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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
- 51
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Chapter 52 - From Rhûn to Rohan

The light tossing motion of the wagon helped Feredir to sleep deeply during most of the next day’s travel. He woke up slowly, wishing he could sleep a few more hours, just until they stopped for the night. His sides did not hurt so much anymore and his wounds did not feel as raw. The elf sat up and ran his fingers through his thick black hair, sweeping it from his face.

“How are you doing Orthorien? Would you like for me to relieve you for a bit and take the reins?” he called to his brother.

“Outside of my ass being numb, I am well,” Orthorien answered, laughing lightly to himself. “We will stop soon. You just stay back there. Tomorrow I will let you take your turn.”

Feredir smiled and shook his head. Apparently, Orthorien had not lost his sense of humor with all that had happened. The younger elf could appreciate the lightheartedness of his brother because of the good will between them. They had reached an understanding. Despite all of their differences, they were brothers and they loved each other. Nothing could change that.

He was about to ask Orthorien where they were when the slave, Mazzin, rolled onto his back and began rubbing his eyes. He was waking up, the drug finally depleted from his system. Feredir sat cautiously and let the man wake on his own.

Mazzin blinked his eyes, his head turning from one side to the other, and tried to remember what had happened. He felt a presence near and sat up to find Feredir quietly watching him. He said something in the Harad language, but the elf did not answer, waiting for him to speak in the common tongue. Mazzin’s eyes grew wide with fear when the elf did not say anything.

“I thought I had dreamt that I was taken by elves,” Mazzin finally said in Westron.

“I’m afraid it was not a dream,” Feredir answered in a calm even tone.

“Am I under some elvish spell? I remember you talking to me and my eyes becoming heavy with sleep. Was that you?” Mazzin asked.

“I was the one who spoke to you, but it was no spell. I merely calmed you. It was the drug that sent you back to your dreams.” Feredir adjusted his position so that he sat facing Mazzin. “You do not need to fear me. I mean you no harm.”

Mazzin seemed unconvinced as he looked over his new captor. “Why have you taken me then? Do you not worry that the Southrons will come for me?”

Feredir shook his head slowly. “They do not scare me. Besides, we are far enough away from their borders that I think we are out of harm’s way for now.”

Mazzin still sat close in the corner of the wagon opposite Feredir. He glanced to the flap in the back, but noted that they were moving at a good pace. Feredir seemed to read his thoughts. “It will do you no good to try that again. You may be alert, but you are weakened and you are better off here with my brother and me than in the wild. As I said, we are not going to hurt you. We need your help and in return, we want to help you.”

Mazzin sat up and looked at the elf with confusion. “You need my help? How? What kind of help do you need from a slave?”

Feredir reached into his pack and pulled out a flask containing the last of their wine. He opened the top and took a drink, replaced the cap and tossed it to Mazzin. The slave caught it, but glared at Feredir as if it were some kind of trick. Feredir laughed quietly. “I would not have drunk from it myself if it were laced with poison. Go on; enjoy your first sip of freedom, Mazzin.”

Mazzin turned the flask in his hand, looked once more to Feredir, then uncorked it and took a small sip. Feredir smiled, feeling Mazzin’s reserve begin to diminish. Now was as good a time as any to begin the questioning. “Do you remember what happened to you back in Rhûn?”

Mazzin rubbed is temples and tried to remember. “I was with my clan to the north near the Iron Hills. My master had given me a mission, allowing me the most freedom I’d had since he first acquired me. These men approached me and said I was to follow them. They did not fit the description my master had given me, but I was convinced they were the ones I was to meet. The next thing I knew, I felt a sharp sting in my arm and my vision blurred.”

Feredir nodded. “Ah, that would be the sedative. Powerful stuff whatever it is.” The wagon bounced as it passed over a rock, making Feredir wince. Although he felt better, he was not completely healed.

Mazzin noticed his pain. “You were injured. What happened?”

“It seems we have a mutual friend back in Rhûn,” Feredir answered sarcastically. “You may know him as Abdan.”

“The slave trader?” Mazzin questioned. “No, he would not go against my master, one of the most powerful clan leaders. I was there when Abdan tried to negotiate my purchase. My master would not hear of it and I have to say, I was glad to know my worth was more than I thought.”

Feredir furrowed his brow. “Why do you say that?”

