Disclaimer: I own the plot, though I apologize if it's been done before. Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling; Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

Title: Elda Kundu, Kurutar – There And Back Again: A Wizard’s Tale

Author: Jess S

Summary: During the summer after fourth year, Harry makes an innocent wish... which takes him to a different world. He needs to find a way home, but first he has to decide where his home really is... (LOTR/HP)

Recap of the story, thus far: After a little more than 400-years of living in Middle Earth, Harry has come to accept his place among the elves. He has also traveled a great deal, eager to learn of his new world, leaving his foster-families protective-keepings much more often than they’d like. Having visited the Shire, Minas Tirith in Gondor, the people of Rohan, the town of Bree and others like it, as well as The Shire, Imladris, and even the Black Gate of Mordor, he’s become very well-traveled. He even managed to sneakily gain access to Saruman’s records and learn some of the Istari arts of Middle Earth that way, though he was forced to leave in a hurry.

Also, though he resisted it at first, Harry has also fallen in love and married...

Dedication: To everyone on the TandBA and Jess-Storm mailing lists that waited so long for this...

Completed: 12/2/2008 Revision Completed: 1/1/09

AN: Special thanks to Kevin for proof-reading this chapter (and for returning it so quickly). If ‘Kat’ is reading this: I waited to hear back from you on the chapter and sent it to Kevin when he volunteered, figuring two extra pairs of eyes will see more than one, but then I never heard from you. I hope you’re okay.Also, I’d like to apologize to everyone I said I’d be posting this by Christmas. Honestly, I thought it would be ready by then, but it took a little longer. I hope it was worth the wait. I’ll say more at the end, but for now: Enjoy! ^_^

Elda Kundu, Kurutar

There And Back Again: Part I – A Wizard’s Tale

Part 1 – On Middle Earth

A Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings Crossover

Chapter 3: Turambar – A King, A Friend & A Mortal

Part II

By Jess S

~ * Caras Galadon, Lothlórien – Víressë 17, 542 * ~

“I have to go back, melda nîn,” Harry murmured softly, though making no move to release his wife from the embrace she’d seized him in several moments before. “My task is not yet complete. I said I’d see this war through, at the very least.”

“I know...”

“And now King Turambar is my friend, though I can not be a truly good friend to him with the many secrets I must keep from him, I can, at the very least, keep my promises to him. I won’t desert him.” He felt Ránewen’s small, resigned nod against his shoulder.

“I know you won’t.” Ránewen sighed, her whispered words brushing against his neck on the way to his nearest ear. “And I would not ask you to,” Harry tried to pull away gently, but stopped as he felt his wife’s embrace tighten in response. “But that knowledge won’t make this any easier. It still pains me to have you leaving so soon.”

“Time moves quickly,” Harry murmured quietly. “You’ve insisted this so many, many times. I will be home again very soon, and I will write to you at least once a week. Hopefully we will be able to talk by mirror with more frequency as well. However,” Now Harry gently, but firmly pushed her just far enough away from him to push her chin up so she could meet his eyes. “I want you to promise me that you will find some more ways to pass the time. Continue training with my mother or schooling with my father. Or go to Imladris and spend time with Celebrían, Elrond and the elflings. Elrond might be willing to continue your education as a healer. Whatever you wish to do is up to you, but I won’t have you wallowing in loneliness and boredom. Do you understand?”

“Yes, melda nîn.”

“And you shall do so?”

“Yes, melda nîn.”

“On your word?” Harry insisted, half-formed visions of a miserable Ránewen plaguing his mind and encouraging his resolve.

Another long sigh escaped Ránewen as she replied, “I swear, I shall find at least one way to pass the time with pleasure in your absence, though I shall miss you every day.”

“And I shall miss you, as well.” Harry returned, leaning down to catch her lips in a gentle, loving kiss before pulling away again. “Namárië.”

“Namárië...”

Harry forced a small, reassuring smile onto his face, meeting her tearful eyes for a moment before allowing himself to turn and leave their home once again, all the while praying that he was doing the right thing. He thought he was, but times like this made it difficult to be sure...

As strong as his adoptive people – and his wife – were, they were beset by many problems, particularly when other races were involved. The Eldar had learned their lesson long ago when it came to warring amongst themselves, and thus interracial wars were not a problem. But they did come into conflict with the other races of Middle Earth on occasion. And while the ‘free folk’ of Middle Earth – those who had never succumbed to Sauron’s will, and were certainly not a problem as those who had – the intricacies of interracial relations could still be very difficult for the Eldar.

Though most Men and Dwarves were aware of the fact that the Elven people were immortal and most had been around for a very long time, few rarely understood what that meant. It meant many things. The Eldar had seen many wonders that most mortals only heard of in fireside stories and legends. And they had seen many tragedies and catastrophes: many wars, many long winters, prejudice, arrogance, and jealousy.

And many, many mortals. Their births, their lives and their deaths. Events that all occurred in the span of but a few decades, a measurement of time that was to the Eldar what are were to mortals.

And through it all the Eldar remained physically unchanged. The only exception to this being in warfare, which could end the life of any one of the Eldar.

Thus, in a way, the Eldar feared mortals: fearing attachment to them and the eventual grief they would be certainly feel when that attachment was severed by old age.

Though the fears of his Ránewen and his family were undoubtedly focused entirely on him, Elerossë knew that many of his people did not approve of his involvement in this war. For he was one of them, and to lose him would hurt them all. And they did not like the idea of facing that pain for another race that would make no effort to understand them. A race that more often than not chose to see them as magical and untouchable at best, haughty and prideful at worst. A race that did not remember what had come before. Could not remember, as the Eldar did. And therefore was far more likely to make the same mistakes their forefathers had, over and over again. For wisdom came with age, which the Eldar had aplenty and most mortals only knew near the very end of their days.

Yet, even knowing all this, Harry knew he had to go. He needed to learn. And he needed to become truly accustom to both fighting alongside and living amongst mortals.

He had been a resident of Middle Earth and a fosterling of the Eldar nations for centuries now. He was now one of the Peredhil, a distinction formerly held only by Elrond of Imladris since his brother’s death. But by way of the blood-ritual Celeborn and Galadriel had performed to fully adopt him years ago, Harry had gained the title—and all it entailed—as well. So even should he return to Earth, he would have the same choice as Elrond’s children: mortality or eternity.

