoon sun and twitched slightly as he ended his tale. 

Vaesh's eyes dwelt now on the city of Edoras below, and the vague glint of gold that marked the Hall of Meduseld.  Therein was held Svika, the man he had taken in as a human takes in a wet dog out of the storm.  Vaesh's molten yellow eyes held a distant look in their dilated pupils.  Thoughts stirred in his mind, careful planner that he was...all was already in order.  All was ready. 

His eyes fell back to Khish.

"We act now.  Gather the magots, it's time to march."

Khish grinned.

((Wolf, you can play Vaesh from here out if you want.  Make things a little more even.))

[Wolfchild]

Tlurmin's arrogance came with the thought that he might yet unveil a method of freeing himself. All in all, it was nervous optimism that could prove to be his undoing. Better yet, it would be. The impossibility lied in all he had noted to Svika; flames would free his wrists and destroy them in the same instance. The storm he could summon again, and the lightning, but the trap would always be rebuilt, the craftsmen only getting more and more determined. Transformation whilst in chain was both impossible and fatal, and though the thought had crossed his mind, he knew that he could break the bones of the hound or raven in doing it.

Killing is the only choice his conscience whispered. Freedom at the cost of betraying everything he had learned and everyone who had made it so. His father would disown him on sight.

Gods... Thought he suddenly. Is this the card's fortune? The hanged man has become not only a warning...it is I myself! Then by this soul, I have made every movement I sought to prevent. My ignorance...

My ignorance is bound by a mortal heart.

Thus does it suffer.


There was a loud clunking of metal in the door, and again they were forced open, beaming forgotten light into the eyes of shadowed captives. Roughly, their bindings were removed, and replaced for their last journey with rope that cut into bleeding wrists just as much as its iron brethren. As soon as the guards had marched them outside, a gust of dying wind ran through Tlurmin's hair, and when the embrace went on to dance with the noose, his eyes met those of a dense, fearful crowd. They muttered amongst themselves, deciding who they were more apprehensive of. Eomer watched them diligently.

[Lexicalized]

Svika's muscled tightened and released in a never ending circular pattern.  Slowly one foot was placed in front of the other, pulling his broken body forward.  Like a bruised and cowed animal he plodded forward, squinting under the light of the dying sun. 

How fitting that it bathed him in a glowing red light, like the blood that tinted his brown skin. 

Slowly his head came up and his dark eyes scanned the nervous crowds.  They would not look him in the eye; no one but Eomer, the haughty King, would look him in the eye.  Disappointment flickered in his heart when he did not see Arayn among the onlookers.  Where had they drug her off to?  Svika knew not the way of the men of Rohan--would they treat her as they had treated Tlurmin and himself?  Was she in bound in pain and darkness as they had been?

There was now no platform to hang the two traitors on.  Now they were simply brought before a wooden fence.  Two poles stood out of the ground with a sinister symmetry.  Svika eyed the poles blankly, feeling now no unease.  Death would come and come swiftly, and bring with it an end to suffering.

His only regret now was that he had failed his people.  War would now certainly come and his mission would have propelled the end to which he had fought to avoid.  The orcs would go to war, and most likely be destroyed. 

Svika was a failure. 

His head hung as the guards dragged him to one of the poles.  He was made to stand with his back to the pole, his arms wrapped backwards around it, and his wrists bound tighter together and to the wooden pole itself.  His feet were similarly bound.  His young body was finally allowed to stretch to it's full height, yet the pole did not come up higher than the middle of his back. 

Now he waited.  Waited as Tlurmin was tied similarly.  Waited as the guards readied themselves.  Waited as the orcs approached the city, unbenknownst to the Rohirrim.  Waited as the sun began to sink off of it's high throne. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The guards at the mouth of the room stirred suddenly and Arayn knew it was time.  Three of them left, leaving one their to guard.  A sense of paniced urgency surged through Arayn's chest, propelling her to her feet.

"Guard!" she cried sharply.

The man turned quickly and entered the room, all but completely at ease.  He had know suspicion of her.  He was one of those she had known since her birth.

"Halen, old friend, what goes on outside these doors of oak?"

His eyes dropped.

"They go to slay the traitors, m'lady.  Soon it will be o'er and you will be released.  It pains me to--"

He was stopped midsentence when she flew at him like a caged beast.  Her hands were bound in front of her; she was not completely disabled.  She drew his sword and knocked him soundly on the head with it before he could even express his surprise. 

