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Journey Of A Butterfly	By : Mel99Moe Category: -Fourth Age to Modern times and beyond > Het - Male/Female Views: 5714 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places of Lord of the Rings/Tolkien. No money is being made. This is for personal enjoyment only.

Chapter List
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Chapter 30 - The Injured Traveler

The morning started out like any other. Terrwyn was busy tidying up Master Curuven’s back room, chatting with Limil and getting ready to pick some herbs for the day’s medicinal mixtures when there was a commotion up front from the waiting area. She heard some loud voices speaking elvish in a very distressed manner. The door to the back room flew open and Curuven called both females to come with him. Terrwyn and Limil dropped what they were doing and rushed to join the Master Healer.

The first thing Terrwyn saw was a group of four very worried elves. They all towered above her and she felt very insignificant in the midst of them. There was someone lying on the bed in the healing room, a fifth elf. He was unconscious and deathly pale. His long platinum hair was a tangled mess and sweat beaded upon his forehead. His lips were grey and cracked, as though he had gone for days without water. The other elves were becoming irritated, some yelling, some waving their hands as they told their story of how their friend got in this condition. She couldn’t make out a word of what they were saying, but their accent and the way they spoke told her they were from Mirkwood. None of these elves were dressed like those who lived in Ithilien. No, these elves were visitors, obviously attacked on their way here. Her thoughts instantly went to Feredir. He was somewhere out on the Great Road. If only she could speak elvish so she could ask if these were the elves Feredir was meant to join with. She must have looked extremely concerned for Limil laid a kind hand on her shoulder.

“I know what you are thinking, and this is not them. They say they heard of the recent activity at the gateways and came by another route. They were ambushed by orcs. This one was shot in the leg. The arrow was obviously poisoned and the tip is still buried in his thigh. It happened four days ago, so the poison has had time to spread. We need to remove the rest of the arrowhead and clean that wound, but first we need to make him sleep. If we start to work on him now, he will wake up and he won’t be in a very welcoming mood. His dreams have no doubt been very dark lately. Any more pain introduced to him now would have him become violent.” Limil told her more about orc poison and how it altered the elvish mind. Terrwyn looked down to the injured elf. It was difficult to believe that he could come out of this coma and bring them harm. He looked so weak and pale.

“What do you need me to do then?” Terrwyn asked, ready to help in any way.

“We have to gently sit him up so that Curuven can get him to drink that.” Limil pointed to a small bottle with a pale blue liquid in it. “It will put him in a deep sleep and help curve his dark dreams. The challenge is getting him to drink it. I’m afraid anything we force him to do will be considered a threat. Now, I just need you to take one side and help me hold him up. I will try to speak to him and keep him calm. Can you do this?”

“Of course,” Terrwyn said bravely. She could not stand to see anyone suffer, least of all an elf.

The other elves were asked to leave the room so that there were no distractions. Curuven poured the contents of the bottle into a cup. He nodded to Limil and Terrwyn to sit him up. Slowly, they put their hands under his shoulders and started to lift him. The elf began mumbling and Limil signaled to Terrwyn to stop. When he quieted down, they started pushing him up again. When he stirred, Limil whispered into his ear and he seemed to calm. Finally, they got him up far enough so that Curuven could administer the relaxant. The Healer stood in front of the injured elf and held the glass to his lips. The liquid touched his tongue and he made a disgusted face. Obviously, it did not taste very good and he resisted. Curuven spoke and the elf’s eyes opened a crack. As soon as he saw the Healer, he became agitated. Limil spoke elvish in his ear, but it didn’t seem to calm him. Terrwyn was beginning to worry for she felt the muscles in his arms and back tense.

“Why won’t he let us help him?” she asked.

“It is the poison. It gives him visions. He probably thinks we are trying to hurt him,” Limil answered rushing her words so she could get back to speaking elvish.