He was born on Earth, a mortal, and eventually he would need to return to that world...

And he had forgotten what it was like to fear death. Days and years had begun to blend together as his mind fully embraced the Eldar’s outlook on life.

And that outlook would not work on Earth. Not for fighting Voldemort. It was necessary to keep in mind, as he certainly didn’t want the war with Voldemort to last centuries. If it did, everyone he was trying to save on that world would be dead long before it ended, by Death Eaters or old age, whichever came first.

So he knew he was right, and he had to do this.

What’s more, now that he recognized Turambar as a friend, he was entitled to the same protection that Harry would give Ron of Hermione back on Earth. So he had to go...

Lost in his thoughts, Harry sighed as he finally set a foot on ground at the foot of the tree his telain rested in, and then started, nearly stumbling over the last step when a he was surprised by an inquiry from behind.

“Herunîn?” My lord?

Forcing back his irritation towards himself at his own inattentiveness and the less-graceful-than-normal landing that had resulted from it, Harry turned to answer his parents’ Marchwarden. “Yes, Haldir?” he inquired, his tone polite despite knowing exactly why the Marchwarden was here.

“I hope you have reconsidered my offer and have seen reason.”

Harry began moving down the pathway towards his mother’s mirror, taking a long, deep breath and letting it out before meeting the Marchwarden’s steely gaze. His reply was just pleasant as before, and just as firmly spoken as the Marchwarden himself had been. “There is nothing to consider, Haldir. You are needed far more here, for one. And even if that were not the case, you wish to come only to protect me, not to help Gondor. I already have bodyguards. Two of them. You trained and tested the Míriel brothers yourself before they received their commission from my parents.”

“I did, herunîn, but—”

“Veryan and Voronwë are very good at their job. I received a minor injury in battle, one that I hardly needed rest from but—” He stopped abruptly when Haldir seized his shoulder and forced him to spin slightly around, stopping him in his tracks.

“You were forced to take some leave in order to avoid suspicions towards your rapid healing,” Haldir finished, his tone flat as he continued. “For any mortal the wound would have required many weeks of rest and care.”

“Accidents happen in battle.”

“This was no accident. Your reflexes are too good for that to be so.”

Harry met Haldir’s eyes for several long moments before he sighed and nodded in agreement. “Perhaps,” he offered, before forcefully shrugging off the elder’s hold and moving further down the path, the Marchwarden quickly following.

“You were protecting someone else.”

“Perhaps,” Harry agreed, well aware of just how little the Eldar – like many other elves – thought of most mortals. And therefore very, very glad the mirror glade was not far from his telain.

“As a prince of Elvendom you should not take such risks. And certainly not for a mortal. Your life is—”

“Mine. My life is mine, to do with as I will!” Harry snapped, his emerald eyes sparkling with suppressed ire as he continued coldly. “And if my receiving a minor injury that would cause me a bit of discomfort for a short while was all it took to safeguard the life of a friend I would gladly do it again.”

“Had the arrow pierced your shoulder, instead of just scratching the side, it could have killed you, despite your Elven heritage and your magic.”

Harry spun back towards the elf, his control waning under the continued onslaught, but they were interrupted before he could speak.

“He knows that, Haldir.”

Both of Harry’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline as turned to meet his foster-father. “Ada?”

“He knows, but still he must go. It is the only way he can learn what he needs to know. And, much as we wish we could keep him sheltered and safe amongst us for all eternity, fate will not allow that.” Celeborn shook his head sadly as he came up between his son and his Marchwarden and gently pulled his son into his arms for a moment before releasing him. “And so we must let him go.”

“But my lord—”

“We must, Haldir,” Celeborn interrupted firmly, his eyes sad but stern. “And you must, as well. Now if you will excuse us, Elerossë needs to be on his way soon.” Turning more fully to Harry he murmured, “Come, your mother is waiting for you by the Mirror.”

“Uma, Ada,” Harry replied softly, nodding in response to Haldir’s reluctant bow of acceptance as he followed his father to the grove Galadriel kept her Mirror in. Though he was glad his father had, apparently, accepted his decision, it still saddened him to see any member of his family inundated with worry and sadness that this brought upon the ancient Eldar.

He felt his mother’s presence long before they entered the grove itself. Truthfully, he could always feel her presence in the Golden Wood as she was tied totally and intimately into its wards. But he’d become accustom to recognizing the difference between the dormant presence that empowered the ward and the more active presence of his loving mother. It was, of course, especially easy to sense her when her thoughts were focused on his, as they were now, while she sent a rush of warmth and comforting emotion into his psyche before she said anything telepathically. ‘Do not fret, ion nîn. All will be well.’

‘I know, Nana,’ Harry replied softly, shaking his head slightly as he followed his Adar down the steps into her clearing. ‘I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.’

Galadriel offered him a small, sad smile as he finally reached her and pulled him into her arms as his Adar had done a few minutes before, though she didn’t pull away to start talking, instead rubbing small circles unto his back as she murmured softly in reply. “We all wish that, ion nîn. But we must make do with the cards we are dealt. And you are right, you need this experience.” After a moment she drew back to place a kiss on his brow before releasing him. “Now it is time. Take care of yourself, ion nîn. And know that you have our support and love, always.”

“Namárië, ion nîn,” Celeborn murmured, before nodding to Veryan and Voronwë, “Take care of him.”

Both of the Míriel brothers came forward from their place by the stairwell they’d walked down only moments after Harry had and bowed to all three of the nobles before taking their place on either side of Harry.

“Hannon le, Nana, Ada,” Harry replied softly, nodding to each in turn. Then he held out the portkey he’d created to take them back some days before, and waited for both of his wife’s cousins to grab hold before finishing with, “Namárië,” and disappearing.

~ * The First Gondorian Encampment, East-Lands - Víressë 20, 542 * ~

“Captain Hadrian, Lieutenant Hama, Lieutenant Herall, welcome back!”

Harry smiled at the warm welcome from the king as they entered the command tent. Glancing around as he made his way towards where Turambar’s voice had come from – hidden as he was by the sea of officers there for the meeting – he finally reached the table the king was bent over and bowed as he replied. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Turambar rose with a smile, waving to one of his squires to bring them drinks as he continued. “I trust your injury has mended?”