His heavy body slumped to the floor and Arayn cut the ropes from her wrist deftly.  She slid the guard's sword into the empty sheath on her hip.  She knelt briefly at his side and kissed the red mark on his forehead. 

"Accept my appologies, Halen, this is not how I wished to do things.  Neccessity compels me."

Out the door the lady Arayn raced, her heart thundering erratically in her chest.  Her dark eyes blazed with the fire of justice as she flew into the light of the fading sun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vaesh and his forces moved with doubled speed over the plains of Rohan, quickly closing in on the fenced city of Edoras.  The guards that held fast the gate of the city quickly fell under the silent, feathered arrows of the orcs.  Vaesh had taught the orcs well the craft of silence and stealth, and into the city they wove their way.  It was not too difficult, every one seemed to be gathered near the Golden Hall.

That's where Svika would be, facing death for a crime he never committed.  Vaesh led the orcs forward, his plans falling perfectly into play.

They rounded a corner and swept up the final ascent until they stood before the Golden Hall.  There, to the right of the hall, the crowd was gathered.  Svika--and some strange man--stood bound to poles.  Two guards were at the ready--ready to behead Vaesh's son. 

But then the orcs were spotted.  Gasps and screams flew into the air, but the orcs had ceased movement.  They stood like stone figures, as if they never intended to stop the coming executions. 

It was as if the orcs had no idea that they outnumbered the guards there sixteen to one. 

But Eomer's piercing eyes sized the orcs up, and he knew immediately these odds.  Thus it was that he did not immediately give the call to arms...

And thus it was that the Lady Arayn flew out, not into the midst of her own people, but rather, straight into the swarms of orcs.  She came to a halt, her eyes wide and her face flushed. 

Vaesh's eyes darted from Eomer to his daughter, to the bound captives and back again.  A slight smile struggled to take over his slimey face, but he strangled it with a frown...

[Wolfchild]

As the shine of the axe glistened in the growing moonlight, Tlurmin watched it nervously, though only through the corners of his eyes. He could not crane his neck, so kept his watch upon the plains below, as final as their memory would be. Shadows cast themselves morbidly over the land with an unusual silence. Rather this, he thought, than the hordes of faces behind him.

Defend yourself, Tlurmin.

There it began, the whispering, the voice telling him to act. Rope will become a cinder, not like metal. You must do what you came to do. He laughs, he waits to claim your head for his palisade. End this now. Show him how Dunland will not be defeated again. How proud they will be. How proud! The act must be finished, this is the bidding of those who have seen death for you- trained you to become what you are. Kill him, and this suffering will end. These people would claim you as a saviour- their guards already recoil! It is for the good of this land, the good of all. Do it...

Do it!

"...nystari voikastas!"

As he touched a rope that clung firmly to his wrists, Tlurmin lit it, his face contorted to sudden furious anger. The flames shot through the bonds immediately, growing in intensity as they did so. As soon as his hands were free, they sent wind that could only be matched in the most cruel tempest to not only cast the looming axe aside, but force its bearer to be thrown through the air, stopped only by the impact of the Hall itself. The crowd made no sound. The executioner did not attempt to rise, and the other who had prepared to behead Svika dropped his weapon to avoid the same fate.

His bonds in ashes, Tlurmin turned, and his white eyes registered nothing but the King, source of his intolerable hatred. The wind that played to his every note contorted in his upheld fist, and it shot towards Eomer, holding him like the shackles that had bound his prisoners, reciprocating their kindness. Tlurmin's voice wavered in the gale, streaking black tears falling from his eyes.

"Kill the tyrant, they told me! Make him bleed like we have! I was prepared to let you go, but I have seen you prepared to slaughter those without crime, like Saruman himself! You think I a traitor? You know nothing of treachery..."

His words marred themselves with an overwhelming sense of fear. Drums rang in the mind of the king, clashing loudly with shouting that came from nowhere but echoes in clouds of smoke and darkness. The ground seemed to tremble, swelling with blood and the shuddering screams.

"You will remember it!" His voice boomed.

Noise rang with cries and rallying forces, impossible to tell who was who, or for what cause. Chaos reigned on all sides, the sound powerful enough to crumble the strongest of souls. It was deafening, but to all onlookers there was nothing but a faint pulse underfoot. Their king appearing to be in agony, Tlurmin commanded the elements to fade slightly as his hands lit once more, trembling, shivering as the madness seemed to die. Still his rage was so much that he looked ready to destroy the man before him.

