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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 50 - Getting Out Alive

The elf brothers made it successfully out of the building where Feredir was being held captive. It wasn’t until the dark elf got out in the open that he recognized his surroundings. They were in the alleyway behind the tavern where he originally entered into the dark and secret holding cell beneath the bar, but about two clay buildings down from that. He thought about that a moment. It made sense that they would not have gone far from where they drugged him. What would it look like to carry an unconscious person through the city streets, let alone one as heavy as Feredir.

He looked up at the terra cotta square building and wondered what business it portrayed from the front. He tried to remember as he recalled the row of businesses. When he first arrived in the Harad town, he had other things on his mind and made straight for the tavern once he spotted it. It seemed that he had seen a store that might have sold bread or pastries. Feredir remembered the smell of yeast and stale grain in the room where he regained consciousness. That would make sense now. So it seemed these stores were for one purpose above ground and for different devices below. Had the owner of the bakery been as willing as the tavern owner to allow the slave trader to conduct his underground dealings beneath their livelihood? It seemed to be part of life here in Rhûn. Clear out an unused room or an old decrepit cellar and turn a cheek so that the crooks could do their dirty work and for a small fee no doubt.

Feredir remembered hearing stories from the older elves about how different Harad was at one time, how different its people were, long before evil rose again. They were honest traders, doing business with sea merchants and making an ethical living. However, as the days darkened so did their hearts as they were corrupted by empty promises and false hopes. Those days of peace and balance were long gone as Feredir came to realize while rubbing his aching sides.

Orthorien had to help him walk as he was still very sore and the drug had not completely left his system yet. There was no time to recuperate. The girl in green could only stall for so long before the wagon would leave or the Southrons noticed Feredir was gone. Already, as they walked down the alley, they received long stares, raising suspicions as to what they were doing.

“You have to try to walk a little more on your own,” Orthorien said after the third group of Haradrim questioned Feredir’s odd state. The older elf mumbled something about too much liquor and kept moving, hoping the curious onlookers would move on, but tensions were building.

“I am trying, but my insides feel as though they are mush and my legs will not cooperate just yet,” Feredir complained.

“Well try harder or we will never make it out of this place,” Orthorien shot back.

As they stepped out of the alley and into the busy street, Feredir did as he was told and winced as he stood taller. Orthorien stole a sideways glance. “That is better, but now we have a new problem.”

“What now,” Feredir said irritated.

“Your chest,” Orthorien pointed out and Feredir looked down to see a blood stain slowly growing.

Feredir looked at his brother and nodded. “Give me one of your wraps,” he said pointing to the older elf’s neck. Orthorien unwrapped one of the scarves and handed it to Feredir. The dark elf flung it over his shoulder, letting it drape across his chest and tied it at his waist on the opposite side, wearing it like a sash. It would have to do for now and covered the bloodstain, but it was only a temporary solution.

“Once we get to the wagon, you can rest,” Orthorien said with sympathy in his voice.

“Once we get to the wagon, we will need to dispose of the guards and take their place,” Feredir answered.

“I will take care of the guards. You just be ready to jump in so we can make our escape,” Orthorien ordered.

“What, and let you have all the fun?” As Feredir spoke, he winced in pain again. His ribs felt as though they were rubbing together, cracking even more than they already were.

“I will not argue with you now, brother. There is not much you can do in this state and I do not want you to risk further injury,” Orthorien insisted.

They walked up the dirt street, past the shops and clay buildings towards the main entrance. In this area were carts, street merchants selling small trinkets, scarves, dried meats and an array of other eclectic items. As they passed, the sellers called to them trying to entice them into buying their goods. The elves kept their heads down. Their stature was already drawing attention, but a good look at their eyes, ones shining silver and the other blazing gold would be enough to raise an alarm. The Southrons might be good at turning their heads from other Southrons, but outsiders would not be tolerated, especially elven intruders.

Still, the odd looks and stares followed them and Orthorien looked over at Feredir. He was slouching and slowing down. “It is just a little further, brother,” informed Orthorien. “Come, we will walk past the crowd instead of through it. I think it will draw less attention.”

A crowd of people gathered in the street as it approached the end of the shopping day. The sun was getting ready to set and the nighttime brought on a different crowd, rougher, louder and more cautious. The elves stayed to the outer edges of the crowd, who seemed to notice them less now. As they went along, Feredir walking behind Orthorien, the younger elf glanced up at his brother and noticed a silver tendril of his long hair start to drop from his turban.

“Orth,” he whispered hoping not to make much commotion. “Orthorien,” he called again but the tall warrior did not stop. If anyone noticed his fine elf hair, they would surely be discovered.

“There it is,” Orthorien said with quiet excitement. Looking between the passing bodies, they could just make out the top of the wagon made of wood with big iron wheels and a white cloth tarp fastened over its frame.

