Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Journey of a Butterfly 2: Black as the Raven	By : Mel99Moe Category: -Fourth Age to Modern times and beyond > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1921 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4 – Asylum

Back home in their cozy house, Feredir and Terrwyn sat by the fire. Norion slept with his head on his mother’s lap. Feredir sat on her other side, twirling a strand of her long red hair. Terrwyn never felt so comfortable, so complete, sitting between the two most important men in her life.
“It was a very hectic day,” Feredir mentioned.
“And full of surprises.” She shook her head, “I still cannot believe Curuven and Limil will be leaving soon. They have been a constant in my life. They have always been there.”
“It is difficult to let someone go. I felt the same way when my mother journeyed to the Grey Havens. But there comes a time when, though our loved ones are always near, we need them less and less. Perhaps that is part of the reason why the elves sail. When there are so few people depending on them, their reasons for remaining in Middle-earth diminish, and the call of our distant lands becomes stronger.”
Terrwyn looked down at her sleeping son, his sweet face glowing in the light of the fire. “As long as Norion needs me, I’ll not leave.”
“And I’ll not go without you, Naru,” Feredir said, kissing her cheek.
The boy settled deeper into elvish dreams, and Feredir picked him up. “Time to get to bed, ion nín.”
Terrwyn kissed his small hand and cuddled it to her cheek before allowing Feredir to take him away. Then she smiled at her husband and released Norion to his care. The boy never cracked an eyelid.
“He looks so innocent and sweet when he is asleep,” Terrwyn commented as Feredir walked quietly to the stairs.
While Feredir tucked Norion into bed, Terrwyn took the moment to think about Curuven’s offer to call upon Remlas. Actually, she hadn’t thought of the woodland healer in quite some time. After coming home to Ithilien, she wrote to him twice, and when her letters went unanswered she let it be. Remlas was a very private, very aloof person, and if he didn’t want to correspond he wouldn’t. It did not bother Terrwyn that she did not hear from him. It’s just who he was, and the way he’d always been.
But why would Curuven think Remlas would even entertain the idea of leaving Eryn Lasgalen, a place he hadn’t stepped foot from in many years, to come to Ithilien? If the old healer wanted to come, Terrwyn would be more than happy to have him. He had been her teacher while she lived in the woodland realm. He was stern, tough on her almost every time, and kept a certain distance emotionally from her. Yet, she remembered being surprised when Remlas showed unexpectedly at her binding ceremony, when she and Feredir blessed their union as husband and wife. Caught off guard from her own thoughts, she had found herself feeling a moment of loneliness, wishing her mother was alive to see her that beautiful day. She had also wished her father was there, her human father, the one who raised her, but was not of her blood. Then she began wondering who her real father was. All she knew then, and all she still knew of him, was that he was an elf, and that he’d come across her mother, a woman of Rohan, during a desperate moment in her life. This unknown elf gave her mother the gift of a child. Her mother had taken the risk to save her marriage, and it worked. Terrwyn’s Rohirric father had never known that she was not his child, but that of an elf, making her half elvish.
As Terrwyn wished and wondered that day, Remlas had spoken to her, reassuring her that, had her elvish father been there, he would have been so proud of the woman she’d become, and would have approved of Feredir also. Terrwyn always wondered how Remlas could speak for someone he did not know. Perhaps her real father was a terrible person, and used her mother for his own pleasure. Perhaps he did not care whether Larrwyn became pregnant or not. He did not stay around to find out, as Terrwyn knew that her elf father sailed soon after he met Larrwyn. But somehow, speaking to Remlas had made her feel assured that her father was a good man, that he would have been proud had he still been in Middle-earth, and Terrwyn took comfort in this.
Feredir came back, a glass of wine in each hand, and gave Terrwyn her cup. Then he sat next to her and pulled her against his side. “He’s all tucked away, safe and sound,” he smiled.
