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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
- 45
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Chapter 46 - Enemy Territory

How long it had been since Feredir left her alone in her cell, Terrwyn did not know. There was no day or night in the underground jail. All she had to go by were meals brought to her, twice a day. Unfortunately it was the same thing, a chunk of stale bread and some kind of gruel. It was tasteless and usually cold with a hardened skin settled over the top. It did not matter anyway for she had no appetite as she wondered about Feredir. She was terrified to think of him going into that harsh land alone. This was no game. He was going into dangerous territory where the enemy had the advantage. She could have cried if she weren’t so angry. “Foolish ellon,” she said repeatedly to herself as she paced the dirt covered floor of her cell. As if she didn’t already have enough to worry about, now she feared for Feredir’s safety. “He did this on purpose. Why could he not wait for the others to show? That selfish, arrogant son of an orc . . .” But she knew she loved that about him, knew he was doing it for her. He would always risk his life for her no matter how much it infuriated her.

Days passed and finally there was a commotion at the entrance to the hall that housed the cells. She tried to see who it was by pressing her face to the bars. Were the guards bringing in a new prisoner or was this her end? Had Orthorien and Horphen finally arrived? Her heart pound wildly within her chest as she waited for her answer. Then the unmistakable sound of soft-soled boots made their way down the hall and the most glorious sight fell upon her eyes.

“Orthorien,” she called desperately.

The tall golden wood elf rushed down the darkened hall. He was shocked to see the condition the woman was in. She was pale and weak, eyes sunken and dark. She looked sickly and this angered him, but he hid his emotions. There were important matters to attend to.

“Horphen and I just arrived a short while ago. They tell me that Feredir is gone.”

“He left days ago. He’s going to Rhûn alone. Said he could not wait any longer. I begged him not to go, but he would not listen,” she complained.

Orthorien’s ire rose quickly. He slammed his fist again the iron bars of her cage. “Fool!” he shouted. “He will never learn. Ever has he been quick to make these kinds of decisions, always acting before thinking. He thinks he is invincible, that no harm can come to him, that he needs no one’s help, but I’m afraid he’s gone too far this time.” He calmed himself, thinking of Terrwyn and brought his attention back to her. His features softened and his voice turned to a whisper. “How are you, my dear? You look as though you’ve had a hard time of it.”

“I have hardly slept since he left and I cannot eat. All I can think of is Feredir out there alone. I fear for him, Orthorien. I fear for him more than myself,” she admitted as tears welled up in her eyes.

Horphen came hurriedly down the dark corridor. He gazed upon Terrwyn in her forlorn state and his heart sunk. “Oh, Terrwyn this must be awful for you. You should not be here in this place and it breaks my heart.” Then he shook his head. “And Feredir . . . This is just like in Ithilien. He was always dashing off away from the rest of the battalion. I should have known he would try a stunt like this. I was his battle partner and I should have known he would not wait.”

“It’s too late now, Horphen.” Orthorien calmed him with a hand on the younger elf’s shoulder. “He will be well on his way by now. We mustn’t wait any longer. The sooner we leave for Rhûn, the sooner we can find Feredir and the slave.” He turned back to Terrwyn. “I do not want to do this, but we must leave right away. I fear what kind of trouble he could get himself into. You know Feredir, he has a limited amount of patience.”

Terrwyn put on her best smile. “It is alright. There is nothing you can do here anyways. Hurry and find him before my worst fears come true. And when you do find him, tell him that I will be his worst fear.”

Orthorien laughed gently. “It is still good to know you have a sense of humor even in a time like this. We will return, my lady and hopefully with good news.”

Horphen smiled solemnly. “Stay strong, Terrwyn,” he told her as he followed Orthorien from the dungeon. When they were out of the hall but before they entered the room above, he stopped the tall golden elf. “I have heard word from some of the men that the family of the deceased rallies others. They mean to convince Erkenbrand to allow the proceedings to get underway. They do not accept the delay Feredir has convinced Erkenbrand of. I’m afraid Terrwyn’s days left will lessen.”