“It has, Sire. Truly, it was little more than a scratch.”

“Hmph,” Turambar shook his head, more than a little skepticism in his silvery-gray eyes. “Well you’re lucky it wasn’t poisoned, then. That would have taken longer.”

“Probably. But it has mended and shan’t trouble me. Thank you for your concern.”

Turambar shook his head, smiling slightly as he did so. “You are my friend, Hadrian, and you may have saved my life when you pushed me out of the way of that arrow. A little show of concern is hardly out of my way. But now,” he sighed, waving to the many maps on the table, “To the matter at hand!”

Harry smiled slightly in return before he too leaned over the table to study the logistical maps on display there, littered with writing, symbols and markers. After a few moments of study he nodded, “The last few weeks have been quiet?”

“Yes,” another officer – a fellow Captain, called Torres, Harry thought – confirmed. “The enemy has only attacked one encampment and a caravan. And our hunters ran into some of their scouts last week.”

“Obviously we’re beating them back a—” one of Torres’s lieutenants, Harris, insisted only to be cut off by one of his fellows.

“It could be a good thing.” Lieutenant Boren interrupted, his tone far more cautious. “Or they could be pulling back to regroup. Gathering their forces and waiting for reinforcements.”

Harry remained silent, listening to the other captains and lieutenants toss ideas back and forth. Analyzing enemy movements, theorizing reasons, putting up plans and throwing plans out. This was normal for him. As the supposed youngest and most inexperienced senior officer there, he generally kept his ideas to himself just as the Míriels’ did, waiting to see what the mortals would come up with and only intervening if they might be making a bad mistake...

Turambar, he had noticed some time before, often did the same. As his decision to march east against his officers’ advice showed, he didn’t always do what they thought was best, but he did give everyone the chance to speak and be heard. Though Harry knew it aggravated him sometimes that his gifted ‘young’ Captain didn’t speak more often, as Turambar usually made a point of trying to drag thoughts out of him, still he held his peace as often as possible. He was here to learn, not to lead. So he watched, and listened. And occasionally led. But that was more in active combat than anything else, as he tried to avoid effecting too much elsewhere...

“And what say you, Captain Hadrian?”

Harry blinked, just barely managing to keep himself from starting as the king’s voice pulled him out of his inner musings. One of the convenient aspects of Galadriel’s tutelage was that he had learned to both think and listen or think and speak at the same time. It was something that could be very difficult to do well, but after centuries of meditation and training he could follow meetings like this without needing to keep his entire focus on it. The only problem with doing that was he had to stop and re-focus when he was called upon to speak. But he was getting better at that... It only took him a few blinks to finish analyzing what he’d heard and come up with a response. “I think it best, your Majesty, that we plan for the worst.”

“And hope for the best?” Turambar nodded with another small smile. “Yes, you’ve suggested such before. The best would be that we’re really winning and driving them back.”

“And the worst would be that their waitin’ for reinforcements,” another senior officer – Captain Kendrix – nodded, apparently in agreement.

“And how exactly do we plan for that?” the more hopeful Lieutenant Harris grumbled.

All were silent for several moments before Harry sighed and offered, “What of the Kingdom of Rhovanion?”

“They’d make useful allies,” Captain Torres agreed, and then shook his head. “But they’re not interested.”

“Not yet, anyway,” one of the lieutenants Harry had never spoken to muttered.

“Yeah, give ‘em a few years to ge’ used to Easterlin’s stealin’ their crop’ an’ livestock, then they’ll see reason.” Another unknown lieutenant agreed.

Harry frowned, but held his tongue. The blasé attitude to the suffering of others bothered him, but there wasn’t much he could do about either. While those that might suffer were not allies, he could not push for military aid. And complaining about the attitude of others would draw too much attention, likely ridicule, that he did not need.

“Yes,” the King shook his head, frowning slightly as he continued. “To win this war we may certainly need such an alliance, but thus far all entreaties have been rebuffed. We will have to wait for something to change, and make do with what we have in the meantime.” Nodding to another officer, the now Lieutenant Dravis, he raised an eyebrow. “Are any of the new recruits ready to join us?”

Dravis sighed, shaking his head. “Some, my king. But no’ enough ta bring ‘em all here. No’ even one in four are ready, las’ coun’.”

“I see,” Turambar sighed, nodding in agreement before turning his attention to another officer, one of the eldest who had been in his father’s service years before Turambar himself had entered military service. “And what of our inactive subjects, Captain Aldous? Can none of my loyal lords offer any companies to our service?”

“The call was sent out, my king.” The old soldier replied, his voice a bit scratchy from either an affliction of old age or too many years of breathing smoke on the battlefield, maybe both. “It’s still early for a response, though. An’ many sen’ some troops with the initial campaign.”

Turambar nodded again, “Very well...” After a moment he nodded again. “Are there any more suggestions or any matters that must be discussed this evening?” When none responded he nodded again and dismissed them. “Then we’ll sleep on this and discuss it again in the morning. Captain Hadrian, please stay a moment. Everyone else may go rest.”

Harry returned the nods several of the other officers offered him, returning the small smiles Kendrix and Aldous offered on their way out and nodding in dismissal as well to the Míriel brothers, who he knew would wait for him outside the tent. Not because they really felt he was in danger here, but because they were over protective at the best of times, and because they’d renewed their oaths to Celeborn and Galadriel only a few days before. Oaths that they’d certainly not forgotten, but the reminder of which following the wound he’d received previously would keep them tense for some weeks – if not months – to come.

After all the others had left Turambar waived one of his squires over and raised an eyebrow as ‘Hadrian,’ “I’ll have a beer, Gladus. Would you like anything, my friend?”

“If there’s any wine left I’d appreciate some.”

The squire nodded, “Some arrived with the last caravan from the capital, sir. There are even some bottles from Rivendell. The Elves have been more open to trade as of late.”

“Yes, it is something my Queen and the ladies back home are quite pleased with,” Turambar confirmed with a chuckle, nodding to a letter that rested on his roughly-made bed. “Actually, Gladus, I’ll have some of that as well. Bring the bottle.”

“Yes, my king,” the younger man bowed with practiced ease before quickly leaving the tent to do as bid while Turambar waived to the few chairs around the map-covered table that had remained unused throughout the meeting.