The injured elf was regaining consciousness quickly and Terrwyn felt helpless to do anything. She definitely was not strong enough to hold him down. She could not speak in his native tongue. All she could do was hold him up in a sitting position, and if this elf decided to get violent, she would surely be injured.

The Mirkwood elf gritted his teeth and spoke unkindly. Terrwyn couldn’t understand his words, but his mannerisms told her he was cursing them. Suddenly, like lightning striking, the elf came alive and swung at Curuven. The Healer was only a tad faster and dodged the very large fist. In the process, he dropped the cup and spilled the medicine. Terrwyn was frightened, but she could see things were about to get completely out of hand.

“Stop! Please stop! We are only trying to help you,” she yelled.

As if he had never been injured, the elf sat up on his own and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His line of sight came upon Terrwyn. The way he scowled at her was as if he were seeing the enemy. Terrwyn started to back up, but thought it better to stand her ground. “Please listen. You are in Ithilien and we are healers. You have been poisoned and you are not yourself. Let us help you. Please?” she pleaded in a very soft voice.

Like magic, the elf’s murderous face softened as he gazed upon Terrwyn. He looked to each side, giving Curuven and Limil a good once over, then his attention turned back to the young woman before him. He said something in his language to her, but she didn’t understand and looked at Limil.

“He asks if you are here to help him,” Limil translated.

Terrwyn nodded, though she still looked terrified. The injured elf spoke again, but this time Limil answered him. After a few exchanged words, she told Terrwyn what was said. “He wanted to know who you were and where you were from. I told him you were visiting from Rohan. I don’t think he has seen many Rohirrim women before.”

The entire time Limil filled Terrwyn in on the conversation, the elf’s eyes never left the young woman. His stare was very powerful and she felt as though he held her in some sort of trance. He was a most striking elf, hair to his waist, lean but just enough muscle to see his strength, square jaw and eyes of a brilliant shade of hazel, almost gold.

“I finnel bain,” he moaned more than once to her.

Terrwyn was frightened at first, but his voice went from demanding to pleading. “What is he saying?” she asked.

“He asks you to help him,” Curuven replied. “Here,” he said handing the woman a bowl that had more of the blue liquid in it. “See if you can get him to drink this. He seems to respond to you more calmly.”

Terrwyn took the bowl and cautiously approached the wild elf. “You must drink this,” she said and Limil rendered it to him. The elf looked into the bowl with wariness then back to Terrwyn. She smiled and nodded, extending the bowl until she was standing directly in front of him. She watched as his chest heaved in and out. She felt sorry for him. He must have been so frightened in his disillusioned state. She held to bowl up to his mouth and slowly he accepted it, drinking the concoction inside. His eyes instantly closed, though he fought it and soon he was asleep. Limil and Curuven lowered him to the bed, lifting his legs and making him comfortable. Terrwyn stood off to the side and watched. She was still amazed at the exchange that just happened.

“Alright,” Curuven said when the injured elf was resting comfortably. “Now let’s take a look at that leg.”

* * *

For three days, Feredir waited at his camp. He was beginning to worry that something happened to the scouts on their way back to Ithilien when finally he caught a wisp of golden hair in the distance. Two riders dressed in their Ithilien uniforms were making their way towards him. The dark haired elf remained cautious and hidden until they came into full view. When he was sure, he went out to meet them on the road. He bowed, hand over heart and watched as they dismounted. He knew these two golden elves. They were message runners back in Mirkwood during the dark days, brothers to be exact. Now they lived in North Ithilien and commanded their own group of young scouts and messengers.

The three elves spoke briefly about their tardiness. There had been sightings of Southrons in small groups gathering with others. The brothers were nervous, knowing they could not get attacked, and halted their travel for a couple days. When the road was clear of danger, they continued on. Finally, the taller brother handed Feredir a folded parchment with a wax seal. He would not say what their findings were in Rohan. That was for the Captain of the Ithilien Guard to know. The brothers took a short rest, mainly for their thirsty horses, and soon were on their way back to the city. Feredir carefully placed the parchment in his pack and secured it to the saddle. He so badly wanted to know what was written inside and wished for it to be something useful. Time was of the essence now that winter was waning. Now he knew he did not want Terrwyn to leave, or at least sent back to Rohan. Maybe there was something inside the letter that would keep her here, in Ithilien.