Terrwyn sighed and nestled against her warrior husband. They watched the flames dance in the fireplace, the glow of the fire illuminating Feredir’s handsome face. He still took her breath away, just as he had the first time she looked upon him. Tall and sturdily built, Feredir was a prime example of a warrior. He had a mane of long, thick, black hair that he prided himself for, a strong dark brow, high cheekbones, square chin, sultry kissable lips, and eyes of such an intense silver that if she looked at them long enough, she could see the light of the stars within them.
Feredir was half elven too, but unlike Terrwyn, he knew who his father was. He’d only met him once, but it was on a very important day, the day Feredir joined the Mirkwood army under King Thranduil’s rule. Feredir’s father, Callo, had participated in an important ritual, in which he tattooed the shape of a leaf onto Feredir’s shoulder. Every soldier had one, a rite of passage, and one to be very proud of. An unfortunate turn of events led to the destruction of that small gift from Callo, when Feredir was captured by the Southrons and branded by a scoundrel of a man, Abdan. He had given Feredir a slave marking, singeing his skin with a red hot branding iron, erasing the tattoo, his father’s gift. There was nothing on Feredir’s shoulder now, but for an old scar, all signs of a slave brand or a beech leaf permanently gone.
It all seemed like it happened a million years ago, Terrwyn thought. And now here they were, comfortable in their cozy home, sitting in front of the fire, sipping wine while their son slept upstairs. Life was good. Life was normal.
“So, what did Glandur need to speak to you about?” Terrwyn asked.
Feredir looked concerned since talking with the Commander. “He separated the Harad men from their leader after they were brought to him. He interrogated the prisoners first this morning, and found out the name of the man responsible for organizing this particular company of Haradrim.”
“Oh? That was a breakthrough, I’m sure.”
“It was more than that, Naru. We’ve learned that it is a clan chieftain.”
Terrwyn seemed concerned. “A chieftain? But they do not get involved with the army, except maybe by their wealth.”
“Especially this one. His name is Sufyan,” Feredir said carefully.
Terrwyn gasped right away, familiar with the name. “He was Hathmund’s master. He’s one of the wealthiest of the chiefs. What does this all mean?”
“I’m not exactly sure just yet, but something does not sit well with all of this. These men brought in for questioning … they were not the typical warriors that attack. They were found hiding, and when they were captured, they surrendered immediately. They wore all the usual armor and were fully armed with weapons, but they did not challenge our soldiers. In fact, it seemed like they wanted to be captured,” Feredir said, confused even now as he spoke of it.
Being the wife of a warrior and Captain of the Ithilien Guard, Terrwyn knew from Feredir’s stories that no Harad man just surrendered. Some of the worst wounds Feredir had acquired happened when he had tried to subdue a Southron on the verge of capture. She found this odd, and it reminded her of her findings with the Southrons she treated that morning, the same men Feredir spoke of.
“It’s funny that you should mention this about the prisoners. I, too, was a little thrown off by my findings as I examined them today. Rhawen and I treated their wounds, and some of them were new, probably from the scuffle in the healing house, but some looked to be older, festering for a while without treatment.” Terrwyn pushed herself up, sliding away from Feredir as she remembered the Haradrim she’d seen that morning. “Rhawen suggested that those wounds might have been there a week or so. And now you tell me that they wouldn’t engage in combat. It makes no sense. Obviously they were already in some sort of battle.”
“If they were, it wasn’t with us,” Feredir replied, now in deep thought. “Who might they have been battling?”
“If they were battle wounds they would have been found on their arms or hands, chest, legs, but these were mainly on their backs.” Terrwyn turned a skeptical eye towards her husband. “Feredir, I think these men were beaten.”
“Slaves?” Feredir leaned forward, fingers rubbing his chin, as he was trying to figure out the mystery. “But they attacked the Ithilien soldiers in the healing house. A slave would have been too submissive to react that way.”
Terrwyn felt the need to defend the Southrons. “It was your men who attacked first. The Southrons were cornered and scared. And there were far more Ithilien men than there were Southron captives. They were acting by instinct and reflex,” Terrwyn advised. “Had your men not targeted them—”
“They did not know these men might have been slaves, if that is what they are,” Feredir interrupted. “And when the Southrons became agitated, they responded as they should have … to protect the city and its people.” His brows creased together with annoyance. He was very protective of his troops. He was their Captain, and his men would always come first and foremost.