“Have a seat, my friend. Tell me of your time on leave. You seem well-mended.”

“I am, my friend. Thank you.” Harry confirmed with a small smile, ignoring the ever-present glimmer of speculation and curiosity in the king’s eyes. He knew Turambar was curious about him, and probably always would be. The man was very intelligent and observant, and he knew that ‘Captain Hadrian’ was unusual, and that something was off with his history. But Harry was too gifted a Captain to risk his loyalties with too much prying, and he’d proven himself trustworthy on a number of occasions since Turambar sought his friendship. Thus, Harry knew he was safe when it came to the too-observant king of Gondor. He knew that his past was safe and would remain so no matter how much he wanted to tell his friend the truth. “I am glad to hear you were not overly troubled in my absence.”

“Yes, it was remarkably quiet. A nice change from the months prior, despite the foreboding aspect of the lull. Where did you and your brothers take your leave? The supply train that passed between here and the nearest settlement twice in your absence never saw you.”

Harry nodded, having known this might be brought up upon his return. “We weren’t traveling on the major road. Figured it’d make us too easy a target for any attacks on the train.”

“Probably wise. Though I can’t see how restful camping in the wilderness so near enemy territory could be for a time on leave.”

Harry remained silent as Squire Gladus returned with their drinks, served them and bowed before his departure, only replying after the doubled-over tent flap had swung shut behind the boy. “It was actually very relaxing. I had more time to interact with my wife as well.”

“With your falcon, I assume.” Turambar nodded, smiling slightly as he took a sip of his recently poured wine. “I do wish we could manage a way of setting that up between here and Minas Anor. Even with the constant battles and whatnot, it would be nice to hear from home more often.”

Harry nodded slightly as he also took a sip of his wine.

“And how is your lady?”

“Well, thank you. Though rather lonely, I’m afraid. How fairs the Queen?”

“Much the same. Pleased at the increased trade with the Elves, as I said. Usually they aren’t overly opened to it.” Turambar shook his head, smiling slightly as he took a sip of his wine. “All the better that they are, with so many of Gondor’s men now away at war.”

“It’s my understanding that contact with other nations, with mortals especially, can be difficult for them as they see the passage of time differently.”

“Oh?” Turambar raised an eyebrow curiously, “A year’s a year for them as well, is it not?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, taking a sip of his wine before continuing. “And no... How old are you, my friend?”

“As of my most recent birthday I have seen one-hundred-and-forty-five winters, why?”

“And do some of the courtiers back home not seem young to you? The ones that have just come of age, or even those that have served for a time?”

“At times. But that’s natural. Experience breeds wisdom, after all.”

“Yes. But how old do you think... hmm, how about Elrond of Rivendell? How old do you think he is?”

Turambar was silent for several moments before he shook his head. “I have no idea as to his age, but I think I see your point. He was involved in the War of the Ring centuries ago, so we know he’s at least that old. And we know that there are Elves that have been around for far longer... All of us must seem like little more than children to them for most of our lives.”

“Yes. But if that were the only problem they’d be more than happy to help us learn from their wisdom. No the real problem is what you also can experience with time. Think of...say Captain Aldous. He served under your father when he was my age. And years later, he taught you the basics of swordplay as well, did he not?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And has he not changed from what you remember? Has time not changed him?”

“No, of course he’s changed. He’s growing old. And he doesn’t have Dúnedain blood. He only has a few more years of active service in him, then he’ll undoubtedly serve as an advisor in court. But that’s—”

“Natural. Yes, to mortals it is. But to immortals? The passage of time does not effect them. Yet an immortal is still capable of befriending a mortal. An immortal may still interact with a mortal youth and come to like them. An immortal may watch a mortal grow, even offer guidance to them as they do. The mortal will grow. Will wed. Have children. And, if times are peaceful and they are allowed to live their life to its fullest, eventually they will grow old, and die. While the immortal remains unchanged.” Seeing the king seemed to be following, Harry took another sip of his wine, finishing the goblet before setting it down and continuing. “To an immortal, if you die of old age one hundred years from now, you still will only have lived a quarter of a millennium. And then you’ll be gone... How many times do you think they should go through that?”

“The loss?”

“Yes, how many times do you think they should open themselves up, connect to someone, and then lose them? Knowing all the while that that is how it must be?”

After several long moments of silence Turambar shook his head. “I suppose I can see what you’re saying. It explains their distance, to a point.”

“Add to that the jealously and distrust they may face from mortals, for their eternal lives and ever-youthful appearance, and it makes the idea of communicating often with mortals a bit unappealing.” Harry shrugged. “And they have long, long memories. You may recall from your schooling in history that there were times when Elves have been betrayed by men. And while those men have been long dead, some of the Elves that were betrayed are still here. Once burned, twice shy, as they say.”

“Yes, I suppose that does make sense.” Turambar nodded thoughtfully before tipping his head back and draining the last of his wine from its goblet. Waving to ‘Hadrian’s’ goblet, he set his own on the table before them and picked up the wine bottle his squire had brought, pouring more for both of them with the ease of long-practice. “I haven’t heard that phrase before.” At Hadrian’s look of surprise he continued, “‘Once burned, twice shy,’ I mean. It’s certainly fitting though. Did you hear that from the Elves?”

“Umm, no.” Harry shook his head, frowning in thought. “Actually I don’t remember where I heard it. Someone must have said it when I was a child,” he finished with a shrug.

Turambar nodded again. After a moment he waived to the maps. “Now what do you really think of all this?”

“Rhovanion is the best option. I’d suggest Rohan, as well, but I believe they’ve had several bad winters as of late and probably can’t spare too many Riders.”

“Hmm, yes. They had some illness pass around them all... And I believe their crop yield this past autumn was lacking. I seem to recall agreeing to send some of our surplus to Meduseld.”

“That was generous.”

Turambar shrugged, “They’re good allies. I’m sure if I sent for aid they would come regardless of the cost to them.”

“They would. But you won’t send for them.”

“No. They need all their hands for the planting season. Especially after so long a winter.” Turambar took another sip of wine before continuing, “Do you think it would be worth asking the Elves for aid?”

Having just taken a sip of his own wine, Harry had to fight the instinctive urge to choke on it in surprise, forcing himself to swallow calmly before taking a deep breath and replying. “I can’t see how this war would concern the Eldar.”