Feredir heard a woman’s voice, demanding the men to stay and the men laughing at her, seeming to want payment for the favor of delaying their journey. The girl in green was now the girl in yellow, but it was the same one he had met in the tavern. He was not sure he trusted her after learning that she helped in his capture, no matter what her reasoning was. This could very well be another trap.

They ducked behind a stack of sacks and watched the wagon a moment, observing their surroundings. This would be a difficult way to steal the cart. It was in clear view, protected on one side by a wall of wooden crates.

“What are they saying?” Orthorien asked, not fluent in their language.

Feredir listened carefully. He could see the back of the wagon, but not the men sitting at the front. There were two work horses hitched up and ready to go. The girl stood to the side and towards the front, opposite from the wall of crates. Feredir’s warrior mind went to work seeking a way to get to the guards before being seen by them. “It seems she told them a little while ago that they must wait while a few items were being delivered. Now the men are anxious to leave and say they don’t care about the added delivery. They were not told of it and think she is mistaken. They will not wait much longer.”

“Then we have to move now,” Orthorien remarked, ready to ambush the guards.

“No wait!” Feredir demanded. “Let me get the girls attention so she knows we are here and can keep them busy while we sneak up alongside between those crates and the wagon.”

“Alright, but once I am at the front, you slip into the back and make sure the slave is really there. I’ll take care of the guards. No one will know what happened.”

“Are you sure?” Feredir asked concerned. He wanted more than anything to be able to take on one of the guards, but he knew his strength would not hold out much longer.

Orthorien gave Feredir one of his arrogant smirks. “It is what I live for,” he smiled.

Feredir peeked over the top of the sacks and waved his hand until the girl glanced over to him. He stared at her until she recognized his silver eyes and smiled. She seemed relieved to see Feredir after worrying about his fate and the role she played in it. The girl in yellow gave him one nod of her head and went back to speaking with the guards.

“Ah, here it comes now,” she said.

“Well it’s about damned time,” one guard commented.

Meantime, Orthorien picked up a small box sitting near the crate wall, pretending it was the delivery. He walked between the wall and the wagon, eyes carefully covered by his headscarf.

One guard exited the wagon seat and met Orthorien. “What took you so long, you ingrate? We could have been halfway to Far Harad if it weren’t for you.”

Orthorien pretended to be scared, bowing repeatedly, which allowed him to further hide his face. He did not understand their language so he did not answer.

The guard was getting impatient and snatched the box from Orthorien’s hands. “Give me that and be on your way,” he complained. As soon as he turned away, Orthorien stood at full height and grabbed the guard by his head. A quick twist and neck bones cracked. The guard went limp immediately. The man’s death was undetected except by Feredir who watched from the sack pile behind the wagon. One down and one to go he thought. The girl glanced back to him once more and he nodded to let her know everything was still a go.

Meanwhile, Orthorien rolled the dead body under the cart until he had a plan of disposing of it. He could hear the girl talking to the second guard who still sat in the wagon seat. Feredir took this opportunity to make his move and went to the back of the wagon. Before he went in, he peeked around to Orthorien who was waving him into the cart. From the conversation with the girl, he could tell that the second guard was not going anywhere soon and Orthorien would not know how to gain his attention in their own tongue. With a few hand gestures to his older brother, he told him what he was doing. Orthorien nodded and Feredir called from the back of the wagon to the remaining guard.

“We could use a hand back here,” the dark haired elf called in a disguised voice.

The guard mumbled something about never having a moments peace and jumped down from the wagon. He walked to the back and when he didn’t see his companion, he went to the other side where the crates were. There he found Orthorien holding the small box and gave him an angry look.

“What’s the problem here? Do you need me to tell you where to stick that thing,” he complained. “’cause if you do I can--. Umph.”

As he belittled Orthorien, Feredir snuck up behind the guard, grabbed his head and snapped his neck just at Orthorien had done to the first guard. Cautiously, the elves looked around to see if anyone took notice of them, but there was no one around.

“We can’t leave the bodies here to be discovered,” Feredir said as he scanned the area for a place to dispose of the dead men.

“I thought I told you to get in the wagon,” Orthorien complained as if not hearing Feredir’s concerns.

He smiled, though the pain he was in was more predominant. “As you said, brother, it is what I live for.”

Orthorien let a small smile creep upon his lips. “Well said.” Then he looked back at the pile of sacks where they originally hid. “I think I saw a tarp. Keep an eye out while I see what we can use.”

Feredir stood over the body of the second guard as Orthorien went back to their hiding spot to search for a tarp. The girl came around and met Feredir. She kept her distance from him, looking at her feet, ashamed.

“I . . .,” she started. She lifted her eyes but would not look directly at Feredir. “I am sorry for what I did. I begged them not to harm you.”

So much good that did, Feredir thought. He had trusted her and it angered him slightly to think she would betray him. Still, he could not help but feel sympathy for her either. Had she not helped, they would have used her, beaten her or worse. In Rhûn, it was every man, and obviously every woman for themselves.

