Morunir, my dearest friend.
My oldest friend, my most beloved. I've tried time and time to come to peace with your passing.
I have tried over and over, day after day not to be terrorised in the night of your violent death.
Failed you, I failed you. You were the one who helped form me into the man I am today.
What is worse, is I've written naught of you. For I feared the words would jump from this parchment and suffocate me. Each and every night in my tent, I twitch and I scream in muffled cries. Or so I've been told.
I knew not, I truly knew not of the orcs that were coming for you. For this I am sorry. So, very sorry.
You taught me to write, to cook, to do all the things I do to this day that my mother has not taught me.
I would not be the man I am today without you, and it is in this battered journal that I beg to be released.
An icy grip, over my very being. I struggle often with the thought of your passing, cry too often.
You were a brother to me, and for this I thank you. I carried your ring with me for eight years. It was not until I left it at Eorl's hallow did I realise that was not the end of my plague. For I think now, it is not only the memory of your death that breaks me. You are what has held me together, the memory of our times in Taverns.
All the times we got far too drunk, irresponsibly and rather stupidly. Each time we sauntered to our horses preparing for the next skirmish. Goodness, I struggle even now finishing this entry.
I mourn you, more than any other. Selfishly and disgustingly. It must end, this must be the end.
For now, I have a company to look after. Many men look to me, to secure their food and their drink.
Many come to me for guidance, looking for a man stalwart and protective. Which, I certainly am.
On my best days, and on my worst.. I am but a foolish emotional creature.
They deserve more, far more. Yet they bring me growth, they are the sunlight in my life that allows me to continue each day. They are the men and women that I drink to, and those who I'd die in battle alongside.
I'd give my life for each and every one of them without question.
This is what confuses me most, when I awake from my terrors each night. I am surrounded by those who care for me, those who would see me smile. So why am I plagued? Why is it that I can not escape my ghosts?
War is not a beautiful thing, the flesh, the blood, the screams of agony on both sides.
Yet no one told me as a boy, that I'd grow to be a broken piece of steel.
My company, are reforging me.
Tempering me like steel.
Once more.
Hope.
