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
- 5
- 6
Chapter 6 – Road Trip to the White City

Feredir was on his way to the stables on a bright and crisp morning. It was the start to the kind of day where there was energy in the air. Everything looked sharper and smelled cleaner. The flowers were opened wider, and the grass stood taller. Life all around was in full bloom. It would be a good day, he thought to himself.
He reached the stable, eager to spend another morning working with Belroch. The black stallion was becoming used to his new rider, though he still posed a challenge in one way or another. Feredir knew the horse was testing him, seeing how far it could push the limits of Feredir’s patience. Since he was an elf, he had much in the way of patience. Belroch would come around eventually, and he would do it on his own terms. Feredir loved this sort of game. Both elf and horse would give and push back, testing, teasing, and discovering what it meant to become as one, rider and beast.
Feredir was surprised to find Orthorien there, checking his horse and preparing it for travel. “Where are you off to, and do you have my wife’s permission to ride with that leg wound?” he asked surprising his older brother.
“I am well enough,” Orthorien answered tersely. The tension was instantly thick.
“I take it things did not go well with Irneth?” Feredir asked.
Orthorien did not look at his brother, and kept busy tying bags to his horse. “She made her decision to end anything between us when she shot me, and she made it very clear that she never wants anything to do with me again.”
“So you are leaving?” Feredir wondered.
Orthorien stopped what he was doing to look his brother in the eyes. “I had hoped to spend some time here in Ithilien, but suddenly the city does not seem big enough for the two of us,” he said, referring to Irneth. “I think it is best that I took my leave.”
Feredir knew his brother well. He knew once Orthorien set his mind to something, he would not deter from his objectives. In this way, Feredir and Orthorien were very much alike. Begging and pleading would do nothing to change the gilded warrior’s mind.
“I was looking forward to your visit, dear brother, but if you must go, I shall not stand in your way. I thank you again for this magnificent creature. Belroch and I seem to be making wonderful progress.”
Orthorien smiled genuinely and bowed his head. “You are more than welcome, Feredir.”
Just then, Horphen entered the stables and approached Feredir and Orthorien. He gave a nod to Orthorien, still not sure how to behave around the elf he considered a friend, but also the one who broke his sister’s heart. The slight bow of his head seemed enough, and words would have been too much to give at this point. Horphen decided it was best to give his attention to Feredir instead, since he was the reason for the visit to the stables. “I’ve done a bit of research like you asked,” he said secretively. “You’ll not find anything here in the city.”
Orthorien pretended not to hear, but his ears were trained on Horphen. Feredir stopped what he was doing and faced his friend. “If not here, then where?”
“You’ll have to go to Minas Tirith. Their records go back centuries or more, the oldest and most complete collection of history lies beneath the city in the catacombs.”
“Aye,” Orthorien butted in, unable to keep to himself any longer. “What are you looking for?”
“Oh, it’s probably nothing, but worth a bit of investigating. It’s nothing Horphen and I cannot handle,” Feredir said, as an idea sprang into his head. He turned to his friend. “Orthorien was just getting prepared to set out for Eryn Lasgalen.”
“Already?” Horphen said with surprise, though a bit of relief seeped through in his tone.
“Yes,” Orthorien answered and set to preparing the bags once more.
Feredir went on with his conversation. “Gondor you say.”
“Afraid so, and it’ll be you who convinces the commander to allow us leave.” Horphen patted Feredir roughly on the back.
Orthorien glanced over his shoulder, curiosity getting the best of him. “If you don’t mind, what are you researching that can only be found within the history books of Minas Tirith?”
It had been a long time since the three elves set out on an adventure together. Feredir gave Horphen a twitch of his eyebrow, and Horphen understood his meaning. Lifelong friends tended to be very much in tune with each other, and Feredir and Horphen were no exception. The friends turned to Orthorien, each one taking a spot at his side. Feredir started. “During a campaign at the borders, we captured a small group of Southrons. They were interrogated and divulged a bit of information that we feel we need to look further into.”