“I worked very hard to advance as a slave. The Southrons are wicked men. That was the first thing I learned after my capture. I witnessed many of my friends die at the hands of these men. If you did not comply, you were done away with.” Mazzin shivered at the memory and drew his legs up to his chest. He continued to look Feredir over, noticing the bandages wrapped around his chest. “So how was it that you became part of Abdan’s merchandise and escaped?”

“I had help,” Feredir answered glancing up to the front of the wagon where Orthorien sat. “My brother found me and together we found you.”

“What do you want with me anyways? I do not understand why I am here.”

Feredir did not expect to get into this conversation so soon. “We were looking for you, or at least a slave called Mazzin.”

The man observed Feredir with slight distrust. “The Southrons do not trust the elves. They tried to enforce their beliefs upon me also. They say you perform magic upon men and steal their souls. It is why you are immortal . . . that you feed upon the spirits of men.”

“And did they convince you of this?” Feredir asked cautiously.

Mazzin dropped his gaze to his knees. “They tried to convince me of a lot of things and I started to believe some of it, until I finally had proof of their lies,” he said in a whisper. Then he looked at Feredir once again, a fire in his eyes that was not there before. “And I might have believed their stories of the elves had I not met one as a child. There was nothing evil about him. In fact, he was very caring and helped me during a difficult time. If he had wanted my spirit, he would have taken it, for I had only met him a brief moment, but trusted him with my life.” Mazzin stopped and laughed. “I always found the Southrons weakened by their fear of the fair folk, but I knew better.”

“You were wise not to give into their foolish theories,” Feredir stated.

“And just like the elves, you have diverted the conversation away from my question. Why were you looking for me?” Mazzin demanded.

Feredir regarded Mazzin a moment before he continued. His strong jaw, broad shoulders and red hair gave away his heritage. The man was definitely Rohirric and he wondered how he came to be a slave. “You must have been taken as a child, otherwise I think you would have escaped long ago.”

“Yes, I was very young and the Southrons weakened me. As I said, they threatened me and kept me weak with malnutrition. They told me they had killed my family, gave gruesome details of their rape and torture. If I did not conform quickly, the same would happen to me. At first I agreed with them for the purpose of survival, but as I met other slaves, I began to see a pattern. Even among slaves, there were ranks depending on the level of trust the master had for them. I knew if I wanted to not only survive but also become a trusted member, I had to yield to the clan leader. I did everything I was told and soon my master put me into his employment. I was a message runner for the Rohirric army before my enslavement so I knew I could do the same for my master.”

“Did you ever know any of the content of these messages?” Feredir asked. He was getting closer to finding out the information he needed to free Terrwyn and his heart beat rapidly.

“I learned how to read their codes after a while and soon knew everything that went on between my clan and whoever they had dealings with. This was all part of my plan. Being so young, I knew I could not escape, but I could collect information and keep it in my memory. You see, my motive was to infiltrate the clan so that one day, when I finally attempted an escape, I could take this knowledge back to my King and finally end the Southron’s reign in Rhûn altogether. This was all I had left to believe in and it gave me hope.”

Feredir was intrigued by Mazzin’s will to survive and wished to ask him more about this, but he needed to get to the information he sought. “Do you remember letters between you master and a man called Bregmund?”

Mazzin thought a moment, his mind pouring over years of stored bits and pieces. “Bregmund . . . oh yes! I remembered that name quite well. It was Rohirric. I thought my kinsmen found out where I was and made an accord for my return. At that time, I was just learning to read their codes. There was mention of jewels being traded for land. I had hoped it was a diversion of some kind and that my people came for me. I knew it could be nothing else. Why would one of my own kind want to own a piece of Haradrim soil? From then on out, I read every message that passed my hands, but soon the messages from this man called Bregmund stopped. I couldn’t understand why. My master agreed to the trade. This was the last letter I delivered before they stopped correspondence.” Mazzin went on to tell Feredir about the kind of jewels and exactly where the land was that was mentioned. Everything was coming together. The truth lie with the slave and for years he kept it tucked away in his memory.

“I am sorry to have to tell you this, but there was no trade for your rescue. This man, Bregmund was the son of a nobleman. The jewels were his and the trade for the land was legitimate. He meant to do harm to his own kindred, using women and young girls to make dealings with the Southrons. Bregmund’s mind was twisted into thinking he could eventually break away from Rohan and make himself wealthy off both lands. He might have gotten away with his plans too, if he had not captured a certain young woman that fought him. Bregmund attacked her and she killed him in self-defense, but others would have your King believe differently. The evidence against her shows her as being the jewel thief and the reason she murdered Bregmund.”