Eventually, Feredir left his small camp and headed on the path that would lead back to the city. The news from the brothers was very disturbing. Ithilien was always under some form of attack. It was still in the process of being rebuilt, which made it more vulnerable. These men that challenged them were not at all happy with the new ruling of Gondor. They were threatened by the close relationship with Rohan. Their lands were shrinking in a sense and they would fight to keep it as it were. The Haradrim were a small force to reckon with, but strong nonetheless. They preyed on the less fortunate, converting them or forcing them to join their cause. Southrons were a harsh race, stealthy and keen, but not as cunning as the elves, or as abundant. Feredir remembered that now as he traveled alone, not the most ideal situation, but there was no choice.

He made it back to the outer border of Ithilien. Only another days ride and he would be back in the city. Feredir smiled to himself. It would be wonderful to see her beautiful face when he gave her the lost trinket. He allowed his mind to wander a bit, remembering how good she felt in his arms.

“Ai, Feredir,” someone shouted. He stopped his horse and reached for his bow that was strapped to his back.

“Put that bow away,” someone demanded.

Feredir looked down from his horse and saw an ellon standing beside a tree. “Horphen, is that you?”

It was Feredir’s close friend and battle companion. He came away from the tree as Feredir jumped down from his horse. They clasped arms, smiling. Then Horphen gathered Feredir in his arms for a brotherly hug. “You have been gone for an age my friend,” he said pulling away and looking Feredir over from head to toe. “Seems city life has been good to you,” he jested.

Feredir laughed and ran his hand through his long black hair. “Well, it has definitely been a learning experience, and you can tell the Captain that if he asks.”

Horphen became serious and reached into his tunic, pulling out a small slip of paper. “I have orders for you from the Captain. Seems he wants you back at the borders,” Horphen said and handed it to Feredir, who opened it and read.

Confused, Feredir looked back at Horphen. “But I was sent to complete another mission for--.”

“The Captain sent me to tell you to report to your battalion. There has been activity at the northern borders. A group of travelers was attacked not but a few days ago,” Horphen informed him.

“Travelers, why were they not entering from the main road?” Feredir asked.

“They heard of the recent assaults, no doubt the same ones that the brothers spoke of. To avoid confrontation, they came by a different route, but encountered a group of orcs.” Horphen’s face fell. He placed his hand on his friends arm. “Feredir . . . they are from Mirkwood.”

Feredir creased his brows. He asked no more questions. The look on Horphen’s face confirmed his suspicions. He knew the travelers or at least one of them. “Was anyone injured?”

“One.” Horphen’s short answer came in the form of a whisper.

“I have to go back to the city,” Feredir said sharply.

“You have your orders. The Captain says your current mission can wait. He needs your skill more. He has reenlisted you to your troop.” Horphen looked deep into Feredir’s eyes. “Don’t mess this up again. If the Captain gives you another chance, you must do as he says and gain his trust. Do you want to come back to the patrol or do you want to sit around and babysit prisoners?”

Feredir had a good idea of who the travelers from Mirkwood were and if his intuition was right, he felt he needed to be there. However, Horphen made a good point. Glandur had already given him many warnings. Yanking him from the border guard was the last straw. If he disobeyed any more orders, his career and all his ambitions would be squashed.

He gathered his thoughts and pushed them aside for the moment. The letter, Terrwyn . . . it would all have to wait. The warrior was alive once more. “Let’s go then. We have orcs to kill.”

Horphen smiled and patted Feredir on the back. “It’s good to have you back, brother.”