“Oh? Might not the Easterlings be a threat to their lands if they overrun us?”

“Perhaps,” Harry conceded, before shaking his head. “And if there was a danger of that, they would certainly come. But we aren’t even fighting in Gondor anymore. These are the East-lands. And it seems immoral to ask the Elves to help with the expansion of Gondor’s borders.”

“Hmm. I suppose it would be,” Turambar agreed, before shaking his head with a sigh. “By that logic, it would make the most sense to withdraw back to our borders until our own reinforcements arrive, and give up all that we have won in the last year’s struggles.”

“Perhaps it would. If we were certain that reinforcements were coming for them.”

“Is there any way we can be certain?”

After a moment of thought, Harry nodded. “There is...”

~ * Caras Galadon, Lothlórien Víressë 21, 542 * ~

In all her life, Ránewen had never been alone as she was now. There had always been someone nearby and there for her, a friend or kin. Even as she was orphaned as a nearly mature elfling, she was quickly found by the survivors of the caravan and as the only elfling among them was smothered with attention and quickly rushed to safety. As she grew older, she was schooled alongside the other elleths of her generation, and surrounded by constant companions. Those companions became dear friends and she was never far from at least a few of them. After all, her life was planned around activities and friends, meaning she had no reason to go far from them. If she was traveling somewhere, friends or family were with her.

But now she was married. She had her own home. And though her friends and family were still all nearby, she couldn’t quite bring herself to go to them. She missed Elerossë. She’d become used to being able to share her thoughts and experiences with one person day after day without any reservations. Thus it was disconcerting for him to be gone for so long.

The great feeling of loneliness that was closing in around her, and had been ever since Elerossë’s first departure for Gondor’s war with the East, kept her closed off from her friends and family outside. It made her move restlessly about her telain, striving to keep everything absolutely perfect for when Elerossë returned, even as she tried to keep her mind off his absence.

Part of the reason she kept herself so closed off was because a part of her knew they couldn’t comprehend what she was feeling. This wasn’t a war that all of Elvendom was involved in. When her friends came to visit, to gossip and lend sympathetic ears, they weren’t worried about their husbands. Some of their husbands’ might be on the border patrol, true, but they weren’t at war and the borders of the Golden Wood have been relatively peaceful for decades now.

Elerossë had been nothing but reassuring when he’d left. He was certain he’d return home safe and sound..

How she wished she could have told him not to go. But she knew that would have been wrong. She knew he needed this just as he did. As much as he loved her, and would almost certainly have acquiesced to her wishes had she decisively expressed them... subconsciously, at least, he would have resented it. He wouldn’t have said anything. But that would have been the first secret to come between them, then. And then others would come, and the secrets could eventually force their love for each other to wane.

For that first secret would have sown a small seed of doubt, a memory of a broken promise. A promise she’d made willingly when she’d agreed to be his wife. When they had sworn their vows.

She had already experienced what life was like without him while knowing he existed. Torture. She had waited through years and years of anguish. Meaningless, painful existence, surrounded by self-doubt. Decades of telling herself that he would eventually come for her. That they were destined for one another, as the bond that had quickly formed between them in the first few months of their acquaintance had told her...

That bond had been all that had been keeping her sane during that waiting period. Though his mind had not been open to her thoughts – for though they could communicate in that way, it was really only at a close distance – she could still feel his emotions and occasionally enter his dreams. Just as she could now.

So she’d let him go. And now she was waiting. Again. Clinging to every shred of emotion that he felt...

“Are we intruding?” A familiar voice inquired from directly behind her.

Startled, Ránewen spun around from the bookcase she’d been rearranging, one hand flying to her chest in surprise. After a moment, she took a deep breath and shook her head, forcing a small smile to her face for her guests. “No, no, of course not, dear ones.” She replied, nodding to both her sister-in-law and her niece gracefully.

The daughter of the rulers of the Golden Wood smiled brightly, and her smile was echoed by her own daughter’s as she replied. “Ah, that is good then.” Moving a few steps forward, she wrapped a gentle arm around Ránewen’s shoulders and firmly led her out of the telain and onto the outer veranda. “We were starting to worry. We have been here for many days since Elerossë’s return and departure, and have not seen you anywhere since he last left.”

Allowing herself to be gently pushed into one of her own chairs, Ránewen glanced down guiltily, and was somewhat surprised to find some tea had already been set out on the table. Frowning at how she could have failed to notice the two ladies arriving when they bore so much, she shook her head. “I am sorry. I... I have been... tired, as of late.”

“Tired?” Celebrían inquired, nodding thankfully when her daughter handed her a cup of tea with a spoonful to honey mixed in. “Hannon le, ian nîn.” (Thank you, my daughter.)

Nodding, Arwen finished preparing her own tea and took her seat, having already set her aunt’s before her.

“Uma, hannon le, Arwen.” Ránewen echoed, before shaking her head. “Yes, tired. I just haven’t been interested in venturing out much... I’m sure it’ll soon past.”

“Perhaps you should see Elrond or Naneth nîn.”

“I would rather not bother them, Celebrían. And I am a full-blooded Eldar. We don’t fall ill.”

“Save from poison or grief,” Celebrían nodded, her fair face serenely neutral.

“I have prepared all of my meals from the same supplies as the rest of the city. If any of it were tainted with poison, others would be ill.” Ránewen replied smoothly, taking a sip of her tea.

“But you are the only elleth who’s husband is away at war.”

Ránewen paused momentarily, her entire body freezing up for a moment, before she brought her teacup up to mouth once more. After swallowing a long sip from the cup, she replied, “So I am. What of it?”

“Does that not cause you grief?”

“That none of the other elleths have husbands to worry for? Of course not! I would not wish that on anyone.”

Celebrían took another sip of her own tea before stating. “So you are worried.”

After a moment’s thought, Ránewen took another long sip from her own tea, before shaking her head. “Elerossë is well. I spoke to him just a few days ago.”

“Yes, I know.” Celebrían nodded, smiling gently as she offered her reason for coming in a slightly admonishing tone. “You also promised to find a way to pass the time with pleasure, rather than boredom and loneliness, in his absence.” When Ránewen did not reply, Celebrían shook her head. “What are you doing, Ránewen?”