His face softened as he noticed the girl’s regret. “You did what you had to do and I forgive you. All is well now.”

The girl glanced down and saw blood spreading from beneath the sash draped across his chest. She gasped and rushed to him, lifting it and seeing a bigger stain. “You’re bleeding. You need help,” she said concerned.

Feredir smiled through foggy eyes, trying desperately to maintain his false strength. “It’s only a flesh wound,” he whispered. Just as he reached out for the girl’s hand, the pain, the bleeding and his spent body gave way and he started to collapse. The girl grabbed for him and supported the elf. Feredir reached out with his left hand and seized the back of the cart before he fell to the ground. With the girl’s help, she got him into the back of the wagon. He looked closely and saw a curled up pile of Southron clothes lying to one side. At a closer inspection, he discovered that it was indeed a man, the slave Mazzin, unconscious, probably drugged for the ride to Far Harad. He seemed to breathe easily in long deep breaths and Feredir was satisfied that he was in good health, at least for a slave, and in better shape than the elf. Unable to do anymore, Feredir lay down on the opposite side of the wagon and let himself fall into an elvish healing sleep.

Orthorien returned with a soiled canvas and saw that Feredir was gone. The girl in yellow pointed to the back of the wagon and the warrior peeked inside, seeing two bodies. “You are sure that is Mazzin?” he asked her.

“Very sure. I had seen him once before and heard Abdan call to him. It is the same man,” she answered.

Orthorien set to work moving the dead guards over by the sack pile. He rolled them up in the tarp and situated them so they looked like part of the pile, but for the color of the canvas. It was dirty and grey where the sacks were cleaner and white with writing on them. It would do long enough to get out of the city before anyone noticed the dead bodies or before Abdan discovered that Feredir was missing.

When Orthorien was finished, he went to the front of the wagon, checked the horses to make sure they were hitched properly and jumped up with catlike grace onto the seat at the front of the wagon. The girl in yellow stood on the opposite side and smiled. “I am glad I found you and I’m glad you found him,” she said glancing to the back where Feredir was.

“Considered your debt repaid in the eyes of the Valar, my lady.”

She blushed at his reference to her. No one had ever called her a lady before. “Come with us, lady in gold. Rhûn is no place for such a beautiful woman as yourself. I know someone in Ithilien. She is of the same heritage as you, though she has never lived amongst your people. She would give you shelter and work; help you make a life for yourself. You would be free of this deprived environment.”

He had no idea how badly she wanted this. It may be her only opportunity to leave this land, something that until now was only ever a far off wish upon a star she could never reach. However, her father knew too much, was too involved with the underworld of Harad. Out of fear of her wagging her tongue, he would pursue her until she was captured and then there was no telling what would happen to her. Death would be her best guess, but death to other’s was her main concern.

She shook her head slowly. “No, I’m afraid I would only bring harm to you and your friends and family. I cannot leave. My father would never stop looking for me.”

There was no time to argue and Orthorien sensed the girl’s resistance to leave. He smiled warmly to her, his golden eyes capturing her. “Stay safe, my lady. Maybe one day I will see you again and you will be free.”

“Perhaps,” she smiled back. “Remember to follow the road until you come to the stone markers. That is the border. After that you should be safe, but keep an eye out. All roads are watched carefully by my people.”

Orthorien nodded and held her in his gaze a moment longer. Then he gave her a wink and shook the reins, starting the horses on their path. The wagon moved along towards the gates, his last obstacle. It had been easy to sneak into the city on foot. No one questioned him, but leaving in a wagon would raise an eyebrow. As he approached, he checked himself and found the loose hair that had fallen out of his headpiece. Quickly, he tucked it back up, pulled the front down around his eyes and hoped for the best.

A guard, as wide in the belly as he was tall it seemed, gave him a hard look. He asked Orthorien a question. Though the elf did not speak their language, he knew the man asked about his load. The golden warrior only knew a few words and that was enough.

“Transporting slaves,” he said in their tongue, though his accent was obviously broken. The fat guard furrowed his brow and Orthorien nodded his head toward the back of the wagon. The gate guard called to another man, who went to the back and pulled open the canvas flaps. Seeing the bodies in the back, he called up to his boss and held up two fingers. The gatekeeper glared at Orthorien a moment longer then grunted his approval. The elf wasn’t sure whether the man was satisfied or not, but it seemed to work. Out of the gates they went, slowly but at a steady pace. The sooner they were out of this horrible land, the better. Unless he was under orders, Orthorien would never want to return to Rhûn or any other place where the Haradrim dwelt. They were a very dangerous and bloodthirsty race of men, stupid at times and ruthless at others. Well, it was done now. He had Feredir and the slave. Now hopefully he would get them all back to Rohan before it was too late for Terrwyn. Orthorien said a silent prayer for Horphen, hoping he had been able to keep the peace with the Rohirrim.
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Journey Of A Butterfly