Dwarves were following them! How many they did not know. The band of weary refugees were slowly passing out of the eastern foothills of the Ered Lindon mountain range. Amdir, when he had been told of the Dwarves approach, had sent the women and children ahead, and that had meant that Oropher had been sent with them. Oropher was angry and hurt. ‘I am old enough to wield a sword,’ he thought; he had revenge on his heart. Obediently, he walked along with the column until they passed a high hill. He ducked behind it and waited until the rest of the company passed him. Then, he walked silently back towards the warriors who waited in the pass to slaughter the enemy. He did not know how he would convince Amdir to let him join the battle, but, when the time came, he was certain he would know what to say.

Oropher stopped when he saw Amdir and his men standing out in the open, their swords sheathed and their spears held lightly in their hands. His mind whirled. What was Amdir thinking? Did he not know the Dwarves would kill them all? He unsheathed his own sword and hid behind a great boulder.

The Dwarves came, at least three hundred strong. Their weapons were drawn Oropher noted. Yet, Amdir did nothing. The Elven troop stood still and waited. The Dwarves stopped. A small dribble of rock caught his attention; he looked up. Another two hundred at least lined either side of the pass. Oropher held his breath. The Dwarves on the path quickly crowded together. He could tell they were trying to decide what to do. Though the Elves looked impressive with their golden armour and their spears shining in the sun, they still had not drawn into battle formation, nor pulled their swords.

A lone Dwarf strode forward. Amdir stepped away from his men. Oropher bit his hand so he would not yell out his terror. If the Elven warriors were killed, who would protect the women and children? He could not stand to see another Elf dead. He stood, but just then Amdir raised a hand in salute and walked towards the Dwarf. The Dwarf also moved forward, hand outstretched in peace. Oropher shakily hid again.

The men met between the space left open between the two bands of enemies – Dwarves on the west and Elves on the east. The two leaders stood together and talked for some time. Oropher’s terror was growing. The Dwarven band became restless as their leader talked. The Elves stood still, not moving a muscle. Oropher did not know how they could stand like that, unshaken in the face of so many of the enemy, the very same kind who had destroyed their home. His cheeks blazed in anger and hatred.

At last, Amdir turned and returned to his troops. He walked to the head of the line and led his men eastward. Oropher watched, incredulously, as the Dwarves turned west and departed. ‘It is a ruse,’ he thought shakily. ‘When our warriors have passed the hill, they will attack.’ He hid behind the rock, his whole body shaking with fear. Tears streamed down his face. He would stay and signal when the Dwarves attacked. He would probably be killed, as none would be near enough to help him when the Dwarves descended upon him, once he loosed the signal, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t care, though his very body betrayed him. He waited. None came. He waited longer. None came. The tremors slowly left his body. Fatigue took their place. He could hardly keep his head raised.

‘They have tricked me!’ He rose in sudden anguish. ‘They have skirted around me and are attacking our men on their flank. I must run and save them!’ He ran as fast as he could, though hunger and fatigue held more sway over his body than the fear that drove him forward; he stumbled too many times. His speed was such that he knew his people would all be slain ere he overtook them. Tears covered his face as despair warred with hope. He would never reach them in time. His sword was so heavy; his feet sodden. He could hardly move. Hopelessness overcame him. His steps slowed. He fought the urge to move forward. He did not want to see the slaughter that he knew would meet his eyes, once he rounded the hill. He fell forward.

When he awoke, he cried aloud. ‘I have failed,’ he sobbed. ‘They are all dead!’

Slowly, he raised himself to his knees. Clutching his head, he wept bitterly. After some time, he stood and walked forward. 'Someone will have to bury them,' he thought, 'though I have not the strength to even think.' Bitterness filled his heart as he thought of his family, dead in Doriath, and now his friends, dead in this wretched pass. But he must bury them before the carrion eaters came. He pressed onward.

Rounding the hill, he stopped in amaze. Amdir stood by a campfire, holding a flagon, and speaking quietly with a woman. The other Elves stood around in disarray, the ease of being encamped apparent in their stance. Oropher stood still, his heart still racing. Amdir looked up and saw him. His captain walked purposefully towards him.

“You disobeyed,” Amdir said quietly, eyes of steel holding Oropher in their grip.

Oropher hung his head.

“I understand your motives. Nothing,” he whispered the last word, “nothing ever is more important than obedience to your leader.”

Oropher nodded, still unable to bring himself to look at his captain.

Amdir took his chin and lifted his head. “You will do guard duty for the next week. After that, we will sit and talk. I am at fault, also. I have not assigned you a teacher. We will discuss who it will be when we meet again. I do not want to see you for the next week, except walking to and from your duty. Do you understand?”

The anger in Amdir’s eyes frightened the lad. “I understand, my captain.”

“Very well. Return to your family.”

Oropher stood still, looking about him.

“Why do you stand there? Go to your family now.”

“I have none, my captain.” He swallowed hard. “They were all lost.”

Amdir put his arm on Oropher’s shoulder. “I will be your family, my son. Come with me.”