[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor was silent, but his mind flashed through the hard life he has led.

The desease that took his mother. The betrayal of the easterlings. Burning of Greenwood the Great. The battle at the edge of Dead Marshes. Compromise that took his father's life. Running from the brick of death and memories that shattered his soul, wandering over the face of ea. Minas Tirith. Guard, lieutenant, then captaincy.


And from the shadowed memores of the past, his half-brother, come to claim his own... His life.


"Hir." Ferethor spoke, when he was able to control it from betraying fear or hatred. "What business brings you over hill and dale, from the brick of death to the far land of the North?" He instantly realised that his voice was still tinged with anger, but Hirifilen never noticed much anyway.


"Can't you guess?" Hir stared at him, but Ferethor met his gaze with his hard, grey eyes without casting it down. "You've always been keen-glanced, Thor, and looks inside both mind and people easily. I think you already know why I am here."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:52 PM January 28, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]