Military meals were notoriously bland; so much so, that there were many mornings where Elaenar was completely unmotivated to eat breakfast and eschewed the day's first meal entirely. But today wasn't one of those days; Elaenar made his way to the mess hall and was about to take a seat next to the few friends that he had in the army. He found Lúthian and Aeründal sitting across from Ruillian, and he noticed immediately that Ruillian wasn't eating anything, had his arms crossed on the table, and was speaking in an agitated, hush-hush tone but he abruptly stopped talking as soon as Elaenar approached.

Elaenar acknowledged his comrades as he took a seat.

"Hello Aeründal, Rullian…" But Rullian abruptly turned away and rose from the table the moment that Elaenar sat down next to him. He stormed away, leaving Elaenar offended and confused.

"What's wrong with him?" He asked. He found it odd that Aeründal and Lúthian couldn't look him in the eye; they both seemed awkward and uncomfortable.

"He doesn't approve…" Aeründal confessed sheepishly.

"Doesn't approve of what?" He snapped.

"Your ward." Lúthian answered for him in a tone that put Elaenar immediately on the defensive. Elaenar knew that most of his comrades didn't approve of Snaga being held in the prison cell, much less let out and allowed to work. Elaenar burned with anger and resentment at the unfair situation that he found himself in; it wasn't even his decision to let Snaga out of his holding cell! Captain Thrandar had been the one to make that call.

"Well, maybe instead of having a vendetta against me, Ruillian ought to consider why he hasn't thanked me yet for accomplishing what he couldn't."

"Elaenar!" Lúthian exclaimed, slamming the table. "That is such a despicable thing to s-"

"Did you know that Ruillian and Findor were sent to Barad Mendolin to rescue you, but they came back saying that it was impossible?" He asked, speaking directly to Aeründal, ignoring Lúthian. Aeründal shook his head and sighed.

"You have no shame, do you Elaenar?" Lúthian said.

"Fortunately," Elaenar continued, ignoring him. "Someone refused to accept that it was impossible to save you and Faenar. I guess that's why we're all here…including the prisoner."

"You better keep close guard on that little miscreant." Lúthian admonished him, leaning over the table, and pointing a finger at Elaenar as he spoke; "If there's any trouble, it will be your fault."

"Lúthian," he said coolly. "Do you remember when I asked you if you would dispatch the prisoner for me?

"Uh, er…yes?" He answered in a "what about it?" tone.

"You had your chance to get rid of the "little miscreant" and you didn't take it, because this entire damn army has tacitly decided that the orc prisoner is my responsibility; even though I never asked to be in charge of Snaga. So shut up and don't tell me what to do."

Lúthian rose from the table, shaking his head and letting out a disgusted "ugh!".

"You're so insufferable!" He exclaimed, turning to leave. "Oh, and by the way, will you stop smoking in the corridor? Everyone can smell it, and its disgusting!" He stormed off, leaving Aeründal and Elaenar sitting alone at the table.

"Don't mind Ruillian, he's just upset." Aeründal comforted him. "Today is the anniversary of his brother's death."

"Is that my fault?" He asked tersely.

"Try to have some compassion, Elaenar. No one is perfect. You'll have to be patient with him; he's having a difficult day."

Elaenar grunted; he was never one to be the bigger person. That was for people like Aeründal.

"Also, Lúthian is right. You really shouldn't be smoking in the corridor."

"I don't. I smoke in my room."

"All the same, we can still smell it. Is that why you asked Captain Thrandar for a room all to yourself?"

"No. I asked for a room to myself because I'm a grouch who needs his privacy."

"You know, you really shouldn't be doing illicit drugs while you're on duty."

"Yes, mother." He said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"You could get discharged from the army for that."

Elaenar shrugged. "If Captain Thrandar wanted to kick me out of the army, he would have done it a long time ago."

"Well, if that's true, then I guess we both lost our wager."

"Wager?"

Aeründal snickered. "Lúthian and I made a bet on when you would get expelled from the army. So far I'm winning."