Terrwyn knew this, but she also knew that the Haradrim men did not instigate the brawl that ensued in the Healing House. They were forced into it by fear. It was how men behaved when they were still filled with the battle lust, and a hatred for Southrons helped to feed into that slow smoldering fire. Perhaps it could not have been helped, but no one raised a hand or a sword in her place of healing, whether they were friend or foe.
She let his comments slide off her shoulders, and turned to her husband with a smile. “Let’s not talk about this anymore. What’s done is done, and everyone has gone to their respectful places. Perhaps Glandur will have more information tomorrow. You did say he was questioning their leader, didn’t you?”
“Glandur is keeping him under close watch. If the man has talked, I have not been informed as of yet,” Feredir said, his form relaxing once again as he leaned back against the couch.
Terrwyn suddenly found herself held captive in Feredir’s arms, as he pulled her to him. Her legs draped over his, and she cuddled against his chest, once again enveloped in his warmth and strength. He lifted her face to meet his, slowly closing the distance between them until their lips touched. Terrwyn melted into his gentle kiss, letting him lead her further into their quiet world where nothing else seemed to matter. Feredir could always lure her in easily with his sultry kisses, and tonight was no different.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she whispered, unable to wait any longer to feel him lying upon her body.
“We’ll never make it, Naru. I think we should make camp by the fire tonight,” he said as he lifted her from the couch, and lowered her to the fur rug in front of the hearth.
“But what about Norion. Aren’t you concerned that he might come downstairs while we are … uh hum?”
Feredir smiled fiendishly, “The boy is deep in dreams. It was a very big day for him. There’s not a lick of energy left. He’ll not wake until morning.” As he spoke, Feredir pushed her skirts down and was preceding to unlace her bodice. Terrwyn argued no more.
* * *
The next day, Feredir was off to meet with Commander Glandur to see what information he had gained from the Harad prisoner. Something Terrwyn pointed out festered in his mind. The wounds she’d found on the prisoner’s backs were not something he’d seen before. Slaves, Terrwyn had said they might be. That was not mysterious. Haradrim kept slaves within their clans, usually women or children, but there were some men too. However, in all his years of fighting and protecting the borders of Ithilien, Feredir had never seen Southron slaves mixed amongst the enemy troops. It was unheard of, yet it seemed evident that these were not trained warriors of the desert nation.
Feredir arrived at Commander Glandur’s office, knocked, and let himself in. It smelled of sandalwood and wax from the burning candles. It seemed Glandur had been here most of the night. So, Feredir was not the only one concerned about the prisoners and their story. Hopefully, Glandur could shed some light on things.
Glandur looked up from his ledger, and Feredir bowed as was custom among the elves. The Commander smiled when he laid eyes on his young Captain. Feredir was special to him. The raven haired elf had been somewhat of a problem when he was merely a soldier battling at the borders. Feredir was never one to listen, and it had gotten him into trouble on several occasions. But the young ellon had matured along the way, so much so that Glandur had promoted him to the position of Captain of the Ithilien Guard when Glandur was asked to step up to a Commander position. So far, he had not regretted that decision. Feredir took his job seriously, and would do nothing to jeopardize it.
“I thought I would find you here this morning, Feredir, and I’m sure I know the reason why,” Glandur offered.
“It has been on my mind all evening. Did you learn anything from the Southron?” Feredir asked.
Glandur closed his book and stood from his chair. He walked around to the front of his desk, standing before Feredir. “He talked, but I can’t say it has cleared up any of the mysteries.”
“What do you mean?” said Feredir, concerned.
“His name is Jubayr, and he is … or was a farmer,” Glandur answered.
“Was?” Feredir questioned.
Glandur nodded, “According to Jubayr, he was taken from his family and his land, and was assimilated into the Haradrim army. They forced him to take up a weapon, or they threatened to do away with his family. Jubayr is not the only Southron forced to serve in their army. Countless others have met the same fate.”
