[Eorl of Rohan]

Activity and conversation raged around the inn, and the maids bustled around taking orders. Ferethor was too deep in his sad thought to take notice.


"Even though the time of Darkness is past, orcs, Wargs and other evil creature prowl around the borders." Ferethor thought. "If soldiers of Gonder, in disguise, does not patrol the gates and defend this simple country, there would be no peace for these holbytlans to remain merry. Whither shall they flee from the oncoming dread if we did not protect them?"


But he was not appeased. He longed for the Gondor, and the majestical city of Minas Tirith where he was born. True - he had nothing there, only broken fragments of memories and the graves of his parents, but it was home.


He shook off his thought, dismissing them as 'brooding', and called for another ale. He'd stay the night, and then head for Eryn Lasgalen.


"Eryn Lasgalen..." He silently voiced the word. "It was named once Greenwood the Great. Then evil lurked in it's shadows, and it's new name was Mirkwood, a word to strike fear into all who heard it. Now it is named Eryn Lasgalen in Quenya."


Even though he was young, he felt his age slipping away. Elves played no more by the Greenwood the Great, and dwarves were few and seldom seen, adn even holbytlans avoid us with dismay.


Maybe, as the name of the forests were changing, so does the time. It was now the Age of Men.


"By Illu, I'll never get out of the habit of brooding." he said cynically, when he noticed that his mind was going in circles again.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 7:20 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: Eorl of Rohan ]