Orthorien sighed. “We must hurry then,” he replied and they rushed off to the stables with their packs. Once there, Orthorien turned to Horphen and placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping the younger elf from mounting his horse. Horphen looked at him curiously.

“You know in any other circumstance I would not ask this of you. You are a great scout and a fine warrior, but I think you are needed here more, with Terrwyn. Would you consider staying in Rohan and watching over the girl? Make sure she eats and gets some rest. She does not look well at all and this worries me.”

“I don’t think you should go alone, Orthorien,” Horphen protested. “The road into Rhûn is dangerous. How will you know where to look for Feredir once you get there? You said so yourself, my scouting abilities are sharp. If only one of us were to go, it should be me. I can find him quickly, get in and get out.”

Orthorien took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He is my brother and I know how he thinks. He is and has always been my responsibility. I will find him and together we will find this slave.”

Horphen gave up and bowed to Orthorien. “You had better hurry.”

The older elf put his hand on Horphen’s arm and with sincerity, he spoke. “You are a good friend to my brother and a most noble elf. I am glad we have met, Horphen.” There was an understanding in their exchange. They were in this together, trusted one another and would see each other through.

Orthorien mounted his horse in one swift movement and looked down at Horphen who smiled back to the warrior. “I will take care of her. You take care of Feredir. Soon we will have them back together.”

Orthorien nodded and sped off out of the stable, through the city of Edoras and out of its gates.

* * *

Feredir rode as far as his horse would allow, staying cautious during the day and traveling long under the cover of darkness. He had a sturdy horse who could endure the speed and time he put on her. However, he knew he could not ride her all the way into Rhûn for she was an elvish horse and the enemy would recognize this. He would have to leave her somewhere on the outskirts of the land. When he was close enough, he abandoned his horse, sending her off to find her way back to Rohan. He slipped into his Haradrim attire, black baggy pants and shirt, grey robes and a headdress made of different colored scarves. He tucked his long black hair into the cap, finding plenty of room to hide his thick mane. With the last remaining scarf, he wrapped it several times around his neck until it covered his chin and only his mouth, nose and eyes shown. Then he made his way toward the main city.

The sun was just starting to rise by the time he got to the borders. There was no wall, no gate and only a few guards. No one besides the Haradrim or a few Easterlings came this far and Feredir walked right in where there was a crowd of men going about their daily business.

A short fat man stood on a wooden platform. Behind him was a line of frail young men and boys, slaves being auctioned off to the highest bidder. Feredir’s stomach turned at the sight of their ribs sticking through their pale thin skin. So was the practice of the Southrons. Once captured, they kept the young slaves locked in dark caves with little food or water until their bodies were all but spent. By then they had no fight left in them and they were more manageable. They would agree to almost anything if only for a bit of bread in return. Feredir wondered about Terrwyn’s brother, how young he was when he was captured and the pain he endured during that time. If he was anything like Terrwyn, he would have survived the first stages of the process. He wondered where Hathmund was now, if he was still alive.

Feredir looked around a moment, taking in the sights. Colorful tents lined a dirt street. Streamers crisscrossed over the road, very colorful in bright red, yellowish gold and green. Everyone was dressed similarly to Feredir. The costume would suffice and labeled him as a man not poor or rich, but well enough. Someone of his stature could afford a slave, part of his plan.

Now to find Mazzin. Where would he look first? As he walked along he came to a building made of mud clay. It looked dark and ominous inside and Feredir smiled behind his scarf. This was the perfect place to start his search, the local tavern.

He stepped inside and all heads turned to the new comer. His silver eyes scanned the place, finding small groups of men sitting in particular spots throughout the tavern. The elf found an empty place at the bar and took up his perch, his elven ears listening to the different conversations. Luckily, Feredir was quite fluent in their language after years of fighting off such men on the borders of Ithilien.