“Turns out they were not soldiers, but rather enslaved recruits,” Horphen continued. “They admitted to strange things happening in Harad, and said that a new enemy was slowly coming to power, using the Southron clan chieftains to do their dirty work.”
Feredir shifted from one foot to the other, moving closer to his brother. “They said that this new power searches for the Brethren of Soothsayers.”
Orthorien listened carefully, but he shook his head. “Perhaps it was a diversionary tactic. I’ve never heard of this before. Who are they, and what do they do?”
“We don’t know,” Horphen went on. “When we asked the Southrons about it, they only said to look into the past to find the answers. I went to Ithilien’s library, and they could not help me. Then they told me my best bet was Gondor or perhaps Rivendell. Obviously, Gondor is much closer, and we know that they house some of the oldest records known to Middle-earth. So that is where we will start.”
“You know,” Feredir said, wrapping an arm around Orthorien’s shoulder. “We could use another pair of eyes.”
“And since it seems you are not comfortable staying here in Ithilien, perhaps you’ll want to go to Gondor instead,” Horphen added, backing up Feredir’s motives.
“It has been many long years since I’ve been to the White City,” Orthorien considered, drawing a finger along the leather strap of his saddlebag.
“What say you?” Feredir asked. “Another adventure?”
“How soon do we leave?” Orthorien smiled cleverly.
* * *
“You’re leaving for Minas Tirith?” Terrwyn said, toweling Norion’s wet head after finishing his bath. It was a perfect time for Feredir to drop this new plan onto her lap. There was not much she could do argument-wise with their son between them.
Feredir got down on his knees, taking the towel from Terrwyn, and finished by wrapping it around his son. He smiled, the pure joy reaching the corners of his brilliantly silver eyes.
“You’ll watch out for your Nana, now won’t you, iôn nín?”
Norion was proud to be set upon his first task. “I will, Ada,” he smiled, matching his father’s.
“And who will watch out for you?” Terrwyn questioned.
Feredir rubbed a hand through his thick black mane. “Horphen and my brother are going.”
“Well, I could have guessed that Horphen would go, but I thought Orthorien was leaving for Eryn Lasgalen.” She reached for Norion’s nightgown, and her son raised his arms above his head. The material floated down effortlessly, hands appearing through arm holes and head popping thorough neckline. They went through the movements like a well-rehearsed act. When they were done, Feredir kissed the child’s forehead.
“Run along now. To bed with you. Your mother and I will be along in a moment.”
Feredir watched Norion skip down the hallway, and disappear into his room. Then he turned to his wife, whose expression had turned dangerous. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tight against him.
“That look might work on your patients, Naru, but for me it only fuels my desires.” His hand came up and he slipped a finger along the neckline of her dress, carefully teasing the soft curves of her breasts.
Unable to resist him since the first time he ever touched her, Terrwyn’s face softened as she gave in to his ministrations. “You’ll be away for quite some time. It’s been a while since we’ve been apart, not since you took the position of Captain of the Guard.”
“I’m only going to Gondor, not off to war.” He bent and kissed the side of her exposed neck.
“I guess that is some consolation,” she said sadly.
He wrapped his arms around her and whispered into her hair, “I can remember a time when you couldn’t wait to be rid of me.”
Terrwyn lifted her head and looked longingly into his eyes. “That was a long time ago, and you were a completely different elf then.”
“Was I?” he said, one dark brow raised teasingly.
“You were arrogant, self-centered, annoyingly proud and–”
“And yet, here you are,” he interrupted in the midst of her complaint. A firm yet seductive kiss kept her from finishing her thoughts.
“Just be careful,” she pleaded.
Feredir nodded, took her hand, and led her down the hall to tuck their son in for the night.
* * *
It was a week later, and a few days since Feredir and the others had set out for Minas Tirith. Terrwyn was at the healing house, supposedly watching her new pupil, Tharon, as he measured a concoction of herbs. But her mind was not on teaching at the moment.
“Is everything alright, Mistress?” Tharon asked when she’d not answered his question about a certain measurement.
Terrwyn shook herself from her thoughts and smiled. “I’m sorry, Tharon. Now what were you saying?”