[Lexicalized]

It took Arayn a long moment to realize what was happening.  Her father had stood one moment, haughty as the mountains, and the next minute he had doubled over, his hands gripping both sides of his head.  His face grew more red with each second that passed, and soon he dropped to his knees.

By the time Arayn realized what was happening, her father lay writhing on the ground.  His jaw was so tightly clenched that the screams he emmitted were choked and all but demonic.

"NO!" Arayn screamed, as the sword fell from her hand. 

Flying like a mad beast, she fell beside her father, her cool hands finding his brow feverish.  His eyes rolled back into his head as he shook and squirmed. 

"Let him go!  Let him go, Tlurmin!  For my sake, let him live!   You cannot kill him!" Arayn cried, tears streaking her face. 

She did not look to Tlurmin, her eyes were on the agonized face of her father.  Her arms wrapped around him, struggling to hold him still.  Her tears fell upon his face, and Eomer, through all of his torment, was vaguely aware of the brief sizzle of cold moisture on his face.

Still he continued to writhe.

Arayn's liquid dark eyes flew to Tlurmin, seeing the madness in his eyes.

"Tlurmin!  Spare him!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Svika stood aghast, watching all that transpired.  He did not love this king of Rohan, such torment he had suffered under his cruel hands.  In his heart, he did not care if Eomer King of Rohan died this terrible death. 

But. 

Something didn't feel right.  Seeing the lady Arayn's tears moved something in him which had not been moved in his lifetime.  A sudden flash of memory struck him...a similar picture he had seen before...Only he had been in Arayn's position...holding his dying father. 

His heart was seared as if someone had pushed a white hot branding iron agaisnt his chest.


He began to squirm with a frantic strength fueled by adrenaline.  This adrenaline was all that kept him standing, for his body should have long ago collapsed. 

It should have been impossible...but Svika managed to slip his bonds.  Casting one last glance at the lady Arayn, lying beside the writhing Eomer, Svika stretched out his body for the first time in days.  He crossed the small gap between himself and Tlurmin in seconds, and plunged his bloody, steaming body against the enraged man. 

Both of them fell heavily to the ground, and Svika's hands found Tlurmin's throat.

"Let him go!  Release him!"

[Wolfchild]

Tlurmin met the ground with a thud that dazed him enough in impact as it did recognising the man responsible. The shock of such an unexpected tackle caused the wrath that had ensnared Eomer to be cut instantly, for now his attention was devoted to Svika with every struggling, suffocating movement. The man was physically stronger than Tlurmin to begin with, and the Dunlander knew it, holding out his arms in surrender, though his shaking hands spoke of the pain his voice could not, managing only the gasped "Sv...vi..."

Svika released his grip, and struggled to rise with the ache in his shoulders. Vaesh stood metres from the scene, a spectator to it all, and his eyes met those of his son with no discernible expression. An army was primed in his wake, many more than Rohan could compete with. If this was a matter of disagreement, it would not take long for Edoras to be overwhelmed. Perhaps in the case of orcs disagreement was unnecessary.

Below him, an eruption of coughing as Tlurmin drove new air into his desperate lungs. Svika expected some final act from the man, or even a last word to signify his bitterness, but there was none. It detracted little from the visible hatred in his eyes, of which there was still plenty. He too, arose, casting his glance across the league of what were bluntly greenskins to his tongue, and managing, somewhat foolishly, to ignore the impact of their presence. He turned his back upon the drama he had caused, and as Tlurmin approached the crowd, they parted apprehensively. Walking through the masses, he headed to the lower rise of the village.

[Lexicalized]

Eomer lay in his daughter's arms as the madness and chaos slowly died out.  His breathing was haggard and his face covered in a film of sweat.  He stared up at his daughter, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his eyes. 

Slowly strength flowed back into his sinewy limbs, and life surged through his veins.  He sat up slowly, and his eyes fell upon Svika.  This traitor had saved his life...

Then his eyes fell once more upon the hordes of orcs which stood staring at him coldly. 

More traitors.  Their numbers dwarfed his own by many. 

The heart of the king could not so easily be stirred.  He looked at Svika and he saw one who not only betrayed mankind, but also parted father from daughter.

"Sieze him," he growled.