Elaenar laughed. Sometimes he wished he was a good-natured person like Aeründal. Sometimes he wished he could slap Ruillian and Lúthian.


Snaga could see his own melancholy face in the murky reflection of the puddle of water on the floor he was washing. His knuckles were beginning to go raw from scrubbing too hard. He had been extra obedient since the "incident". Elaenar hadn't let him out of his prison cell for a couple of days just to teach him a lesson; to help him remember that no matter how unpleasant life was being a slave to elves, being a prisoner locked in a room for all eternity was much worse. This menial work gave Snaga plenty of time to think and his thoughts often wandered on the subject of his unhappy situation.

The most striking feature of this society was the absence of any hierarchy. Snaga observed that there were no slaves among men or elves. There was no whipping post, no hanging scaffold; there were no snagas here. In fact, the only slave here was himself; and that reality carried its own special humiliation. In this mixed army of elves and men, Snaga found himself reduced to a cast even lower than when he was the lowest of conscripts at the orc camp (if such a thing were even possible). It made him feel small; he endured hostile glares everywhere he went from men and elves; every subtle encounter put him squarely in his place. Even the dogs hated him; when he was in the courtyard, they had barked at him ferociously. Snaga almost certainly would have been bitten if Elaenar hadn't whistled at them and ordered the dogs to desist. Snaga carried himself as inconspicuously as possible, he pulled his cowl low over his head and walked with his head ducked low everywhere he went.

Snaga was so deep inside his own head, listening to his own thoughts, that he almost didn't hear the pitter patter of feet coming towards him until a figure stopped right where he was scrubbing the floor, looming over him. He could see the reflection of some elf in the in the wet floor, but he didn't dare look into his face; he only allowed himself to make the slightest upward glance in his peripheral vision.

"My brother was killed by orcs." The elf growled menacingly.

Snaga shuddered down his spine but didn't dare answer. He continued to scrub at the floor as if nothing had been spoken to him. But pretending that the elf wasn't there didn't last for even two seconds because he kicked Snaga squarely in the face. Snaga cried out and doubled over, clutching at his bleeding nose.

"If I had it my way, we would kill every orc that we encounter and put their head on a stake!"

With those words, Snaga was terrified that he was about to be beaten to pulp, or possibly murdered. Fortunately for him, the elf stormed away and didn't do him any more harm other than that one, vicious kick to his face. Snaga crouched there on the floor whining in pain, clutching at his broken nose which had started to dribble blood into his hand which subsequently dripped between his fingers onto the floor that he had just cleaned. It hurt like hell; the throbbing pain made his entire face ache and he found it terribly difficult to finish his task at hand.

He was still smarting from the kick to his face when he trudged down the stairs that lead from of the elves' barracks into the main courtyard to dispose of the dirty water when Elaenar came upon him in the main court.

"Snaga!" Elaenar exclaimed (startling him terribly). "What happened to you?"

"I fell," Snaga lied instinctively (he knew better than to rat someone out; that only ever makes things worse).

"No you didn't! Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"I tripped and fell down the stairs." He insisted meekly.

"Snaga, stop lying to me! I know that you didn't fall; now who did this to you?"

"I don't know," He confessed, dropping the lie. "He kicked me. I didn't see his face."

"Son of a bitch!" Elaenar cussed angrily while looking off in the direction of the barracks. To Snaga's horror, he stormed his way into the direction of the elvish side of the fortress; this isn't what he'd mean for to happen. Snaga was certain that this would spell out nothing but trouble for him, so Snaga raced after Elaenar to ply him with some outrageous lie about how it was all his fault and beg Elaenar to let the matter rest.

Elaenar's long legs carried him much faster than Snaga could trot; he rounded the corner just in time to see the elf soldier storm into the dormitory. Snaga had never been in the dorms before, and he knew he wasn't allowed in there, but he raced after Elaenar and tried to catch him before it was too late.

"Hey Ruillian, where did you get the blood on your shoe?" Snaga heard Elaenar ask, angrily.