“I was just wondering if I used enough mountain daisy,” Tharon replied, and noted her confusion. “But you weren’t watching so–”
Terrwyn shook her head. “Perhaps now is not the best time for a lesson. There is a mountain of soiled rags to be sterilized in the back room. Why don’t you set a pot to heating, and I’ll be along to help you in a bit.”
Tharon bowed. “Yes, Mistress.”
Terrwyn inwardly cringed at the title, but Tharon had not yet become comfortable enough calling her by name, no matter how many times she corrected him. That’s why she was surprised when he turned to her and called her by such.
“Pardon me if I speak too openly, Terrwyn, but is there something that bothers you? You seem very distant these past few days.”
“All is well,” she said smiling at his concern. “Missing my husband is all. We haven’t been apart for quite a few years. I guess I’ve just gotten used to him being here.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Mistress, but I’m glad that is all it is. I was worried, you know, with Master Curuven and Limil gone to the Havens. Things have been rather quiet around here.”
“Yes, it has, but quiet is good in our line of business, though one should never be unprepared. Things can go from calm to chaos in the flick of a wing. But there is no reason to put yourself at worry. With you, me and Rhawen, we’ll handle any situation that comes along.”
Tharon smiled, feeling a bit more important and useful in the healing house. So much so that he seemed to forget his duties. “Better get that water to boiling,” she reminded him, and Tharon disappeared into the back room.
The door that led in from the waiting room opened, and a familiar face peeked inside. He saw Terrwyn and entered.
“Halion, why, this is a surprise, or should I grab my needle and sutures.” She was only partly jesting. There hadn’t been any word of fighting, but that did not mean people did not get hurt.
Halion had been to the Healing House a while back, on the day the Southron prisoners were brought in, and Terrwyn had to end a brawl that broke out in her waiting area. He’d been cut with a dirty blade, his first battle wound, and Terrwyn had seen to his injury.
Halion bowed respectfully, but when he stood his eyes scanned the room. “I am fine, Mistress Terrwyn.”
“And how has that laceration healed?” she asked.
Halion shrugged his coat from his shoulder and showed her the scar. He smiled proudly. “It is a beauty, for sure.”
“What can I do you for, Halion?” Terrwyn wondered.
He looked around the room again, his sight falling on the door that led to the back room. When they focused on Terrwyn, she could see a blush of pink tinge his pointed ears. “Actually, I’ve come to see Rhawen.”
Confused, Terrwyn knitted her brows. “Well, I don’t think she is supposed to come in until later today. Is there something I can do instead?”
“She told me to meet her here. Perhaps I am a little early. I was in a bit of a rush. I’m afraid patience is my downfall.”
Terrwyn was about to continue her questioning when the same door Halion entered through opened. Rhawen came in and seemed startled to see Halion talking with Terrwyn. She instantly hid her shock with a wide smile and went to Halion, looping her arm around his and tugging him towards the door. “There you are,” she said cheerfully, and then leaned towards his ear. “I thought I told you to meet me outside the Healing House.”
“When I arrived, you were not here, and I waited a while, but you did not show. I thought perhaps I had misunderstood, so I came inside looking for you.” His eyes scanned her from head to toe as he finished speaking, and a look of infatuation crossed his face. “Are you ready to go?” he said almost dreamily.
Rhawen, not quite as dreamily, pulled him away from Terrwyn. “Yes … yes, I’m ready. Let’s be on our way then.” She looked back over his shoulder while rushing for the door. “I’ll be in at my usual time, Terrwyn.”
Rhawen almost had Halion out the door, but Terrwyn called to her and she cringed.
“Rhawen, a moment please … before you go … if you don’t mind?”
Rhawen patted Halion’s arm as she released her grip on him. “Go on up to the front. I’ll be along in a minute.”
“Good day, Mistress Terrwyn,” Halion bowed, barely getting out the door before Rhawen pushed him and shut it tight.
“Yes, Terrwyn?” she said, putting on her best and least conspicuous smile.