* * *

The injured elf had been in a deep almost coma like sleep for a couple days now. Terrwyn would not go in his room alone. There was something very dangerous about him and she feared what he might do if he woke up and she was by herself with him. She remembered how he looked at her, how he had fought. He was fast, even when injured. What would he be like when he was fully conscious?

Curuven said he was healing quickly. The medicine counteracted with the poison in his bloodstream. The arrow had been removed and the wound kept under close watch. He and Limil changed the dressing regularly, which meant Terrwyn was kept busy sterilizing bandages. This was good though because it took her mind off Feredir. Yesterday, a message arrived saying that he had been redeployed to his old troop. The attack on these travelers would not go unanswered and they searched for the orcs responsible for it.

Today, Master Curuven had to make a house call to an elderly man that could not make the short journey to the healing house. Limil was busy getting a tonic of some kind ready. The poison took its toll on the injured elf and they wanted to give it time to work its way from his system. They were reducing the amount of painkillers that kept the elf in his dream-like state, allowing him to wake up slowly. It was time to see what condition he was in, since the wound on his thigh was healing quite nicely.

Terrwyn walked past the elf’s room on her way to the back. She could hear him mumbling something in his elvish tongue and wondered what he was saying. She stopped and cracked the door open. He was lying on his back, his head moving from side to side. It seemed he had been restless. The thin white sheet covering him had been pulled down, exposing his chest. He was very well muscled, she thought, especially for an elf. Most elves of the city were lithe. The guards were anything but that. Still, there was something about his physique, something rough, an earthiness that she had not seen before. He was an elf from the wild woods, living off the land. There was something enticing about that.

Her eyes traveled from his naked chest to the sheet wrapped around his waist. It contoured his body leaving not much to the imagination. Everything was outlined by the thin material, even a prominent bulge between his legs. He had very strong shapely thighs, the kind that could trap an unsuspecting mortal such as herself. Her heart raced slightly at the thought. Feredir, though somewhat smaller in stature than this elf, possessed the same power. She knew what it was like to be trapped beneath him.

The patient moaned again and she wiped her carnal thoughts from her mind. He seemed to be waking and Terrwyn was not sure she wanted to be alone when he did. She started to close the door when he called to her. He spoke in elvish, but she could tell by his tone that he asked for her. He had seen her spying on him from the door. She slowly opened it but did not come into the room.

“Aniron nen,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

Terrwyn did not move, standing in the doorway and staring at the elf. He asked again, sounding desperate for an answer or an action from her. “I’m sorry, I do not understand. I need to get someone who--.”

“No,” he interrupted. “Water . . . I need water.” He spoke in barely a whisper and his eyes were merely slits. It was obvious that he was still under the influence of the medicine.

There was a glass and a jug of water on the table near his bed. Terrwyn cautiously went to it and filled the cup. Then, as if approaching a wild animal, she carefully went to the elf. He was lying flat on his back. “Do you speak the common tongue?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, trying desperately to open his eyes wider. “Please, I need some water.”

He sounded so desperate that Terrwyn could not help but feel sorry for him. “You will need to sit up. Can you manage that?”

He lifted his head and slowly sat up on his elbows. As he tried to lift himself, he winced in obvious pain. “I need help. I am too weak.”

Terrwyn narrowed her eyes. She did not quite trust him, injured or not. She had felt his strength and seen his agility. If this was some kind of ploy or if the poison still affected his mind, she could be in real trouble. “I will help you, but do not try anything. I have a knife hidden on my person and will not hesitate to use it.” This was of course a lie. Her weapons had disappeared before leaving Minas Tirith, but he did not need to know this.

“I swear to you, my lady, I will not do anything that I will regret,” he answered.