Mazzin shook his head. “I don’t understand. This sounds like a matter for Rohan. Why are you involved in any of this?”

Feredir hung his head and closed his eyes. “Because I know this woman and she has become the most important thing in my life. She sits in the cells beneath Edoras, awaiting her tribunal and waiting for me to return with the one person who can prove her innocence. You, Mazzin, are the key to her exoneration otherwise she will be hung for murder.”

Mazzin leaned back against the side of the wagon. The information was almost too much to fathom all at once. After a long moment of silence, the slave laughed. “So my rescue was due to someone else’s need for rescue. Huh, the mysteries of the gods have struck once again,” he said in disbelief. “For years I have been planning on a way to escape, but the Southrons hold on me was too great. And now, here I sit with an elf no less and you are telling me I am a free man.”

“You are going home Mazzin and I hope that you will be able to put your life back together as it should be,” Feredir stated. “Now, will you help me free my lady? Will you tell the King what you know of the messages? It is all I ask of you. If you do this, you will be giving me the greatest gift.”

Mazzin studied Feredir’s worried face. “This woman is very special to you, I can see.”

“She is the only one who makes me feel whole and without her I am a pitiful mess,” he smiled, the words sounding desperate and somewhat humorous. “And when this is over, when I get her back, I am going to ask her to marry me.”

Mazzin seemed surprised. “I thought it was against your laws to take a human as a bond mate.”

“I am only half elf,” Feredir explained. For the first time, he was proud to admit this fact about himself. “I am a Peredhil and have the decision of becoming one or the other, but I love this woman with such immensity that my choice seems easy now. She holds my heart and I will be with her.”

Mazzin took another swig of the flask then tossed it back to Feredir. “Well then, it seems I owe you for helping me claim my freedom. I will speak on your lady’s behalf and I pray that it will be enough to set her free also.” The warm sensation of the wine eased down his throat and settled in his stomach spreading throughout the rest of his body. Mazzin pulled the cover over himself and leaned his head back against the wagon.

“Thank you,” Feredir whispered as he watched the ex-slave settle in for more rest.

* * *

Orthorien stopped for the night, their last night before reaching Rohan. Mazzin still slept in the back of the wagon. Feredir helped his brother set up their camp and get a fire going. Now the brothers sat by the crackling flames enjoying a warm drink made from some wild berries Orthorien had gathered.

“I am surprised he is still sleeping,” Orthorien said glancing at the wagon.

Feredir smiled. “I gave him some Dorwinion wine. I knew it would relax him for the journey.”

Orthorien laughed softly. “Dorwinion will keep him in dreams for a while. That is a strong potion for someone with an empty stomach. You still need him for Terrwyn’s tribunal, don’t forget.”

“It was only a sip or two from my flask. He’ll be conscious soon.” Feredir shook his head at his brother’s jesting.

They quietly sipped from their mugs, staring into the fire. Orthorien could sense Feredir’s anxiousness. They would reach Edoras by late day tomorrow. The elves could have made the trip without stopping so often if not for the slave, but it gave them the time they needed to learn what he knew of the land trade.

“Do you think all will be well when we get there?” Feredir asked tentatively. Before he left Rohan, tensions were already beginning to run high. His greatest fear was finding Terrwyn’s day of judgment already passed before he could return in time.

“Horphen is there. He will not let anything happen before then,” Orthorien stated confidently. Actually, he held the same fear in his heart, which was why he insisted the other elf stay behind. He had just recently gotten to know Horphen and hoped his intuitions were right about his brother’s best friend. “He knows how deeply you care for Terrwyn. It will be his main goal, to make sure she is safe.”

Feredir thought about this last statement. Making sure Terrwyn was safe had always been his first thought too, but when he was captured, he thought he had failed in his quest. “It almost came to naught for me . . . back there in Rhûn. I think I lost what was most important to me for a moment.”

Orthorien tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Seems to me you never lost sight of your goal. Everything you did was for Terrwyn.”

Feredir reached into his pocket and took out the butterfly, placing it in the palm of his hand and watching how the light of the fire made the wings seem like they were moving. “But I did not think things through. Had you not showed when you did . . .” Feredir paused and flashes of a different outcome played in his mind. The Southron would have broken his spirit, sending the elf into despair. The slave would have been shipped off to a new master, his name changed and never heard from again. And then there was Terrwyn. Her face looked so frightened as she stood alone on a platform, a noose about her neck, hands tied. The faces of those that sought revenge would be the last thing she’d see.

