((As before, Felaion doesn't have a dual personality. I just find this simpler to explain, without spoiling.
Red writing represents Sauron's Voice.
Cyan represents the Lady Nolemire's voice.
Just thought you lot might like a little clarification on what's going on.))
Felaion, son of Curubor stepped gingerly onto the tiled roof. Staggering to obtain his balance he rests one black, muddy, dirty hand against the sooty chimney and looks out over bustling Bree-town, lit with the pale orange glow of dusk. Bree folk go about their buisness, packing up their stalls, or returning home for a night with their families. As the amber beams of sunlight dip below the hills of the haunted barrow-downs, Felaion screams. It is a blood-curdling, despearate scream. The scream of a man being forced to live against his will, the scream of a man being forced to die against his will, and the scream of a man forced to run against his will. Before long his breath is gone, but the scream continues in silence. Felaion's mouth is open, his eyes clamped shut, as he screams his heart out.
Eventually he gives in, gasping for breath, stumbling slightly on the loose tiles and hugging the chimney for support.
"Baker" whispers a quiet voice in his ear. "Felaion Baker" muttered the voice of Nolemire. "It was the name you chose for yourself, you know."
"I know that..." whispered Felaion's conciousness.
"Why?" spoke the voice of the elf maiden. "A baker... a man who cooks fine foods, bread... the substance under which all, even the forces of the shadow, survive."
"I wanted... I wanted a new name, my lady. Somthing so very different. Somthing new. Somthing... I could relate to." wimpered Felaion.
"I know, Son of the Shores, I know." Nolemires voice whispered, kindly. "I have many questions for you, but I will content myself with just one. Why have you done this? I assure you, no good will come of it."
"What could I do?" croaked the figure, fighting back a sob. "I had no other choice!"
"That is not possible, Felaion of Gondor, for we all have choice."
"Not this time..." muttered a dark voice. "Isn't that right, Baker?" the voice sneers with contempt at the word 'Baker'.
"It is... She tried to kill me for so small a thing before. I know what you would say I should do! But she would have killed me! And I would rather run and die than see the woman I love kill me!"
"Deciever! Your lies have gone a step too far this time. Felaion, listen to me, please. You must go back. Tell the Thorn what must be told. Be honest with her, it is the only way."
"No... there is another way. Some doors are still open to me." Felaion speaks calmly, standing straighter. "I will not remain with those who profess to be 'friend' or even 'lover' when behind closed doors they show their true faces."
"It is sad to see you fallen so far, Felaion."
"Save your pity. I do not need it. I will return to the land of my fathers, and take back what I left behind. The Thorn was not worth what I gave up"
"The fresh start you thought the Thorn could give you was naught but a fools hope. It is good to see you seeing reason. murmored the sickly voice. "They will suffer, Felaion of Gondor."
I will make sure of it.