Terrwyn looked past Rhawen, and then her eyes settled on her assistant. “Halion?” she asked. There was no need to say anything further.
“It’s only lunch and a stroll through the gardens,” Rhawen said defensively.
“And what would Horphen think of this young, handsome, and obviously enamored soldier taking you out for lunch and a stroll?”
Rhawen raised her nose pugnaciously. “I don’t think he would even notice, since his eyes seem to wander as much as he feet, and never to my own door.”
“What happened?” Terrwyn asked, concerned for her assistant and friend. “I thought he was coming around. You invited him into your home and–”
“And he did not show,” Rhawen interrupted. “I’d made a lovely dinner and all, and not even a note of apology came.”
“Perhaps something happened and he was called to duty. He is, after all, a Captain in the army. Sometimes it cannot be helped,” Terrwyn tried to justify.
“I’m no fool. I know it takes but a second to send word. But that is not the whole reason I’m angry at him. When I saw him the next day, he behaved like nothing had happened … just picked up where we left off. Does he not know how much time I put into making that evening special? And then he acts like it was nothing at all, no remorse … nothing. Well, I will not be treated like all the other ellith that come around, flaunting themselves just to make him notice them. He might be able to sweet talk himself back into their good graces, but I haven’t the time or the energy to waste.” Rhawen huffed a frustrated breath and straightened her tunic. Today, she’d worn leggings and boots, hoping that she and Halion might have a bit more strenuous hike, rather than a walk in the gardens. Though she liked Halion platonically, she knew he was a little more enamored, and she knew that hiking through high cliffs and rocky terrain would keep his eyes and his thoughts too busy to focus completely on her.
“I better go,” she finally said, turning for the door. “Halion will think I’m not coming.”
“Enjoy your walk,” Terrwyn called to her, though she looked on with sympathy.
Rhawen noticed and gave a sad smile. “It’s a shame really. I’m rather fond of Horphen. I always have been. I’ve seen his tender and caring side.”
“So have I, and I think he will come around eventually, once he realizes there is nothing wrong with being that part of himself,” Terrwyn said.
“I’m not sure I’m willing to wait that long,” Rhawen said sadly, and she closed the door behind her.
* * *
Feredir, Horphen and Orthorien had arrived at Minas Tirith, found accommodations, and were now sitting in one of the many taverns of the second level. Horphen looked over to the bar and laughed to himself. Feredir heard him and glanced over his shoulder.
“What is so amusing?” he asked his friend.
“Remember the days when we would visit the Hollowed Leg?” Horphen asked, a distant look on his face.
“We still visit there,” Feredir said.
“No, I mean in years past, when we were young border guards without a care and barely any coin.”
“Ah, those days,” Feredir smiled, closing his eyes as he reminisced. “And we knew where the very best stock was kept.”
“Beneath the bar. Second self from the bottom,” Horphen and Feredir said in unison. They laughed.
“And Feona would fetch the bottle of the house best,” Horphen added. “She was very good at fetching.”
“There was a reason she kept it there. Only those who could afford it were worthy of her extraordinary fetching skills.” Feredir leaned back in his chair, relaxed in the taverns atmosphere.
“You were one of the lucky few that got to see more than her cleavage as she bent down to retrieve the bottle,” Horphen said jovially. “But then, you always had a way with the women.”
“They were good days,” Feredir smiled. “But I’d not trade them for the life I have now.”
“That’s alright, my friend. Orthorien and I will keep up the traditions, won’t we?” Horphen said, roughly patting Orthorien on the shoulder.
Orthorien looked to the bar, seeing not a beautifully endowed wine wench, but an overweight man with a scruffy beard, and a wrinkled cap sitting askew upon his balding head. “Unfortunately, we’ll find no such entertainment here. Who picked this place anyways? There is a tavern between every few storefronts, and we end up at this one,” he complained.
“I didn’t think either of you were looking for a certain type of entertainment,” Feredir said, emphasizing the last word. “After all, aren’t both of you supposed to be spoken for?”
“Orthorien perhaps, but not me,” Horphen said as he defended himself.