It seemed that later in the afternoon there was going to be a rather long awaited auctioning of slaves. These were not just any slaves. These were men who were assimilated, long time servants who knew the rules. They came at a higher price, because they needed no training, unlike the young boys Feredir had seen on his way in. These were men who no longer remembered their former lives and were brainwashed into believing that this was the best life they could hope for now. They had survived all these years and would be loyal to their new masters. These were the men who were only a step away from gaining the trust of the Southrons. If they proved their worth, they would be treated well and perhaps given some authority over other household slaves or property.

The man who acquired these slaves was highly regarded in this part of Rhûn because this was his clan, but how he obtained them was another story. He was a scheming man who would do anything to collect these highly sought after servants. Most of the time he won them in card or dice games. He would lie, cheat and steal in any way he saw fit, but that often led to bitter strives between the different clans. However, once they were sold to a new owner and money was exchanged, nothing could be done about it and so the man moved quickly, never staying in one spot for too long.

This would be the perfect opportunity for Feredir to find out about the slave called Mazzin. He listened carefully until he heard a group of Southrons talking about the auction, then he made his move, walking past their table and pretending to be interested in their conversation. He quickly switched to their common tongue and tried to disguise his voice.

“Ah, I see you too are here for the auction. I have heard these are some of the best slaves Abdan has collected,” Feredir said convincingly.

The table of Southrons looked up at the newcomer and one of them spoke. “I do not believe I know you. Have you traveled far?”

“I come from Far Harad,” Feredir answered. It was far enough away that he would not have to explain what clan he came from, but not unheard of for their kind to travel from the far south just to buy one of these slaves.

“That is quite a journey. Tell me, how goes it in the south. Does Gondor still send our people fleeing and take our lands?” the man asked. This was a well-known tactic testing someone new to Rhûn. The more Feredir knew, the more confident these men would feel talking to him.

“Those filthy barbarians will not give up until they own every last inch of our land. Still, there are some of us who hold out and fight for what is rightfully ours. As long as we do not bother them, they do not bother us. My lord buys his protection and so far, it has worked. He has sent me to try to obtain one of these fine specimens for him. Tell me, do you happen to know who any of the servants are?”

“That is an odd thing to ask. Their identity is kept a secret until after a purchase. I would think you should know this already,” the man said with suspicion.

Feredir could sense his reserve. “It has been a long time since I have traveled from my home and the first time I have been sent to purchase a slave.”

The men remained suspicious and did not answer Feredir. Meanwhile, another man approached him. He was shorter than the average Southron, who seemed to be quite tall. His dress told Feredir that he was not well off, but his fat belly said that the man had not missed a meal in a very long time. The combination did not sit well with Feredir. Perhaps this man worked for one of the clan chieftains and was paid with meals instead of gold. Feredir remained curious as the man eyed him and smiled. “Maybe I can answer your question. Tell me, does your lord look for a particular slave?” the man asked.

This must have been a stroke of luck for the dark elf. Suspicious or not, this seemed to be the man he needed to speak with. “Perhaps you can be of some help,” he said to the new man. They walked to a corner of the tavern away from prying ears. They sat down and the man called across the bar to a woman who worked there. He held up two fingers and the sultry young woman nodded. Then the new man laughed to himself.

“One of these days I am going to make her my next wife. Two I have now and she will make a fine addition, just as soon as her father decides to sell her. He owns this place and says she’s good for business.”

Feredir cocked an eyebrow. “I would not take you for someone who could afford such pleasures.” Feredir made a point to look at the man’s attire.

The fat man laughed. “Oh, this?” he said gesturing to his clothes. “I dress this way on purpose. There are those who would . . . let’s say . . . take advantage of my wealth. I prefer not to advertise it.”