Feredir shook his head as he tried to rid these morbid scenes from his mind. Orthorien could tell what he was thinking. They were brothers after all and their connection seemed to grow more now that they had reconciled with one another. The older elf laid a strong hand on his brother’s shoulder, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Orthorien gave Feredir a stern look. “None of those things happened. What you see now is a different result of a path that you did not take.” Then his face softened into a humorous smile. “Most of us have these visions before we jump onto our chosen road,” he laughed. “Never have I known someone so determined to choose the path less traveled and turn it into an adventure. You never do anything with ease. Never have and I suppose never will.”

Feredir laughed along with his brother. He was right of course, there was no reason to dwell on something that never came to pass. As the brothers shared in a rare moment of agreement and lightheartedness, they did not hear Mazzin wake and exit the wagon. He had heard them talking and reminiscing, though he did not understand their language. He noticed Feredir holding something in his hand and moved closer to see what it was. He squint his eyes in the darkness, trying to get a better view when suddenly he gasped in surprise.

Orthorien and Feredir became aware of Mazzin’s presence and both turned simultaneously towards him. “Ah,” Orthorien said, switching to Westron. “It is good to see you up and about, my friend. Come and join us by the fire. There is still some tea left if you--.”

“Where did you get that?” Mazzin interrupted, his attention focused on the small wooden trinket.

Feredir followed Mazzin’s sight to the butterfly. “This?” he asked curiously. “It belongs to the woman who you are to help. She gave it to me for safekeeping until I can return it to her. Why?”

“I know what that is. I have seen it before.” Mazzin’s voice was full of amazement.

Orthorien looked at the butterfly and then to Mazzin. “I’m sure it is a common piece. It can probably be purchased at any wood crafter’s stand in any town.”

“Not this one,” Feredir and Mazzin said in unison and their eyes fell upon on another in astonishment. Feredir spoke next. “This is a rarity.”

“Crafted by an elf that I met long ago,” Mazzin continued.

Feredir stood up and went to Mazzin, studying his face more thoroughly. “I thought there was something very familiar about you when I first saw you. I don’t know why I never thought to ask you this before, but . . . what is your Rohirric name?”

“Mazzin is the name my master gave me to identify me as a slave. My real name is Hathmund,” the man answered, puzzled by his own voice. Long had it been since he used his Rohirric name. The sound of it was strange, but he felt his pride return, strengthening his self-esteem.

Orthorien now went to where the man and his brother stood. “Feredir?” he started to ask.

The dark haired elf smiled. “Orthorien, meet Hathmund . . . Terrwyn’s long lost brother.”

Hathmund was in shock. “But how? I don’t understand. How do you . . .? And my sister . . .?”

Feredir immediately put his hand over his heart and bowed as he said a silent prayer. Then his attention came back to Hathmund. “This is truly the work of the Valar. It could be nothing less. Praise to the keepers of the Blessed Realm.”

Hathmund shook his head. “Wait a moment. I don’t understand. If you hold the butterfly and it belongs to the woman you seek to rescue, then that means my sister is . . .”

“I’m afraid so. She is incarcerated beneath Edoras at this very moment and if we do not return soon . . .” Feredir paused, still in complete bewilderment. “Oh by the fate of the Valar, Hathmund. Do you know how long Terrwyn has searched for you?”

“I have heard no one speak her name in nine years and it sounds so surreal to hear it now.” He paused and ran his hand through his shoulder length hair. “What happened that led to her imprisonment? You told me briefly of her story, but now that I know it is Terrwyn, I must know every detail.”

Feredir turned to Orthorien. “I do not think I can wait until sunrise to leave for Rohan. We should be going soon. Terrwyn needs to know. She needs to see her brother,” he demanded. Then to Hathmund he said, “We will break down camp and I will tell you all that I know once we are on the road.”

All three agreed and they started putting out the fire, packing their blankets and cooking gear. They loaded the wagon, hitched the horses and soon were on their way. Feredir told Hathmund everything he knew about Terrwyn’s life after losing her brother. Hathmund in turn told the elf about his own trials. Meanwhile, Orthorien pushed the horses a little harder than before. They were all very anxious to get to Rohan and reunite brother and sister, as well as set her free, hopefully.
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Journey Of A Butterfly