“Your sister stuck me with my own arrow,” Orthorien said dryly. He picked up his mug and drank long, finishing the bitter ale and setting the cup back down before continuing. “I think that is more than enough reason for estrangement.”
“What about you?” Feredir asked, directing his comment to Horphen. “Terrwyn told me you were finally becoming serious about Rhawen. Like your sister, she is not one to lead on falsely.” Feredir shot a reprimanding look at his brother, but Orthorien ignored him.
“I’ve made no commitment. I only agreed to dinner, but duty delayed me. Now she’s not speaking to me.”
“Surely a note should have sufficed,” Orthorien commented.
Horphen was sipping his ale, and stopped to answer matter-of-factly. “I didn’t send one.”
“You didn’t send a note?” Feredir said, leaning forward in his chair.
Orthorien laughed quietly. “Only a fool does not send a message. No wonder she is not speaking to you.”
Horphen took offence to Orthorien’s statement. “I did not abandon her altogether. I saw her the next day.”
“And she did not accept your apology?” Feredir wondered.
“Apologize for what? I was called to duty, and it is my job to make sure that Ithilien is protected. Certainly she knows that.”
“Oh, my friend, you have a lot to learn about the opposite sex,” Feredir said.
“Such as … always send a note,” Orthorien added.
“Ha! As though I should listen to either one of you. Feredir took so long to tell Terrwyn his true feelings that their relationship almost didn’t happen. And Orthorien, who … by the way … has been with more elves than I can count years I’ve been alive … both sexes mind you … finally chooses the one elf in all of Middle-earth who has despised him for the same amount of said years. And how did that go for you? Oh yes, she shot you in the leg.” Horphen, agitated, picked up his mug and drank the rest of his dregs before continuing. “I’ll do fine on my own, thank you. And when I get back to Ithilien, I’ll clear up this small matter with Rhawen, and all will be forgotten.”
“She may have forgotten sooner than you thought,” Orthorien mumbled into his fresh mug.
“And just what do you mean by that?” Horphen asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Well, I’m sure it is nothing … since you clearly have a handle on the situation … but I heard that the young soldier, Halion is planning to ask to see her.”
“Halion?” Horphen took a moment to scan his memories. “The first year who I sent to the Healing House with that small flesh wound?” He chuckled, though it sounded forced. “Surely Rhawen would not entertain the thought. He’s barely past his majority, and a bit clumsy at that.”
“Word is, she accepted and they made plans to share a meal,” Orthorien said, not feeling a bit regretful for being the one to deliver the news. If he was going to be miserable, at least he’d have someone to wallow in it with him.
“And just how did you come by this false information?” Horphen challenged.
“You forget that I was laid up in the Healing House for almost a week. It’s amazing the things people say when they think a patient is sleeping.”
Horphen’s face fell and he stared into his empty mug. “But she wouldn’t.”
“And she wasn’t going to until you did not show.” Orthorien watched Horphen’s shoulders slump as he leaned forward, elbows on the table, and looking quite forlorn. He gave Horphen a hard slap on the back. “Ai well, there’s plenty more out there, isn’t there. Perhaps you’ll pay a visit to the Hollowed Leg when we return, and ask for the house best.” He gave Horphen an exaggerated wink.
“I’m afraid the house best has been shelved, permanently,” Feredir said. “Feona is taken, for good this time … I think.”
“What?” Orthorien said surprised. “But she was such a … a free spirit.”
Feredir was not the only one to find himself within Feona’s personal quarters. After Feredir proclaimed his love for Terrwyn, Orthorien met and seduced the buxom beauty for a multi night affair, much to Feredir’s dislike at the time. Even now, he scowled at his brother. “Found herself a gentleman, I hear, a Gondorian.”
“Lucky bastard,” Orthorien muttered.
Horphen and Orthorien were no longer in much of a drinking mood, and Feredir could see this for himself. He felt bad for his friend and his brother. No matter what they said, no matter what they thought, they still had a lot to learn about women. Feredir himself was still learning, and he somehow knew he would never know enough, but at least he was confident that he and Terrwyn loved, trusted and respected each other.