As he finished speaking, the young woman came over with two cups containing a dark hot liquid, a strong earthy drink that was a favorite of the Southrons. He looked up at the girl serving them. She was skimpily dressed in shades of green and gold, making her dark skin come alive. Her midriff was bare as was her arms. The green haram pants she wore were sheer and the elf could see her shapely body. She wore a thin scarf across her face, leaving only her eyes uncovered. Feredir thought of Feona and how she reminded him of his former lover, but there was fear in this girl’s eyes, something he had never seen in Feona’s. The young woman kept her sight on the glasses in her hands as she bent down, exposing her cleavage. The man Feredir sat with gawked at her and the elf felt very uncomfortable. It was obvious that this girl was taught this move and did not much care for the response she received. Now he could see why her father had not sold her yet. She was the draw for his tavern. She was nothing more than a pleasant sight for the patron’s eyes and probably brought in extra money to someone willing to pay for her services. Again, Feredir felt his stomach lurch at the thought.

As the girl sat his glass down, she accidentally looked at Feredir. She fixed her stare as she caught sight of his silver eyes and he feared she would see through his disguise. Then her features softened and she spoke. “Would the stranger care for a satisfying welcome? I would make it worth your while.”

The new man became agitated. “That will be enough from you, whore. Be gone. This man is not here for anything you have to offer.”

The young woman gasped and bowed repeatedly as she backed away from the table. Then the new man spoke. “Perhaps she would not make such a good wife. Already she has a wandering eye.” He took a sip of the dark drink and turned his attention back to Feredir. “So who might this slave be that you are interested in?”

“My lord looks for one in particular, a slave called Mazzin. He has heard that he’s been very loyal and hopes that he might now be for sale,” Feredir answered.

The man thought a moment. He eyed Feredir carefully and the elf feared he was suspicious. “Your accent is not Haradrim, though there is a hint.” Then he looked at Feredir’s silver eyes. “No, you are not a Southron.”

Thinking quickly, Feredir answered him as best he could. “You are correct. I am not of the south. I was a common slave once myself, but that was a very long time ago. I am here by order of my lord and master. He has sent men here in the past, looking for a new servant and they thought the one called Mazzin was the best choice. I understand if his original master is not willing to part with him just yet, but I am sure you know someone that can . . . change his mind.”

The man sat back in his chair and studied Feredir for a moment. He glanced over to the young woman behind the bar, who had been watching Feredir this whole time. When she saw the man looking at her, she immediately averted her eyes and went about her business. Slowly, the man brought his attention back to Feredir.

“Hmm, that name sounds familiar and if he belongs to who I think he does, I do not think he would be for sale.”

Feredir considered the man’s statement before continuing. “It seems to me that you know quite a bit about who is for sale and who isn’t. Perhaps you know how I might acquire this particular slave.” Feredir laughed. “As the girl said, I will make it worth your while.” At that moment, Feredir laid a small pouch full of gold coins on the table.

The man could not take his eyes from the pouch as he smiled wide. “Give me a few days and I will see what I can do for you.” His hand reached out to grab the pouch but stopped when a small dagger was suddenly driven with force into the wooden table.

“I do not have days,” Feredir demanded. “You have until this afternoon, otherwise I will go elsewhere.”

The man sat forward, still looking at the pouch. Feredir continued in hushed tones. “There is enough here to buy a new wife,” he said, glancing to the girl in green.

After a moment of careful consideration, the man nodded and laughed from deep within his throat. “Alright, I will be back here in an hour and we will see what we can do about this slave, Mazzin, but you better have double what you have in that pouch.”

“I have money. You just find me that slave.” Feredir reached into the pouch and took out a few of the coins, leaving the bag half full. He handed them to the man. “You’ll get the rest as soon as I’m sure the slave has become attainable.”

* * *

While Feredir was securing a lead on the slave, Orthorien was making his way to Rhûn. Since he had to travel by day, the going was slow and it frustrated him. Eru only knew what kind of trouble Feredir was getting himself into. As he closed in on the foreign land, he heard the far off whinny of a horse, Feredir’s horse as a matter of fact. The golden elf whistled, calling the beast. He was disappointed to see she had no rider. No doubt, Feredir was already deep into enemy territory. Orthorien had to hurry if he wanted to reach him in time, in time for what he did not know.
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Journey Of A Butterfly