“That would explain Terrwyn’s findings,” Feredir said aloud.
“And what is that?” Glandur inquired.
“The prisoners she treated yesterday had old wounds and bruises on their backs, as though they had been beaten. We were beginning to think that they might be slaves.” Feredir paced the room as he often did when in deep thought. “It makes no sense though. The Southron army is large enough without having to force the commoner into the ranks.”
“That was my exact thought, but Jubayr explained further. Something fuels the Southrons, and it is not their hatred of Gondor. Many people of Harad wish to lead peaceful lives, even those who do not agree with our king. Like Jubayr, they are happy to live their lives and work their land, raise their families, and stay out of the politics between Gondor and Harad. But those same people are now claiming that a new enemy arises.”
Feredir was baffled by this. “What new enemy?” he asked. “As far as I know, there is no one who could summon so great a power as to instill fear into the hearts of Harad’s leaders, not now in this age.”
Glandur handed a paper to Feredir to read while he gave an account of his findings. “Perhaps it is the chieftain’s latest ploy to confuse Gondor. They might only be rumors, but then again–”
“And perhaps these men we find sympathy with are spies. I would not put it past the Southrons to beat their own men, send them into battle, have them surrender and comply with us, just as a way to infiltrate our society.” Feredir held the paper up and shook it. “And according to this, that’s exactly what we are doing.” He tossed the parchment onto Glandur’s desk. “Why would you offer them asylum?”
“Do not think I have not considered this, Feredir,” Glandur said with warning in his tone. “Spy or not, I believe they could be of greater help to us under our watch. And if they are ordinary citizens and I send them back to Harad, you know what will happen to them.”
Feredir knew very well what happened to Southrons after being captured, interrogated and released back to their own people. The military leaders were very suspicious and paranoid of anyone who spent any length of time in captivity under the watchful eye of their enemy, and especially Gondor. Fearing that they may be persuaded to become spies for the Gondorians, they were executed immediately upon arriving within Harad. Feredir had fought against the Southrons long enough to know, when cornered, they would choose death before capture.
“I do not like the idea of these prisoners being allowed to roam our city,” Feredir said.
“Which is why they will be under constant surveillance until we know what better to do with them.” Glandur placed a firm hand on Feredir’s shoulder. “What you must remember, Feredir, is that malice never really dies. It may be quelled for a time, but it eventually finds a new host to latch onto. Rumors like this one, if gone unchecked, make for difficult adversaries later on.” Glandur went back behind his desk and took a seat. He opened the ledger he had been writing in before Feredir showed, and then he gave Feredir his orders. “Set some of your men as guards for the Southrons, but allow them enough space to feel comfortable. Perhaps we will learn something more of this enemy Jubayr spoke of.”
With his orders in place, Feredir left the Commanders office, and made his way to his Captain’s quarters. As he went, he thought about this new enemy Glandur mentioned. Who would be stupid enough to try to bring about an uprising at this point and time? The Ring War had seen the destruction of the most powerful enemy, Sauron, as well as others who had chosen to ally with the Dark Lord of Mordor. With Gondor back in power, threats against the human kingdoms remained just that … threats.
Allowing the Southrons refuge within the city would create a problem with certain groups of people who lived here. Feredir and his men had had to put out more than a few fires when these men came upon Haradrim communities who decided to make Ithilien their home. These rebels did not like any Southrons, even those who deserted their country, and swore allegiance to the King of Gondor. Lately, the problem seemed to be growing, as more men joined this new cause, to rid Ithilien of all Southrons. But Ithilien was known for its blending of people from all over Middle-earth, and Southrons were a part of this world. Not all Haradrim agreed with their clan leaders. Not all agreed with their involvement in the war. There were many who would rather live a quiet simple life rather than one of constant rage. These were the kind of Southrons who lived in Ithilien. They wanted a chance at living a peaceful life, something they had never known in the past. But the emergence of the new Southrons, especially this group who had been captured during a threat to the borders, would cause the rebels to act out again. Feredir would need to prepare his city guardsmen, for there would likely be outrage when everyone learned about the newest community members.