"Father!" Arayn protested. 

He lurched to his feet, still a bit unsteady, and shoved away the hand she extended to aid him.  His hard, dark eyes fell on his daughter.

"You have betrayed me as much as this traitor.  Were you not of my own blood, your fate would be the same as his."

The guards of Rohan looked uneasily back and froth, knowing the inevitable doom of such actions as had been commanded them.  Their dark eyes flew to the orcs, who stood tensely, gripping their weapons.

There was a pause then that seemed to stretch on for an eternity or more.  Orc faced man, hearts beat erratically, muscles tensed and spines stiffened.

And then the Rohirrim answered the call of duty.  Five sturdy, flaxen haired guards stepped forward to rebind Svika.  He did not move or flinch, but watched them come. 

It seemed to take them forever to cross the small ten feet gap between them.  Svika watched their every move.  Only for a moment did his gaze stray from them--to dart to Vaesh, the only father he had ever known, and Arayn...his only 'friend' in this barbarian place.

Arayn, too, stood still and silent.  She sensed then that her part in that moment would be little.  Should battle break out, she knew she would fight for Rohan.  But she would not touch Svika, nor be a part of his recapturing.

Seconds ticked by, and the Rohirrim reached out their hands to reclaim the traitor, Svika...

((Figured I'd leave Vaesh's response up to you, Wolf))

[Wolfchild]

Vaesh took no time to emit the smallest of signals, and within the same instant five of his most discreet archers were wielding bows primed with arrows aimed at each of the Rohan guardsmen. Had this been his first sight of events he perhaps would have spared the men, but disgust coursed through his veins so furiously that in the same moment his scouts were unveiled, he gave the second signal to fire. All around Svika, the men who would have taken him a third time fell dead. Vaesh roared, anger dominating his heart.

"Is this what you do, Eomer, king of Edoras? Slaying what you refuse to understand, however well it might serve your pitiful life? Such conduct is shameful in the face of our kind. You should be consoled more than any of the wars' end, and that we, -pure orcblood- are there to enforce it."

The grizzled voice of the orc made the impression of what power he controlled ever more real.

His army laughed in the bitter truth of the matter.

"I will gladly retrieve my son from this infestation, to spare him from your further courtesy. I warn you not to make any more widows this night, or else you will rule over a kingdom of women and children alone. Although it seems like that would be no different..."

Another roar from his ranks. They were relishing this twisting of fate and humor...the power that ebbed from domination and moral superiority.

Svika looked around for any more that would try to restrain him, and saw there was none. The guards shuddered to look at the fleet of bodies by his feet, and dared not step into the void between man and orc for fear that it would be their last.

"Now, old man, your ruin is unveiled."

[Lexicalized]

Svika stepped, now free, to the side of his father.  An urge to hug the Uruk beside him swelled within his chest, but he suppressed it.  His body shuddered slightly, but he forced it to stand tall. 

No more men attempted to fight him.  Vaesh's boiling yellow eyes calmed slightly, still locked onto Eomer's pitiful form.

"This is not the end.  We will show you through perseverance that we will not be denied.  We are not the barbarians you have been taught to think we are.  No, cease to protest, Eomer King, I know your mind.  You saw the rage of the orcs and you hate them with a blind hatred.  But few things in this life are absolute...there are few races who are utterly evil, or utterly good."

Vaesh's voice dropped off.  Svika spoke now.

"These are my people, Eomer, King of Rohan.  These are they which I have stood for, and they who come now to my aid.  Yet they do not slay you all, as you would think that they would.  No, for they are different.  If you would only hear their story, the truth you would hear, and perhaps accept.  But it occurs to me now that you are not yet ready.  Perhaps time will change your opinion.  By the will of my father, I speak, and I say that we shall dwell on the outside of your city...not with bloodlust or threats of death, but with a dedication to peace.  You have been unjust to me, and to this other prisoner who has fled...but we will not return that unjustice.  We will wait.  And we will not leave until you come and speak with us.  We will not rest until their is a peace agreement between us, until you see that we are not evil.  There is as much good in us, in these orckind as there are in the very men that look back at me."

Svika glanced up at Vaesh and the Uruk nodded, something like pride glinting in his eyes.  As one they turned, and led the orc minion down and out of the city, like the receding tide.

And in their wake, they left only stunned faces. 