“Drink up you two. We have a busy day ahead of us, and it won’t be much fun digging through old documents,” Feredir advised.
The others obeyed, and soon they were off to their guest quarters to rest for the evening.
* * *
One busy day turned into many as the three elves combed through books, documents, records, and anything else they could get their hands on, but nowhere could they find any information or even the mention of an organization known as the Brethren of Soothsayers.
“I’m beginning to think there is no such thing,” Feredir stated as he opened yet another old history book.
“Perhaps we are not looking deep enough,” Orthorien said. “We’ve only gone back as far as the beginning of the Third Age.”
“What do you suppose this secret society did?” Horphen asked as he continued to scan the book he had in front of him.
“Well,” Orthorien laughed, “They must have been some kind of fortune tellers.”
“That much is obvious, but what do you suppose their reason was for forming their assemblage?” Horphen stopped to ward off a plume of dust that rose from the book he’d just closed.
“Let’s look at all of the elves we know to have the gift of foresight. Galadriel comes to mind first, and Lord Elrond and Arwen were all empowered with it.” Feredir said.
“And looking even further back,” Horphen mentioned, “there was Amnon, Glirhuin and Malbeth … all famous seers.”
“Their prophesies came true, but not much else is known. There’s no mention of them associated with any Brethren,” Orthorien said.
“There wouldn’t be,” Feredir said from across the room. “This group of seers has seemed to escape the history books for a reason. They must not be well known, if known at all. But what puzzles me is why Jubayr knows about them, a poor Southron farmer.”
“You said he told you and Glandur about a new power rising, and that once this Brethren is discovered, he will be unstoppable.” Horphen left the book he’d been skimming through to stand next to Feredir. “I think we are looking in the wrong place by researching well known seers. We need to look at this from a different angle.”
“So how do we look for something that has no evidence of existing?” Horphen wondered aloud.
“We look for commonalities,” Feredir said as an idea formed.
“There could be different similarities, their predictions for example. Some foresaw war, some saw an individual’s death, a birth, taking up a crown,” Horphen explained.
“Some used objects, some were struck with a vision in the light of day, and some saw things only in their dreams,” Orthorien added.
Feredir seemed frustrated and slammed shut his book. “There are too many avenues to investigate. How do we narrow down our search?”
“We must think of this Brethren,” Orthorien said. “Someone obviously wants to use these members to gain power, but how does one go about it? You cannot force a seer to make a prediction.”
“Then it must have something to do with their power, although there is no way to extract it from them. So how would you use a seer’s powers?” Horphen asked.
“If they are the type to use an object to foretell, then there would be something of material use. You cannot force a soothsayer to see, but perhaps you could confiscate the source of his power.” Feredir’s confidence was beginning to take hold once more. He looked to Orthorien. “What kind of objects have been noted?”
“Galadriel’s mirror for one, and then there were journals in which some seers used, stating that their visions would leap onto the pages as if by magic,” answered his brother.
“The Seeing Stones come to mind as maybe the oldest, if not the first of its kind,” Horphen said.
Both Orthorien and Feredir looked at Horphen, but it was Feredir that spoke. “The Palantír. How many were there?”
“I believe there were eight mentioned throughout history, but one by one they vanished or were lost, never to be seen again,” Horphen said.
Orthorien regarded Feredir curiously. “Are you saying that you think this new threat is searching for the Palantíri?”
“That would be folly,” Horphen put in. “Most have disappeared without a trace, and if there are any still about, their sister stones have surely vanished. They must at least work in pairs. Individually, they are useless.”
Feredir rubbed his chin while he was in deep thought. “Let’s look back even further to their forging.”
“That would have been Fëanor. He created the Simarils, and in turn forged the Seeing Stones,” Orthorien said.