Back at his office, Feredir called upon his troop leaders to discuss matters. They had all been put on high alert, and extra guards were assigned to the problem areas. When the meeting was over, Horphen, one of these leaders, and Feredir’s longtime friend, stayed behind to speak with him.
“They won’t stay, you know,” Horphen started. “The Southrons I mean. They won’t stay because of their families back in Harad.”
“I’ve thought of that also,” said Feredir with concern. “It’s a double edged blade, isn’t it? Stay, and their families will no doubt be tortured, sold into slavery or killed. Go back, and the men will likely be executed immediately.”
“They’ll most likely go home and face their punishment rather than see harm come to their families,” Horphen commented. “Why, in this new age, must there still be so much harsh cruelty. Sometimes, I do not understand the minds of men.”
“Neither do I, my friend, and I am half human.” As Feredir spoke, a thought came to him and he smiled. “But perhaps if they take our offer and stay, it will prove my notion that they are spies.”
“Ah,” Horphen agreed as he understood Feredir’s suggestion.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Feredir called for the person to enter. It was a messenger from the main gates of the city. A young man barely old enough to shave stood in the threshold. He was panting and out of breath, obviously sent on an urgent mission. Feredir immediately thought there was trouble at the gates, and he stood, a troubled look upon his countenance.
“My lord … Feredir … Captain …” the messenger said as he tried to catch his breath.
“What has happened? Another attack by Southrons?” Feredir asked anxiously.
The man shook his head, then he nodded, then shook his head again and shrugged his shoulders.
“Out with it,” Horphen ordered, as he became impatient.
“There is a party approaching the city. They sent word ahead of their arrival. They are about half a day out. They’re from Eryn Lasgalen, my lord … elves, all of them … about four in all. Not a very big party. One of them has been injured.”
“Injured?” Feredir asked, “Did they say how?”
“Arrow, my lord.”
“Southrons? Orcs?” Horphen asked next.
“They did not say,” the man answered, finally able to breathe properly.
“Did they announce themselves in the message?” Feredir asked as he came out from behind his desk.
“They did, my lord, and one of them is your brother, Orthorien. The other is an elleth … Irneth. The other two are servants to Captain Orthorien and Lady Irneth.”
Feredir and Horphen regarded each other with shock. “Orthorien?” Feredir said.
“And my sister?” Horphen wondered aloud.
“I did not know that was your sister,” the young man mentioned. Then he turned to Feredir and bowed his head. “I’m sorry to inform you, but it is your brother, my lord, who has been injured.”
“Go immediately to the border captain’s headquarters, and tell him to send out two guards and a healer to meet the party,” Feredir commanded.
“Yes, Sir, right away,” the man bowed and left quickly.
“What are Orthorien and Irneth doing coming to Ithilien unannounced?” Horphen speculated curiously.
“What are Orthorien and Irneth doing together at all? I thought she despised my brother.” Feredir commented.
“That’s putting it nicely. I overheard her one day, say that she would stitch Orthorien’s cock to the inside of his thigh so he could no longer threaten her with it,” Horphen reminisced.
“I wonder if something serious has happened back home, though I think we would have known by now.”
Horphen furrowed his brow. “Didn’t Orthorien arrive the last time with an arrow wound?”
“He did,” Feredir remembered. “There was an attack near the gates. He was poisoned by an orc arrow. You don’t think it has happened again, do you?”
“Maybe not orcs, but more likely by Southrons. Perhaps they know about the prisoners.”
“That is possible,” Feredir thought. “I better notify Terrwyn. She’ll want to be there as soon as they enter the city.”
* * *
“Irneth and Orthorien?” Terrwyn exclaimed, just as shocked as Feredir had been at the news.
Feredir shrugged, “I’m baffled myself.
“Well, did they say how he was injured?” she asked as she gathered certain items and put them in her traveling kit. Terrwyn would meet the party at the gates and administer any medicine that was needed, just in case Orthorien was wounded much worse than they thought.