Arayn watched them go, her mind turning over all the words they had spoken.  She remembered then the look on Vaesh's mutilated face when he had seen Svika.  Something which was almost similar to human love had flickered in those eyes, in the coarse lines around his mouth.

Maybe there was truth in this claim of innocence and civility after all...

[Wolfchild]

The raven watched them from the creaking palisade, disgusted at the sight of Svika walking amongst it. A  sting from his aching forehead soon directed him to jump down and tend to the half healed wound, which drew from his furrowed brow through to the depression of his right eye. As soon as he touched the earth, he began to return to human form, uncaring for who or what that saw him doing so. Most were still surrounding the Golden Hall, awaiting the fury of the king, who he knew would have his head sooner than listen to another word. No matter. Negotiations would have failed still were it that he had done nothing to precede them. It was a small, insignificant consolation, but brought about no change in mood.

The last clicks of his spine unfurled him from his kneeling shape and let him stand quickly. He moved towards the nearest building, which appeared to be a lodge of some kind, for which the residing family did not currently seem to dwell in. The central fire smoldered away quietly as something foul boiled in an iron pot over it, likely meat, or some other repulsive flesh. Tlurmin turned his nose up at it, and winced again, forgetting his wound. Some lightly sewn scraps of leather lay on a wooden table next to a far wall, where someone's shoes were being carefully mended. He took a small patch, and dabbed at the scar, cursing in the process. Looking at the imprint of blood as he pulled it away again, he made the best effort to clean it as he could do.

Suddenly, the Dunlander stumbled backwards with a thudding in his head too much like his own magic. As he hit the table he sent the flagons upon it crashing to the floor. Tlurmin's knees buckled, and he held his head for the eruption of screaming thunder within it. Changing into the hound to spare his body another moment, he crawled to a corner of the room, and passed into a darkened slumber.

[Lexicalized]

Arayn did not know what to say to her father.  Words seemed so useless at that moment.  Her eyes found his and she sighed slightly.  Still only hard pride.  What would it take to break him? 

Without a word, she turned and walked away, her shoulders slightly slumped.  She was wore out, physically and mentally.  Such chaos had filled her life in only two short days. 

A strange whisp of loneliness stole over her heart.  Her mind, meanwhile, turned to Tlurmin. 

Weaving her way through the huts and houses that made up the 'noble' city of Edoras.  Her eyes had followed Tlurmin, from raven form to human (catching only a glimpse of his transformed shape entering a nearby lodge.

Arayn followed.

She stepped into the darkness.  It was illuminated only by a single candle upon the rough hewn wooden table.  The flame lit up very little of the room, and made the shadows dance eerily on the scratchy walls.

Then Arayn spotted the form of the hound, lying curled up miserably in the corner.  She could tell by it's breathing that it slept.  There was something very dejected and lonely about its form, and it touched her.

She moved to the beast's side, and settled down slowly beside it.  Gently she lifted the furry head and muzzle to nestle it in her lap.  She began to stroke the beast's head, almost as a mother soothes her child.

"Poor Tlurmin," she murmured, resting her head back against the wall.

Slowly she eased into a dreamless sleep, her hand still every now and again stroking the hound's head. 

[Wolfchild]

"Surely that is the lady Arayn, father?" A boy's voice questioned.

"Aye son, and I'd na'er trust my eyes again if I hadn't already seen the madness last night. Fetch a blanket for the woman lad, and I'll see to it the fire is warm enough. Pray that the king does not know she is here, or else his malice could reach to us, also."

With haste, the master of the house disappeared for a moment, and returned with a woolen bedcloth, tucking it gently around the sleeping form of Arayn. Why she was here he did not know, but for the things he had seen the boy was frightened. Orcs dwindled everywhere, arriving over such meager quarry, and though men had been killed, the creatures now asked for peace. Were it his family holding the throne of Edoras, he knew his actions would have been different.

It was then he noticed the hound, whose midnight stare startled him, for thinking it was in slumber still.

Tlurmin himself contemplated transformation, but decided against it. If they had seen him at the Golden Hall, they could call for people eager to take him back there. The Dunlander had been long in thought for what action to take next, even though most of him simply wished to be home and finished with Edoras completely. He could take little now, no matter what he felt. The orcs were not only a more imposing legion; they were an overwhelming one, and so any expectation he had to continue his purposes would be lost in a matter of priority. If he wanted something to come of this venture, he would have to wait.