[Eorl of Rohan]

Ferethor slid from his steed with relative ease swiftly, and just as Maen sank crying onto the ground reached where the dilapidated tombstone was located. He did not bother to read the brazenly-engraved letters on the time-eaten granite gravestone because the reality suddenly flashed into his mind as vividly as if he had perused it thoughtfully. He felt a sense of incomprehensible relief for himself that there was no bloody end, of course self-centered feeling. He always looked out for himself and no one else.


But… Maen… It would be hard to lose what you have been pursuing for all your life, for did he not know it well? Especially vengeance. It seeps into your very soul, becomes your motivation and life force, and when it breaks into fragile lucent slivers like grass… Nothing remains but despair, and death. She was strong because vengeance supported her through the hard times, Ferethor realized. Maen was never this bloodthirsty and callous, but was made so by this fervent desire for vengeance and just retribution m- to return to her normal life. He wasn’t surprised to see her crying, and yet did not scorn her for it. If it was his circumstance – what would he have done? Probably cast himself down the next fire-filled yawning chasm he came across, like Maedhros did in the fulfillment of his vain oath and despair.


“Maen, hearken to me.” Ferethor sank down beside her yet didn’t dare to touch her or comfort her in any way, for not all tears were evil. It had the power to soothe and heal which was something that speech could not accomplish. He sought vainly for comforting words, but he was naturally a soldier who wasn’t good at words anyway, and kept relapsing into silence. “Guriel’s… dead. That doesn’t mean that you have failed in settling the score with the renegade, and its now time to forget and free yourself from the chain of the past that shackled you from enjoying the life. Look at the night heaven of Arda. The Menelcamar is sparkling, and the sickle of the Valar – Valarcirca – is luminously bespangling the sky in the sign of justice and hope and…”


Ferethor decided that words were just no use, and stayed beside her who stirred not immersed in her own grief silently, hoping others could excruciate him from this uncomfortable situation. But he felt the need to shatter the silence of the tomb. “Maen, I don’t pity you and I know you do not want to be pitied or comforted. Instead let me say this. I honor you because of all that you’ve gone through and the fact that you’re still living and strong and proud. If you let go of everything at this moment, Guriel would be the eventual winner after all because it was his desire to destroy your house and your kindred. But I trust you to make your way through your own despair.”


“But then, what right do I have to talk of hope and life, when I myself have no trust in either?” Ferethor impulsively rose with wry and bitter smile. “Others of the company would be here soon, who’d be more qualified to talk of such things to you then I.”