“All they reported was an arrow wound,” Feredir said.
“Not again,” Terrwyn worried. She remembered the time when Orthorien was brought to Master Curuven’s healing room. He was in terrible shape after being struck in the leg by a poisoned arrow. The poison had traveled throughout his body, and he was disillusioned into thinking that Curuven and his wife were trying to harm him. Terrwyn was the only one who could calm the confused and dangerous wood elf. At the time, she had just started her training as a healer, and she had no idea who Orthorien was or that he was Feredir’s brother.
“Shall we go?” she said to her husband, bag in hand, white healer’s robes flowing to the floor, her bright red hair neatly plaited at the sides and running along to the back of her head. Before leaving, she called for Rhawen and explained the emergency. “You’ll watch Norion won’t you?”
“Of course,” Rhawen said. “He’s upstairs at the moment. He’ll be fine.”
Terrwyn smiled, but with worry touching her eyes. Then she followed her husband out the door.
Feredir led her to their carriage, which she decided would be the best form of transportation should Orthorien not be able to ride upon his horse. As she climbed into the cab, Feredir admired her strength to take over the Master Healer’s position so easily. “You look as though you have been doing this all your life, Naru.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’ve been doing this all my life,” she smiled.
They finally reached the main gates of Ithilien. Terrwyn waited while Feredir checked on his men. She watched him smile and interact with the soldiers and guards on duty. Every one of his men respected him. Feredir was a very fair and wise Captain of the Ithilien army. She remembered how proud she was of him the day that he announced is promotion. It was the best thing that could have happened to them. As Captain, Feredir was home just about every night. Not like before when he was a border guard, and he was away for months on end. Terrwyn had worried for his safe return every time. It was still a dangerous job, and if he was called to duty, he always went, but for the most part, he was home with his wife and son. They had really made a very happy and comfortable life for themselves.
After a short while, Feredir came back to her. “The scouts have spotted them. Looks like they all ride, but there is a spare horse, a black steed of some sort.”
Terrwyn stood on the step of the carriage and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Yes, I think I see someone now. Someone rides out ahead of the others, one of the servants perhaps.” But as the figure got closer to the city, they saw that it was Irneth. She rode tall and proud upon her grey mare, chin held high, honey brown hair whipping in the wind, and a look of irritation on her stern face.
“Uh oh,” Feredir muttered to himself. “I’ve seen that look before. Seems it might not have been an easy journey from the Green Wood.”
In the distance, Terrwyn could see Irneth set her horse into a gallop. She must have seen everyone waiting at the gates. “Well, I don’t see the guards or the healer you sent out.”
“They must be behind with Orthorien. I hope he is alright,” Feredir said with worry tinging his words. Terrwyn smiled inwardly at his tone. There was a time when the half-brothers did not get along very well. They hadn’t seen each other in a very long time, and she was glad to hear that her husband’s resolved relationship with Orthorien was still valid.
The grey mare galloped through the gates, leaving a trail of dust rising from the ground. Terrwyn expected Irneth to be worried or anxious, if not for Orthorien, then for the safety of her party. Instead, her face lit up with joy at the sight of her red haired friend. The elleth graciously leapt down from her horse and hurried to Terrwyn.
“Oh, how good it is to see you again,” Irneth sang, embracing Terrwyn with a tight hold.
Terrwyn responded by surrounding Irneth with a return hug. “It’s been quite a few years, but you are just as beautiful as ever.”
Irneth released Terrwyn and looked to Feredir, who stood near his wife. The elleth grasped his shoulders and smiled. “Feredir, look at you. You are absolutely beaming with pride. I was so proud to hear you were promoted to Captain. There is no one more qualified.”
Then, seeing her brother, tears almost formed in her eyes, “Horphen, oh my, you’re so handsome. I’ve missed you so, so much.” She caught him in her arms like she used to do when he was younger. Horphen returned the embrace, but with slight hesitancy. They were all just a little confused by her brightness, especially if she and her party were set upon by enemies.