Just then, light filtered into the room, coming from the main door as it slowly opened. The three elves abandoned their discussion to see who it was. In walked an old man, hunched over, fingers plagued with knots that left them deformed. He had long white hair, though it was thinning. He wore a tattered old robe and dirty brown slippers, which shuffled along the ancient floor. In one hand he held his cane, seemingly carved from a gnarled branch. In the other, he held a lantern so that he could see where he was going. Feredir thought that the old man must be blind, or almost, to have to use the lantern when there were already candles lit about the room.
The elves watched quietly as the man slowly made his way into the room, past the endless stacks of old dusty books. He walked right by Orthorien without noticing the rather tall and muscular blond elf. Orthorien watched him pass by, and then looked at Horphen, who stood in the neighboring aisle. Horphen shrugged, unsure what to do. It wasn’t until the old man came to Feredir that anyone spoke.
“Good day my fine sir,” Feredir announced when the man was in front of him.
The elderly gentleman stopped in his tracks and yelped at the sudden shock of finding that he was not alone.
“Béma’s ballocks!” he exclaimed as his eyes grew wide at the sight of the black haired elf. “You’re real.”
Feredir knitted his brows. “Quite real.”
The old man looked up and up, stretching his crooked form as best he could until he looked up at Feredir’s face. “Why, you’re an elf, and a mighty tall one at that.” Then he laughed as he recovered from his sudden surprise. “I thought you were just another statue. There are so many of ‘em down here, and they’re scattered all around the place. Imagine my astonishment to discover that they could suddenly talk.”
Feredir smiled at the friendly old soul. “I am by no means a statue, I assure you, and neither are they,” he said gesturing to the other elves.
The old man pivoted on his unsteady feet, and found himself in the company of three elves. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “There are more of ye. Must be me lucky day. And what are three fine specimen such as yourselves doing down in this musty, dusty ol’ place? Surely, ye prefer the sunlight to this damp dungeon.”
“Forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Feredir and this is Orthorien and Horphen. We’ve come from Ithilien in search of some records of past events.”
“Aye, well, if it’s history ye’re looking for, then ye’ve come to the right place. Any luck finding it?” the old man asked.
“We’ve found plenty, though I’m not sure any of it is much help at this point,” Horphen said as he came around the end of the aisle and joined the others. “It’s been rather like a scavenger hunt.”
“What might ye be a huntin’ for? Maybe I can be of some help,” the old man said enthusiastically.
The three elves looked at each other, speaking silently between them with their gestures. They were agreeing whether or not the old man needed to know the matter of their errand. Feredir made the decision, since he felt he was responsible for their visit.
“You see, we are looking for something on a specific group that we have never heard of until recently. You seem like a scholarly fellow, perhaps you’re familiar with the Brethren of Soothsayers?” Feredir asked.
The old man let the name roll off his tongue several times before it seemed he recognized the name. “Ah, yes, I have heard the name before,” he said, proud that he’d remembered.
“Can you tell us anything about them? Anything at all?” Orthorien asked.
The old man shuffled his feet and bent his head, “Well now, there ye have me. I know nothing at all about it.”
“But you have heard of it,” Horphen said.
“Aye, I have … recently, but not before.”
It was not the answer they hoped for, but the elves felt they still might be on to something. Feredir pulled a stool over and took a seat so that he was level with the old man. “Might I ask where you heard of this brethren before?”
“Well,” the old man started, his fingers pinching his chin and his brows drawing together to make a deep runnel between his eyes. “Seems as though you three are not the only ones looking for it. Just a few months past, another one was here searching for the same thing. I’d told ‘im the same thing I’ve told you, only then, I really hadn’t heard of this brethren before. It’s only because of this stranger that the name sounded familiar.”
Feredir glanced up at his brother, a look of concern adorning his face. It could be very important information to find out who this person was and whether he was a Southron or not. “This stranger … do you know where he was from?”
“I’m afraid ye’ve got me there. I couldn’t say where he’d been comin’ from, but he definitely wasn’t from Gondor. Handsome young buck, though. He was fair skinned like the elves, had straight black hair all slicked back neat like, but he was built different. He’d not the warrior’s physique like you three hearty lads. Quite lithe, in my opinion, but he seemed to carry his strength inwardly, if that makes much sense.”
