Disclaimer: If I owned Lord of the Rings, would I actually be writing this? No!

Tindomiel: Thanks for the feedback! As for the onions bit, they're a cash crop among the Easterlings who consider it a delicacy, and use it in many meals. Warriors tend to eat them raw for three reasons, one being the fact that more food was given to the armies fighting Dale and Erebor to the Northwest. Also, there was not enough time to cook during long marches, and it was considered manly among them to eat onions raw. And personally, I'd love to eat raw onions… J

As for his views on the West, he and most other Easterlings see them as rich and corrupt barbarians, somewhat similar to Imperial Japan's views on the West during the 1930's/40's. And Sauron is seen by some as a necessary evil, and by others as a savior of their kind, and by all as a powerful sorcerer. I hope that clears things up.

Chapter Two: The Wild North

Katlian sat in his dark tent for hours trying to get some sleep. He didn't understand how Ban Zaa, Kluan, or Kit could stand this place. The flames all over the barren plains of Mordor brought back the image of his burning village, the memory of which was still lingering in the confines of his mind.

---Twelve years before---

The ebony skinned Far Haradrim mercenary known as Tariq surveyed what was left of a pillaged settlement, as a raging inferno took what little was left and the dazed survivors got ready to bury the bodies of their loved ones. Most of the villagers were grouped up in around the pagoda-temple complex in the center of town, which had miraculously gone through the massacre unscathed. He and his companions arrived in the middle of the slaughter, and they had managed to chase the Variags away.

Tariq saw one sallow-skinned Easterling kneeling beside the body of what must've been his father. And in his furious, dark eyes he saw Power. A touch of destiny hovered about this lad. Upon inquiring about the boy, a one-eyed man told the Far Haradrim, "His entire family is dead, killed in front of their home. His sister was kidnapped, taken by their leader."

"Hmph." Was the only reply that story got. Tariq strode over the silent boy and asked calmly, "What is your name?" The child finally moved his head to look at the stranger.

"My name, is Jhiro Katlian."

"It appears to me you're the only Jhiro now."

Tears welled up in Katlian's eyes and a shiver ran up his spine. "Y-yes. I s-suppose I am, sir." Tariq straightened himself up. "Now there. This land is not safe for you while the clans still fight for power. You just saw one band of Variag mercenaries come here. I am sure you do not want to see another." Jhiro Katlian remained silent. "If you come with my clan, I'll teach you everything I know. I swear it by the Sun and Moon."

Katlian pondered this for a moment, mouth moving in noiseless whispers. " I will join you, sir."

"Good! Do you know how to ride a horse?" The boy shook his head.

"And yet you want to join my clan? Oh well, a little tutoring never hurt. Have you ever wielded a sword? No? An axe? Spear of any sort? Have you ever even used a bow?"

"I did hunt with a sling once or twice."

Tariq grimaced. "You have a lot to learn, Jhiro. That shall be your new name, for you are the last of your family and thus the master of yourself. Get used to it. We will ride north to my camp in the forests. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"We have already provided you with this chestnut horse, may it serve you well. Her name is Erdda. Any questions?"

The young Jhiro spoke meekly, "May I spend The Three Days here? I must see to the burial of…"

"Of what can be found of your family." Tariq finished. "Of course. But it's best not to linger here any longer than necessary."

He nodded, and rushed to the bodies of his brothers and parents. His brothers and mother had been burnt alive inside their home. All that was left of them was charred bones. He buried their remains and left a flat, three-foot high white obelisk with glyphs bearing their names and magical spells to see that they got to the afterlife. The next day was spent in silence among all survivors who lost relatives.

The final day was a large party to honor their dead kinsman, and even Jhiro had taken three sips of the local spring water mixed with onion juices and honey in a rite called Onin, because that's what each person said after taking each sip of the drink. It made Jhiro twitch, but he found he liked it for some reason.

After the burial rites, Jhiro, Tariq, and the rest of the mercenaries rode with great haste northwards. But Jhiro got one last look at his dead village. He wondered if he would ever see his sister again, and if his family had ascended into the land of the good spirits. "Ya! Go, Erdda!" He gave the horse a good kick and they bolted off, following the mysterious Far-Haradrim.

Sorry for the brevity, but I will make the next chapters longer and more interesting. Thanks for reading my humble work, good people!