Feredir smiled, but his eyes revealed concern, finding Irneth to be in an unusually cheerful mood. “It is good to see you too, but … where’s my brother? How is he?” he asked cautiously.
Irneth’s hearty spirit turned sour quickly as she answered. “He’ll be along shortly. Your men are with him, no doubt being persuaded into sympathy by his charms.”
“What happened, Irneth?” Horphen asked. “Were you attacked on the road?”
“No, we had a rather uneventful journey, though quite long, but I was anxious to get to Ithilien. I have never traveled so far from my home before,” the elleth said excitedly.
“Then who shot Orthorien with an arrow?” Feredir asked.
Irneth seemed not to want to answer right away. She stuck her chin in the air pugnaciously and smiled arrogantly. “I did.”
“You what? Why?” Terrwyn almost shouted.
Anger filled Irneth’s brown eyes as she looked through Terrwyn, reminded of why she loathed Orthorien. “He lied to me, and not his usual kind of falsity. For months, he’s been lying and leading me to believe that he– And just to lure me back into his good graces. Why, the nerve of that … that … draug!”
“That’s no reason to shoot someone in the leg, even Orthorien,” Horphen reprimanded.
Seeing that she’d get no sympathy from her brother, and obviously tired of speaking with the opposite sex, Irneth smiled warmly to Terrwyn. “My dear, it has been a long and tiring journey. I would much prefer to go on ahead and settle in my guest quarters.”
“Well … I … I should stay here and see to Or … Orthorien when he arrives, you know, check the wound,” Terrwyn stuttered. She was unsure what to think of Irneth. She was definitely an elleth horribly scorned, and possibly unstable.
“Oh, he’ll be alright. The arrow just grazed his inner thigh,” Irneth informed.
“You shot him in the leg?” Horphen asked with a raised tone of surprise.
Irneth smiled, but there was no joy in it. “I was aiming elsewhere. He’s lucky I am not a good shot.”
Hearing the distant sound of hooves coming up the road, Horphen hurried his sister along, helping her back onto her mare. “I’ll escort her to town,” he informed. Then he mounted his own horse and led Irneth away from the main gates, and away from view of Orthorien.
Terrwyn and Feredir were left dumbfounded as they watched the rest of the party approach the gate. The two guards that Feredir sent out to meet them rode ahead. The healer rode next to Orthorien, who looked uncomfortable atop his horse, and no wonder if there was an arrow wound on the inside of his thigh, Terrwyn thought. Behind them were the two servants, a young male with shoulder length sable hair, and a young female who looked strikingly similar to the ellon. Judging by the dropped jaws and the astonished looks on their faces as they gazed past the gates and into the city of Ithilien, Terrwyn figured they were just at majority age, had never been beyond the borders of Eryn Lasgalen, and they were twins.
The guards rode in, dismounted and approached Feredir, bowing respectfully. “Captain, we’re happy to report that the company was not attacked, but unfortunately there was an accident amongst the members. Your brother was teaching his lady how to hunt small prey. She misfired and struck him in the leg.” As the first guard spoke, the second one tried to remain straight-faced, but it was obviously a funny situation.
“Thank you. You may go back to your duties immediately. I’ll take care of things here,” Feredir said, and the guards bowed and directed their horses to the stable hands before entering the city.
Terrwyn leaned to Feredir’s ear and huffed, “Hunting accident?”
They looked back and watched Orthorien struggle to dismount without further injuring himself. He winced, but smiled through the pain. Then he walked awkwardly towards Feredir, arms outstretched. “Ai, little brother, how good to see you.” Orthorien embraced him in a brotherly hug and a hearty pat on the back. Feredir did likewise. Then he turned to Terrwyn and with a chivalrous bow, he said, “Lovely as ever, Terrwyn, and always a pleasure.”
“Orthorien, we were not expecting you. You sent no correspondence of your arrival,” Feredir said confused.
Orthorien smiled and shrugged, trying his best to maintain his usual suaveness, but failing miserably with the pain he must have been in.
Feredir looked past Orthorien, noticing a large beautiful black beast of a stallion with no rider, no saddle or packs.
