The Green Dragon Inn - Part 9 - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Eorl of Rohan · 01-26-2004, 11:36 PM

Ferethor, who haven't paid attention to anything that was going on, rose in some confusion and surprise as chairs crashed in a sudden turmoil. A little girl was trying to twist herself free from the wreckage of chairs and disapproving gaffers disturbed in their evening beer.

Ferethor guessed, from her clothing and unkept hair, that she must be one of the orphans left on the street to make their own living by her folk, as many children often are in hard times. Her purpose wasn't tooo hard to discern - hope for warmth and fod. Even as he approached, she turned her eyes upon Ferethor - defiant, unquenchable, the sorrowful expression of one introduced into the harsh world too soon.

Ferethor suddenly vividly recalled his own childhood. His mother, slowly fading from the desease that swept over Gondor. His father, once a famed healer, vowing that he will never heal again... And his death in the field of Calehedron, or Rohan, the land of Horse-lords.

Then, his makeshift to stay alive. Instead of thinking of only next meal and sleeping place, as too many orphans often did, he remembered his ancestry. Ferethor's only heirloom, slender elven-bow of his father, he never sold. Even though Illuvatar knows he had gone without food many days... Later, when his archery skill was sufficient enough to hunt for his life, the life was better. When he was admitted into Guard of the citadel, it was better still. But he has never forgotten his childhood days.

His face softened by the pain of remebrance and pity, he reached down and took her little hand. "Little girl, are you all right?" She did not seem very comfortable, but she made no effort to pull her hand free.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:48 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

01-26-2004, 11:36 PM	#11
Eorl of Rohan Ghost Prince of Cardolan Join Date: Jan 2004 Location: Seoul, South Korea Posts: 602	Ferethor, who haven't paid attention to anything that was going on, rose in some confusion and surprise as chairs crashed in a sudden turmoil. A little girl was trying to twist herself free from the wreckage of chairs and disapproving gaffers disturbed in their evening beer. Ferethor guessed, from her clothing and unkept hair, that she must be one of the orphans left on the street to make their own living by her folk, as many children often are in hard times. Her purpose wasn't tooo hard to discern - hope for warmth and fod. Even as he approached, she turned her eyes upon Ferethor - defiant, unquenchable, the sorrowful expression of one introduced into the harsh world too soon. Ferethor suddenly vividly recalled his own childhood. His mother, slowly fading from the desease that swept over Gondor. His father, once a famed healer, vowing that he will never heal again... And his death in the field of Calehedron, or Rohan, the land of Horse-lords. Then, his makeshift to stay alive. Instead of thinking of only next meal and sleeping place, as too many orphans often did, he remembered his ancestry. Ferethor's only heirloom, slender elven-bow of his father, he never sold. Even though Illuvatar knows he had gone without food many days... Later, when his archery skill was sufficient enough to hunt for his life, the life was better. When he was admitted into Guard of the citadel, it was better still. But he has never forgotten his childhood days. His face softened by the pain of remebrance and pity, he reached down and took her little hand. "Little girl, are you all right?" She did not seem very comfortable, but she made no effort to pull her hand free. <font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:48 AM January 27, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ There is no signature here.