Rullian turned around and smiled smugly at him.

"I don't know what you mean, Elaenar," His smirk was knocked off of his face in an instant; Elaenar abruptly clocked him in the face. He punched Ruillian so hard that he went reeling backward. Snaga stood there in the doorway watching the entire ordeal unfold, shocked.

"You son of a bitch, you're insane!" Ruillian screamed.

"Maybe you shouldn't strike someone without cause lest you want it to happen to yourself, you fucking brute."

"I'd like to do so much worse to you and your filthy little orc pet!" He screamed back at him.

They continued to shout at each other, and Snaga might have continued to stand there gawking and watch them fight, but he felt a hand clamp down firmly on his shoulder and he was startled to look up and see Lúthian glaring down at him disapprovingly.

"You're not supposed to be in here." He scolded.

Snaga snapped to his senses and turned on his heels to scurry out of the elves' dormitory. He returned to the bucket that he was supposed to empty and dumped it in the sewer in the courtyard. On his way back to the barracks, he ran into Elaenar. His body went stiff; there were certainly going to be repercussions for snitching. He braced himself for whatever trouble was coming his way.

"I swear I didn't do anyth-"

"Come along Snaga, you're bleeding. Look at you, you've got blood all over your chin." He said, tugging at his wrist.

Elaenar brought him upstairs to the same room where he had dressed the burns on his shoulder and bade him to sit down on a crate. The elf took a seat across from him and dabbed at his face.

"Ow!" Snaga cried when the elf dabbed at his nose. It hurt horribly; his eyes began to water.

"Hold still," Elaenar shushed him. After cleaning the blood off of his chin and cheek, he gently prodded Snaga's cheekbone and nose.

"Nothing is broken. Your nose is just fractured. It will hurt for a while. Don't even think about sleeping on your face." He advised Snaga while he applied a small bandage to the spot on his face where the skin had been broken.

"Yes, master." He mumbled.

Elaenar flinched at being addressed that way; an uncomfortable grimace came over his face.

"You don't have to call me that anymore, Snaga. Just call me sir."

"But you said I was your-"

"Hush. I know what I said." Elaenar interrupted him before he could let the word "slave" come out of his mouth. He promptly changed the subject:

"Why did Rullian kick you?" Elaenar asked.

"I don't know," Snaga replied defensively.

"He didn't say anything at all?" The elf prodded.

"…he said that orcs killed his brother." Snaga murmured, looking down and turning his face away from Elaenar's gaze.

"Hmph," Elaenar snorted with contempt. He gently reached for Snaga's chin and directed his head to turn be back in his direction, straight-ahead and aligned with Elaenar's body.

"You didn't kill his brother." He remarked while applying something cool to Snaga's face and saying something about how "analgesic" would help the swelling go down. Snaga said nothing in reply, but he took silent comfort in being defended.

The observation that Elaenar had made inspired Snaga to think more philosophically about his situation. Why did they hate him so much, anyway? What had he done to any of them? But then it occurred to Snaga that orcs had invaded and stolen land that wasn't there's, and it was very bad for him, as an orc, to be in men's' ancient homeland; so of course they hated him. Snaga hadn't thought about it this way before, but he was one microscopic part of a great invasion. But it wasn't fair; Snaga hadn't asked to be conscripted. It wasn't his choice where he went or what he did. He was just a lowly orc slave.

"The next time that someone give you trouble, don't try to hide it from me. No more stories about "falling down the stairs". You're the worst liar I ever met; you know that Snaga?" Elaenar said as he gently chucked Snaga's chin and rose up from his chair.

"If it makes you feel any better, I gave it to Ruillian a lot worse than he gave it to you. You're not the only one who will be walking around with a black eye tomorrow."

It wasn't schadenfreude that Snaga felt in that moment (although he didn't lament for even one second that Ruillian had been beaten up) but it was something else, a warm feeling in his gut and his heart. For the first time, Snaga looked at Elaenar as a protector, not a ruthless captor. Snaga wondered if perhaps he was safer here than he had at first perceived.