“Surprise!” Orthorien called out belatedly. “And the reason for my secrecy. I’ve brought you a present.”
“A horse?” Feredir was perplexed. “I have a horse.”
“You have Terrwyn’s old beast, Brannoss,” Orthorien jested.
“Hey, that is my horse you are talking about. And he’s not old. He’s mature,” Terrwyn complained, but with humor in her tone.
“I beg your pardon, my lady. It is true, Brannoss is a dependable steed, but Feredir needs a horse of his own. You are Captain of the Ithilien army now, and only the very best will do for my brother,” Orthorien boasted. “Besides, this is no ordinary horse. I’ve searched high and low for this breed. I finally got wind of a herd near the foothills of the Blue Mountains, and I contacted a renowned horse breeder and trainer who lives in Lindon. And … well … after a grueling search and many long hours of training, may I present to you, Belroch.”
The name meant powerful horse in Sindarin, and Feredir could see why. He was magnificent, completely black, long head, powerfully muscled, as large as a work horse, but elegant like one of the Mearas. His mane and tail were long and full, almost touching the ground, tightly curled instead of straight like most horses. He was at least 17 hands at the withers, as glorious and mighty a beast as Feredir had ever seen.
“He is absolutely gorgeous,” Feredir commented, stunned by the sheer beauty of the horse.
“I think he will adapt easily. I had no trouble with him during our travels,” Orthorien said, patting Belroch’s thick neck. “You shouldn’t have to work with him long before he considers you his rider.”
“And he comes from the Blue Mountains, you say?” Terrwyn asked.
Orthorien nodded. “This particular breed was said to have gone extinct long ago. It’s said that they were a direct descendent of the Mearas of ancient days. So naturally, when I heard rumors of sightings, I knew there was no other horse better for my brother.”
Feredir reached out and ran his hand along the silky smooth black coat of the horse. Belroch’s head swiveled to see who was touching him. He let out a snort, his big black eyes settling on Feredir. Then the horse nodded several times, his long mane waving in the slight breeze. “I think he will do just fine.” Feredir regarded his brother with a shy smile. “I don’t know what to say, but … thank you, Orthorien.”
Orthorien returned the smile with genuine warmth and brotherly love. Then he winced when he shifted his weight. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d appreciate a ride to the healing house,” he said, eyeing the cart.
“Oh, of course. That’s why we came by carriage,” Terrwyn said. “Horphen went on ahead with Irneth. They should be there soon.”
Orthorien cringed, but not from the pain of the wound. “Ai, hopefully that wicked woman will not be there.”
“Shot you while teaching her to hunt?” Feredir asked with a suspicious raise of his brow. “That’s not how she says it happened.”
“No, that’s how I said it happened when I had to explain myself to your men. The truth is, she can’t handle the fact that she has fallen for me, no matter how it came about, and instead of accepting my apology with grace she tried to skewer the one part of me that I take great pride in.” His hand reached down, cupping himself as he flinched. “Lucky for me, she missed.”
“Very lucky,” Feredir agreed, helping Orthorien into the carriage. Then he helped Terrwyn inside.
Being a healer, she couldn’t help but stare at the place where the bandages covered the wound. She was looking for signs of blood. Although the inside of the thigh seemed like a hilarious place to receive an arrow wound, it could be quite dangerous if certain veins were involved. However, the bandage looked clean. It didn’t seem as though the wound bled profusely.
“Will you be taking care of me, for old times’ sake?” Orthorien asked with his usual irresistible charm.
“I have an assistant who handles … small … matters,” she said, returning the banter.
Feredir shook his head. “You have not changed, Orthorien,” he laughed. Then he called up to the driver to take them to the Healing House, and they were on their way. Stable hands came out to take Belroch and the other horses to the stables. The healer escorted the servant twins to their quarters, where they could continue to be of service to their employers. And Terrwyn and Feredir couldn’t wait to get to the bottom of things, and find out what Orthorien and Irneth were doing together in the first place.
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Journey of a Butterfly 2: Black as the Raven