“Waiting.” Ránewen replied, before draining the last of the tea in her cup.

Taking the cup from her sister-in-law’s unresisting hand to refill it, Celebrían shook her head. “For Elerossë to return?” She sighed as Ránewen again remained stoically silent. “You know that could be years in coming.”

“I shall endure.”

“Elerossë did not want you to endure it. He wanted you to live, to enjoy life, even in his absence... Why do you think he was hesitant to marry you initially?”

Ránewen blinked before replying, accepting her refilled teacup as she did so. “Because he did not want me to give up my eternal life, should he have to. He said something about my sailing to Valinor without him, where my eternal life could continue, evergreen.”

“When he returns to Earth, will you follow him?”

“Yes.”

“And if he is mortal there? If the choice of the Peredhil is taken from him in the passage?”

“If my only choices are to spend one lifetime with him, wherever he may go, or to endure all the ages of this world alone, I would gladly choose a mortal life with him.”

Celebrían sighed, but nodded. “He has to go back. And he could die there.”

“So could he here. So could you or I.” Ránewen sighed, taking another sip of her tea. “Yet wherever he goes, I shall follow.”

After several moments of silence, Celebrían nodded. “I do hope the pair of you are able to return unharmed, when his tasks are done.” After taking another sip of her own tea, she shook her head sadly. “And I pray the day you must leave us is a long, long way off.”

“I think it would fun.”

Both of the older elleths started, before turning to the much younger one with small smiles.

“Well, don’t you?” Arwen asked, her deep blue eyes wide with curiosity and imagination. “To see a completely different world, one that is full of great magical beings and carts that can travel down roads without horses to pull them and cover the distance a horse can travel in a day in less than an hour with no rest?” *(1)

Celebrían and Ránewen both laughed, shaking their heads in merriment at the younger elleth’s eagerness. After taking a moment to collect herself, Ránewen nodded with a smile, “I suppose it would be, thêlian nîn, I suppose it would be.” my niece

“Have you been talking to your Nanatôr without me, ian nîn?” Celebrían asked with a warm smile, “Or have you just been keeping that bottled up since he left?” Uncle

“I’m allowed to talk to Nanatôr nîn!” Arwen protested, frowning at the supposed implication that she was not.

“Of course you are, tithen nîn,” Ránewen replied gently, smiling slightly at her sister-in-law’s rolled eyes. “But it isn’t like you to keep such excitement to yourself.”

“Oh... Well I told the Gwenyn!” Twins

“Of course you did,” Celebrían murmured, rolling her eyes as she finished her tea, watching her sister-in-law follow suit. Though Arwen was technically no longer an elfling, having celebrated her third century three years before, she was still very young and immature, as most elves were at that age. Elerossë had joked that she and the gwenyn were in their ‘teenage-years,’ at this point, as he had been when he had first arrived on Arda. The only reason he had matured more quickly, to the point of matching Ránewen in maturity though she was a few centuries his elder, was because he was not born an elf. He wasn’t even adopted until after he’d gone through his coming-of-age in the Wizarding World, with the passing of his seventeenth birthday. The addition of Elvish blood, therefore, did not take away that maturity, though it did increase his power considerably. Nevertheless, the typical coming of age, or when elflings were considered full-grown elves was with the coming of their fifth century. That was two centuries off for Arwen... Though a large part of her doubted her mischievous sons would mature all that much over the next eighty years. “And what did the Gwenyn say?”

Arwen frowned, shaking her head. “They tried to get Nanatôr to make one.”

Celebrían bit back a smile as she watch her sister-in-law half-choke on her tea, waiting till she was sure the elleth was freely breathing before asking, “Did they?”

“Yes. But he said no.” Arwen shook her head again, still frowning. “He said it might be fun if he was allowed to, but that even if he was it wouldn’t work well on Arda, because we don’t have the right kind of roads...” Still frowning, Arwen asked, “What’s wrong with our roads?”

“Nothing, dear-heart,” Celebrían replied, still smiling. “But I’m afraid they aren’t designed for such contraptions.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ve never needed to be.”

“But if Nanatôr made a...horseless cart, they would need to be.”

“Perhaps,” Ránewen cut in with a nod, suppressing a smile at her niece’s earnest expression and her sister-in-law’s clearly suppressed exasperation. “But that would still draw attention to your Nanatôr that he does not need drawn to him.”

“Why not?”

“Because your Daer-Naneth said so.” Grandmother

“Oh...” After a few seconds of though the young elleth shrugged, sighing as she finished. “I guess that makes sense... But I still want to see one.”

Ránewen laughed, “Perhaps you could ask your Nanatôr to create an illusion of one for you. Or to take you into his pensieve.”

Her expression suddenly brightening again, Arwen nodded in agreement. “Oh, that would be fun! Hannon le, Nanethêl nîn!” Not waiting for a reply, or even seeming to draw a breath, she quickly asked, “Do you think he’d let me see a Quidditch match again?” thank you, my aunt

“Perhaps, if you ask nicely.” Ránewen replied, smiling as she knew her husband was not capable of denying his niece anything.

“I think we’ve gotten a bit off topic, my dears.” Celebrían offered gently, before Arwen could pursue the subject. “Ránewen, we were hoping you would return to Imladris with us for some time. It’s been too long since you’ve graced our halls, and the elflings would like to spend more time with you. As would Elrond and I.”

“I’m not an elfling,” Arwen muttered, her tone far less gracious and exuberant than normal.

Celebrían rolled her eyes, “In the eyes of the Eldar, you still are, ian nîn. Despite your ordinarily mature outlook. And you do want to spend time with your Nanethêl, don’t you?”

“Ai! Uma, uma! Please come with us, NanethêlRánewen!” Arwen beseeched, her sapphire eyes wide and bright. “You haven’t visited in ages!”

Ránewen laughed, smiling slightly. “Well, I don’t think it’s been that long, thêlian nîn. But it has been a while...” She paused, glancing towards the door of her home before shaking her head and meeting her sister-in-law’s hopeful eyes. “When are you taking your leave?” she asked, suppressing a wince at the fact that she, the daughter-in-law of the rulers of this realm, did not have the faintest idea.

