[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor had been running on adrenaline. When the feverish tension that spurred him on began ebbing away, the cold surface of the planks pressed against his cheek bringing back a measure of awareness, dead weariness set in. It was a miracle that he reached this far without mishap. He shouldn’t have. He couldn’t have. But here he was, leaning on the very walls of the Rakin’s infamous quarters, clad in a sailor’s uniform that did little to staunch the flow of blood down his back, and at a loss what to do.

Beyond the walls, Chakka and Rakin were immersed in earnest speech although he couldn’t make out most of the words. He frowned, trying to concentrate on listening, and then the very incongruity of it struck him. Talking together? If Ferethor was the one in Chakka’s place, he’d be raising hell with that miserable dog of Umbar by now. Seized with a chill of doubt that he dared not explain even to himself, he inadvertently drew closer to the doorway and heard Chakka finishing his last sentence – cannot pretend… not without appeal to you. So that was it. He was selling them all out. To think he thought of trusting that barbarian thrall… Reeling from what he had heard, Ferethor swayed and covered his mouth with his hand. When he took it away, the palm was covered with blood. Damn it, not at a time like this!

No help to be gotten from Chakka, apparently, who had evidently swapped sides if he heard them correctly. Ferethor swore silently; things weren't going well. Pulling himself away from the wall, he asked himself the question that had been gnawing at the edge of his mind ever since - where to, now?

Ferethor knew he should have made provisions for such an event. As it was, he had no resources at his disposal for such a chance as this, merely because he had thought it too unlikely that he’d ever get free. He felt his lack of forethought more keenly than ever as he started walking aimlessly across the deck. The first resolve to kill Rakin seemed ridiculous to look back on, now that he thought of it. He was with Linvail the last time he tried, and that ended a failure. For Eru's sake, too, he was in no condition to kill anyone other than himself. Which he seemed to be hastening. No reason Rakin would leave him alive after this - unless, of course, he wanted to play. The man was perfectly capable of that. In fact, he was capable of anything; even leaving him alive. Although, and here Ferethor's thought took on a tinge of bitterness, should that be the case he would probably wish he was dead. Well, if he went, by Elbereth he wouldn't go alone! With that thought tingling in the back of his mind, Ferethor made his way to the bottom of Fame and Fortune, where the slaves were hard at work at the oars.

“What in Mandos are you doing around here?” Was the reply that greeted his appearance, as one of the guards looked up. It was an automatic inquiry, given with nothing more alarming than a hint of surprise, and Ferethor realized that the sentinel did not recognize him. If the man's tone was surprised, it was because the sailors kept away from this place as much as possible, it being the dismal place it is. Not the place for your afternoon stroll. But no, the surprise wasn’t the kind of alarm that would be upon seeing a slave on the loose. He thought of it for a moment, and it made sense. No one looks clearly at a slave. Besides, even if the guard knew him, there was so little illumination in the place that it wouldn't have made a particle of difference anyway. He was hard put to quell a sigh of relief.

Ferethor swallowed and said casually, “Just trying to stay out of captain’s sight. He’s been furious since he got closeted with that Chakka fellow, and I wouldn’t want to be the one to get the brunt of his anger.”

The other seemed to buy it, and lapsed into his usual lethargy, but Ferethor's eyes caught a startled movement in the least quarter where he expected trouble – the slaves. Someone had recognized his voice. Who? Damn it, who around here knew him? But there was no disbelieving his senses. A moment to slip a word to the indifferent guard about checking the fetters, then he went down to the slave ranks. Those nearest him pulled away, except for one who stared at him directly and unbelievingly – a newcomer. One less naive would immediately feign indifference, but the boy was still young. Jagar, wasn’t it his name? The one who took Linvail’s place at the oars. Seeing that the man moved as if to say something, he quickly leaned down and grabbed his wrists hard to stop him.

“Keep quiet and listen. Yes, I am the one you think I am. And yes, again, I am an enemy of the corsairs. Aren’t you?” here Ferethor waited for a reply, but it did not come, and he took it for an affirmative and continued. “Jagar, your name is, right? Anyway, I have something to ask of you. I didn’t think that you’d be the one that I’d be talking to, but it’s just as well. I have no options left now anyway. Since I.. no, wait.”

Ferethor stood up, and called out to the approaching guard that he thought the shackles were twisted and that it needed fixing, and that he’d do it for them if they wouldn’t speak of him hiding out here. A brilliant piece of acting, pulled off so well that the guard turned away with all misdoubts in his heart quenched and filled with thanks for the newcomer. He even offered a drink from his flask, but he refused. When he came back to Jagar, he had something in his hands. “The guard was stupid enough to lend me his knife to fix the shackles. Here, take it. No, better…” With a deft twist, Ferethor jerked the shackle locks open. “A skill that every slave learns after a time, so don’t look so surprised. The time might come when your chance at freedom might turn the tides. Make sure that you keep the knife close at hand, but don’t waste your chance at sheer bravado. Don’t try freeing the other slaves; I’ve tried once to raise their spirits. Take it from me, they’re worthless. Just keep yourself alive.” His voice faltered for a while as if seized with strong memories. Linvail… It was as if he was talking to him, once his most trusted lieutenant… Then he recollected himself and went on. “Not enough time to explain why I’m telling all this to you, Jagar. Maybe it’s because I would hate it if Rakin killed me and then all the plans I’ve made to kill him went to Mandos with me…”

“The strength of this vessel is that it’s isolated, so that there’s nowhere to run, but that can be also its weakness. It’s made out of wood, darn it. It’s not fireproof.” Ferethor quickly laid out his plans, afraid that his time was running out. “I know it’s soaked with brine, but if we could steal strong liquor from the captain’s own cabin to fuel the fire… That’s where you come in. I’d do it myself, but I have the feeling that Rakin’s not going to leave me alive after this, so I’m entrusting this to you… If you can steal it, our work will be half done. You can’t start it now, though, when it can be easily put out. In the heat of war, we have more chance of torching the damn ship without much interference than we would now… And then we can go over to the other ship. They’d take us in. Do you get what I’m saying?”

It was verging on madness to entrust all this to a young slave he’s never even talked to until now – but he was out of options. This was it, or nothing but the void.