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“Valar Help Guriel when you come to pass judgement on him Miss Il Galoth.” Cried Ferethor had called out from behind, with a cynical sobriety. The reply of Maen Il Garoth was expected, of course – her intent was to have Guriel dead and nothing else would suffice to ease her bloodthirsty wish for a vengeance.
A fevered yearning for blood-drenched vengeance that he could almost pity Maen for, although Ferethor was fairly sure that she wanted no sympathy from anyone. A just and impartial retribution for her kinsmen’s death and twisting of her general father’s mood, as well as for her childhood lost.
A heavy sigh of regret escaped through Ferethor’s gritted teeth, although he was unaware that he was unconsciously clenching his teeth. It would be a pity to turn on Maen at the last moment and forbid her from slaying the renegade that she had hunted for far and wide, but it was his duty as a soldier of Gondor.
“Aelimur.” Ferethor murmured in a tense voice to his comrade, “She’s going to make some trouble when we arrest Il Garoth the traitor and deny her the pleasure of shedding his blood. What would we need to do then? Slay her alos?”
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