“The day after tomorrow. Ammë nîn is preparing a Leaving Feast for tomorrow night.” my Mom

“I shall have to help her, then...” Ránewen sighed. “That’s not a lot of time. Perhaps I should follow aft—”

“My ladies-maids’ and I will be happy to help you pack, Tôrvesse nîn.” Celebrían cut in, shaking her head. “Though you really should have your own ladies-maids.” my sister-in-law

“Elerossë doesn’t like having servants about, doing things we can easily do ourselves.”

“And when Elerossë is here to cut hours, if not days, off of projects with his spells, you may not need them. But that does not mean you shouldn’t have some when he is not here. Or just to help you specifically, even when he is.” Waving Ránewen’s objections away, Celebrían shook her head as she continued. “We shall help you pack tomorrow morning, then. I doubt Ammë nîn will need too much help preparing. She does have several ladies-maids, you know, princess.”

Ránewen rolled her eyes. “Elerossë hates that title, you know.”

“Oh, I do.”

“Did you ask Thranduil to—”

“I only asked Thranduil to reside over your wedding and in so doing affirm Elerossë’s place in our society. I did not ask him to name my foster-brother a prince of the Eldar mere days after meeting him.” Celebrían paused, her small smile a little bit wicked. “Though looking back on it, I wish I had thought of something of that sort.”

Shaking her head, Ránewen finished her tea and set the cup aside, waving Celebrían’s hand away when she moved to refill it. “No thank you. I will see you in the morning.”

Nodding, Celebrían finished her own tea and rose, smiling as Arwen followed her example, though her daughter’s teacup was still half-full with the tea that she had first poured, and had undoubtedly gone cold already. “Uma, with the rising sun. I’ll have one of my maid’s clean this up.” Yes

“I can—”

“I insist.” Celebrían cut in firmly. “You should get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the days after even more so.”

“Be iest lîn,” Ránewen consented with a sigh, following her visitors to the ladder that would take them down to the ground, and bidding them farewell before turning in for the evening as she had been told to. as you wish

~ * East of Gondorian Encampments, East-Lands - Lótessë 5, 542 * ~

Harry shook his head as he made his way stealthily through the woods of the East-Lands, now damp with the springtime’s rains. Though he was not naturally as light-footed as the Míriel brothers, who were of course moving right along with him, his adoption into the Eldar gave him some of that grace, and his magic more than made-up for the rest. He had told Turambar that a small party had a much better chance of moving swiftly through the lands undetected, and he’d been right. He just hadn’t mentioned that the real reason he didn’t want anyone other than his lieutenants with him was because if anyone else were there he would not be free to cast wards on their encampments at night. On their food and water. He wouldn’t be free to use the Sight he’d gained from his foster-mother to see – and scan – the area around them. And he wouldn’t be able to cast spells that rendered them totally invisible to the enemies eyes and ears.

Some of the spells he’d pulled from Hermione’s Tome made him wonder at the Wizarding World’s history. On one hand, he knew that the Wizard-kind wanted to avoid being detected by Muggles at all costs, and likely didn’t want to Obliviate and alter memories too often, for fear of causing problems in that regard. Therefore they needed spells to keep them safe from the Muggles.

He also knew about spells such as the Fidelius Charm, which could totally conceal a secret within a single keeper’s control, making the secret impossible to discover unless the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. That charm could actually be used to hide anything. Any person. Any place. Any item. Anything... Which was actually why he’d never told any of the Eldar about it, as he didn’t want them getting ideas about his safety. The modified Fidelius he’d used to protect the Hobbits’ of the Shire and his House there was nowhere near as powerful, but it would undoubtedly last for a very long, long time.

But that was what a Fidelius was really for. Protecting an important secret for a long period of time. Would that it could be used for all secrets, but casting the spell was very difficult and draining. Which was probably why Ránewen and the Míriel brothers had never thought to suggest he cast it upon himself, seeing as he’d collapsed and remained unconscious for two whole days after he cast one upon the Shire. That and he hadn’t told them that he might be able to teach one of the more powerful Eldar to cast it. He wouldn’t doubt Galadriel or Elrond would be able to do it. Both were powerful in their own right, but with the Rings they bore they were on a different level of power from most Elves entirely...

All he really needed his magic for on this venture was invisibility spells and silencing spells. Add those to an occasional notice-me-not on each of them, and they were almost entirely safe. He’d tried using a Supersensory Charm on himself on the first day of their travels, but found that that quickly drove him to distraction – and a migraine – and was therefore not remotely worth the trouble. As best he could figure, that spell was supposed to enhance his senses... but since his adoption to the Eldar had already enhanced his senses somewhat, the additional enhancements were just too much. At least without a lot of practice in a much less stressful situation.

Not that any of that had been necessary in the past few days. Though he’d dutifully recast the spells when needed, along with regularly warding their campsites and wiping their trail since they’d left Gondor’s easternmost camp sixteen days ago at nightfall, they had not seen any sign of any Easterlings. And his occasional “point me Easterlings” were still sending them east, so they knew they hadn’t missed anyone.

“When you’re scouting enemy lands isn’t the best of times to let your thoughts wander, mellon nîn.” Veryan’s amused voice came from a few steps ahead of him.

Harry stopped, shaking his head as he forced himself to refocus on the present, where both of his bodyguards had stopped in front of him, and were smirking at him, their dark blue eyes bright with a bit of laughter. Rolling his eyes, he shook his head, “Probably not. What have you found?”

The younger Míriel replied, “Tracks, headed south.”

“South? That doesn’t make much sense. Their native lands are to the northeast of the Sea of Rhûn.”

“Doesn’t mean they can’t set up camp on the south shore of the sea.” Voronwë pointed out with a shrug, his eyes now serious.

Not giving it any more thought, Harry nodded, drawing his wand and holding it in the palm of his hand and murmuring, “Point me, Easterlings.” His wand spun, slowing to point toward the eat for only a moment before it suddenly sensed the closer target and shifted before coming to a halt, pointing just slightly east of true south. Smiling, Harry sheathed his wand once more and nodded to the younger brother. “Good work, Voronwë.”

It was only a little over an hour later that they came upon the Easterlings camp, which had been set up along the shore of a river that flowed to the Sea of Rhûn itself. The camp itself was made up of a few cooking fires and less than a dozen tents.