Feredir looked to Orthorien and Horphen, but neither one seemed to recognize the description of the stranger. “So you say he was trying to find out about the same thing. Do you know if he found it or not?”
“That I surely wouldn’t. I’d just come down to retrieve some documents for one of the council members when I ran into this gentleman, for that’s what he was. Bowed to me fancy like and all, made me a little uncomfortable, since not many people pay me any mind,” the old man explained. “But he’d asked me the same thing about this Brethren of Soothsayers. He’d also asked me where to find the history of them seein’ stones.”
The same sense of urgency hit all three elves. They had been on the right path by researching the stones. So had this stranger, for that matter.
“What did he want to know about the Palantír?” Orthorien asked.
“Well,” the old man said, pausing again to remember. It had been three months ago, and it hadn’t been very important at the time. Suddenly, his grey brows shot up and he smiled as he remembered. “Ah, yes, he asked about their forging, who it was, how many there were and the like.”
“How many? How many what?” Feredir wondered.
“Why, those involved in the forging of the stones, of course.”
“But it is common knowledge that it was Fëanor. No one would need to investigate the history books to find that out, and there aren’t many who do not know this to begin with,” Horphen said.
“Ye’re only partly right,” the old man corrected.
It was obvious that the three elves did not believe this at first, and the old man laughed. “It’s always fun to know I can still teach something, especially to the elves, who seem to know everything from the moment they’re born.”
“Then there were others?” Orthorien asked.
The old man nodded. “There is no account as to who or how many, but Fëanor was not the only one.” He turned from the elves and went to a certain table full of tattered papers and dusty books. One book in particular had recently been cleaned, and a fresh layer of dust had just settled on it. It was this book that the old man retrieved and brought to a reading table near the elves. He opened it and flipped through the pages until he came to a certain passage.
“See, right here.” He pointed to the ancient entry. “Pengolodh was an old Noldorin lore master, and he mentions the stones in his writing, but this is what I find curious.”
In the entry, Pengolodh had been speaking of war and such, but it was what he’d written that suggested that Fëanor was not the only jewel smith able to create a Palantíri. Feredir read aloud, “Not even the Seeing Stones of the craftsmen of old could wholly unite those that were sundered, and they and the masters that could make them were few.” He looked up from the book to his fellow elf companions. “They and their masters were few,” he repeated.
“It’s a common mistake,” the old man said. “It’s seen time and time again. There’s always one who gets remembered, one who gets credit for something that took many to accomplish. It’s usually the most memorable one of the lot, and there’s no denying that Fëanor was memorable. All the other poor soul’s hard work and involvement gets forgotten about.”
“Is it written anywhere who these other jewel smiths were?” Feredir asked anxiously. If there was a Brethren of Soothsayers, it could very well be these original masters that Pengolodh referred to, mysteriously leaving out any mention of their names.
“If there is, you’d be the first to find it. Not even that other fella could find anything, and he was none too happy about it, especially after bein’ down here for three days straight.”
They seemed to be at the end of their search for the moment. The old man had shared all he knew of the stone’s creators, as well as anything about this stranger. Feredir smiled kindly and took the old man’s hand. “Thank you … uh–”
“Oh, sorry ‘bout that. I’m not as sharp as I used to be. I’ve not introduced myself. The name’s Arthmael.”
“Thank you Arthmael. You’ve been very helpful,” Orthorien said, laying a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.
“It was my pleasure. Don’t get to see the elves very often myself. Always a treat though. Always a treat,” Arthmael said smiling with a tooth gaping grin.
It wasn’t much to go on, but at least it was something, and the news of a stranger searching for the same thing was a surprise and quite mysterious. Apparently they were not the only ones, but who else might be looking for the names of the Brethren?
Feredir, Orthorien and Horphen decided to stay a while longer in Gondor. They would redirect their search from the catacombs to the appearance of the stranger. Arthmael had given them a good description, so they decided to visit different locations around Minas Tirith, and see who else might have seen this newcomer.
- 5
- 6
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Journey of a Butterfly 2: Black as the Raven