Terrwyn stared at him a moment longer. Why didn’t she just go and get Limil? The elleth was just down the hall in the back room. But when she looked at this injured elf, she couldn’t help herself. She went to him and placed her hand behind his shoulder blade. As he sat forward, she pushed him and placed pillows behind his back to keep him from falling back down. Finally he was sitting up far enough to get him to drink more easily. As he sipped, Terrwyn looked down over his broad shoulders to his pectoral and abdominal muscles. Even in this relaxed state, they were very prominent. And his arms were made of the same well sculpted strength. He was very handsome indeed and Terrwyn couldn’t help but be curious about him. There was something exotic about this elf. It was more than just the fact that he was from Mirkwood. Feredir was from the same land, yet he seemed more like her, like others of the city. This mysterious elf was free from civilization, at least the kind she was used to. He had his own set of rules and this was what made her weary of him.

He finished the glass and handed it back to her. “Le channon,” he smiled. “Thank you, I mean.” He laid his head back into the pillows.

“Are you in any pain?” she asked.

“Pain does not bother me. It just tells me that I am still alive,” he said and winced as he tried to readjust his posture.

“You should not move. That leg has not healed. The Healer has only wrapped it and you still need stitching,” she said to him. At least she sounded like she knew what she was saying. Actually, she was just repeating what she heard Limil say earlier.

The elf looked at her for a long time, his attention focusing on her long red hair. “I remember them telling me you are from Rohan. I understand your fear of me, but I promise I will not bring you any harm.” He knew the people of Rohan saw the wood elves as dangerous beings. It was something his people were proud of, another form of protection from the outside world. Mirkwood had been assaulted for so many years by the dark creatures of the woods. The last thing they wanted was a challenge with Men. It suited them just fine that the Rohirrim kept their distance and did not journey into their forests.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“I am Terrwyn,” she answered. She was starting to feel a little more comfortable around him.

“Terrwyn,” he said, letting the name role off his tongue. “That is a lovely name. I am Orthorien. Again, I thank you for your help.”

“Oh, well I--.”

“I thought I heard voices,” called Limil from the door. “It is good to see you awake.” She entered the healing room and went straight to Orthorien, looking into each eye individually. “I think the poison has finally been reversed. Now we just need to let your leg heal. I’m afraid you won’t be going anywhere for a while. That was an awful wound. The arrow piece caused a nasty infection and it must keep draining before it can be stitched.”

Orthorien looked up at Limil, who was beautiful beyond reckoning. He smiled slyly. “I must be blessed to have stumbled upon a healing house made up of such beautiful women.”

Limil raised one eyebrow as if to challenge him. “You are lucky to have been brought to my husband’s office,” she said putting emphasis on the word ‘husband’. “He is the Master Healer of the city and the one who has saved you.”

His attention turned to Terrwyn. “But I was sure I saw a vision during my fogged state, like fire burning off a thick morning mist.”

Terrwyn blushed at his forwardness. She wasn’t sure what kind of game he was playing, but she was sure it was an attempt to woo her. His blue eyes caught her green ones and she found she could not move. Limil noticed the exchange and stepped into his line of sight. “You, Master elf, need your rest,” she said sharply. “Here drink this.” She shoved a flask at him containing a clear liquid. “It will not put you to sleep like before, just help with the pain so that you may rest easier.”

Orthorien drank the liquid and smiled. “I am glad to be in such good hands.”

With that, Limil put her hand on Terrwyn’s shoulder and led her from the room, leaving the injured elf to once again slip into reverie. Once they were in the hall and the door closed, she looked to Terrwyn. “I see not much has changed in Mirkwood. The cantankerous youthful ones still think they are invincible. He does not know just how close of a call this was, and he is still not out of harm’s way.” She laughed and walked with Terrwyn down the hall. “He is what we used to call a ‘draug’, a wolf. He means you no harm, but to your heart he can be deceiving. It is a common trait amongst wood elves.”

“But Feredir is a wood elf,” Terrwyn argued.

“And can you honestly say he has not shown you his wild side?” Limil asked accusingly. When the woman did not answer, she laughed. “He may be a Peredhil, but his elven half is all wood elf.”

Terrwyn had to agree. When Feredir let himself go, he was definitely all elf, from head to toe and everywhere inbetween.
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Journey Of A Butterfly