“Well, they must be waiting for reinforcements, because this is just pathetic,” Veryan whispered, receiving nods of agreement from the other two.

After a few moments of silent observation, Voronwë asked, “What do you want to do, heru nîn?”

Harry frowned, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift out to scan the camp for several moments before pulling himself back. “There’s less than two-dozen of them. And several are wounded.”

“Strange for them to keep their wounded here, when they aren’t all that far from home.”

“Perhaps they’re retreating?” Voronwë suggested in answer to his brother’s observation.

Veryan shook his head, frowning as he continued to watch the camp. “No, I don’t think so. They don’t have that air about them... They’re not happy. But they’re not yet retreating. Not yet defeated.”

“I agree,” Harry replied, watching as several of their enemies obviously traded jokes around one of the campfires over lunch. “But I’ll need one of them alive, to know for sure.”

“Hmm, seven-to-one odds aren’t the best. Though they are manageable if you want to use magic in the fight, heru nîn.”

“I think that’d be best.” Harry agreed, drawing his wand again. After waving it a few times to set wards around the area, he told them. “I’ve put wards up to make sure they flee towards me. I’ll make their campfires explode, and get some of the tents burning. Then I’ll rain arrows down on them. After that you two should attack from different sides of the camp. I’ll cover you. Understand?”

“Fire. Arrows. Attack. Come towards you. Got it.” Veryan replied, while his younger brother nodded.

“You have fifteen minutes to get in position.”

“Uma, heru nîn,” Both replied, before moving quickly off in opposite directions, so that their attacks would be coming from two sides of the camp towards him.

With a sigh, Harry settled in to wait after setting a timer spell to keep track of the time and putting another notice-me-not and an invisibility spell around him. It was strange to think how very similar his birth-world must have been to Arda at one point in time. Now Wizards had almost absolute supremacy over all magical races, but history told of many times that that was not so. The numerous goblin rebellions, werewolf wars, and vampire scourges were surely testament to that. As was how the so-called pureblood wizards of old lines disdained muggle-born witches and wizards but were never willing to leave the Wizarding world and really even pass through the Muggle one. Instead they created floo travel, portkeys, apparition and broomsticks.

When had all of that changed? He had to wonder at that. For the world “wizard” was listed in Muggle dictionaries. Considered fantasy by most, just as many mortals didn’t believe in Elves until they actually saw one (and even then they might still be doubtful), but that proved that there had certainly been a time when wizards and muggles lived side-by-side...

Had they decided to separate the worlds to avoid bloodshed? Did they perhaps feel that bloodshed was certain with the two races interacting too closely?

The extremes bothered him to. It seemed you either were a Muggle-lover or a Muggle-hater. Neither technically had total say in the government, but the radically different viewpoints existed. Despite that, even Muggle-lovers like the Weasleys weren’t overly keen on interacting with Muggles.

It was odd. And a puzzle that had bothered him for quite some time. One that even Hermione’s Tome, with it’s countless history books compiled within, could not answer. Though now really was not the time for such thoughts...

Harry blinked, and smoothly dismissed his timer when he saw it had completed its countdown. Turning his full attention onto the nearby enemy camp, he shook his head, before closing his eyes and reaching out with his magic in his mind’s eye. Then he softly murmured, “Confundo Totalum,” before opening his eyes and aiming his wand at the central campfire to incite, “Expulso!”

Instant mayhem reigned through the camp, with the enemy soldiers under the influence of his confundus charm, they weren’t even capable of the rational thought that there camp was right next to a river, and that that river contained water that could be used to put the spreading fires out.

Shaking his head, he raised his wand again, this time pointing it skyward in their general direction and cast, “Pluotelum! Pluotelum! Pluoetelum!”* Sending a shower of arrows down on the camp from the sky above.

He heard Voronwë and Veryan before he saw them, as a few years among the soldiers of Gondor had helped them learn Gondor’s war cry, which they had become accustom to releasing before entering battle under the guise of Hama and Herall. Glancing towards them, he waved his wand again, casting illusions of larger numbers around both of them, while at the same time placing individual shields against arrows on both. He knew none in this camp could match the Míriel brothers with swords, but he wasn’t to risk the chance of there being a good archer amongst their enemies that could function even under the confusion he’d cast upon them.

Rising fully to his feet, Harry moved towards the camp, observing the rapidly following enemies. He shook his head sadly as the screams of those who were too wounded to save themselves from the flaming tents reached his ears, but knew he could not save them. Instead he reached out with his mind again, though with only half his focus, and cast, “Stupefy Totalum,” on all those within the tents, granting them the mercy of painless deaths at the very least. Though the mass-stupefy generally required a lot more power to be effective, on wounded, exhausted and probably petrified men the intent behind the spell effectively acted as the nudge towards painless unconsciousness they needed.

Not bothering to draw his sword as he let his invisibility spell fall, Harry instead used his wand with ease, casting any spell that came to mind when an enemy was unfortunate enough to spot him. Only one received a “stupefy,” to ensure they did in fact have someone to interrogate later, the rest were lucky if “Locomotor mortis” popped into his mind before “Reducto,” “Deprimo,” or “Diffindo.”

Against the Muggles of Gondor, these Muggle Easterlings probably would have held their own longer than a few minutes. But with magic turned against them, magic that had been specifically designed for combat, they didn’t stand a chance. Which was why it was only a few minutes before all but the one he’d stupified near the start were dead.

“Heru nîn?”

Harry was pulled out of his somewhat-horrified daze as he observed the brutal, calculated destruction he’d wreaked upon these poor men only moments before by Voronwë’s gentle inquiry. Shaking his head, he sighed and closed his eyes, just barely stopping himself from mentally reaching for his magic once more to dismiss the horror he felt at the damage he’d caused. It was one thing to do such when under the influence of all of the magic flowing through his veins, bringing the ice-cold logic he’d been trained to use in battle out to the forefront of his brain. It was a completely different thing to look at what he’d done as his magic calmed and sank back into his core... After taking another deep breath he finally opened his eyes once more to see both Voronwë and Veryan standing before him, concern plain in their eyes and expressions. “I’m fine, mellon nîn,” he replied softly before jerking his head to the man he’d stupified moments before. “See to him while I clean this up.”

Both Elves frowned, but quickly moved to do as they were told, while Harry allowed himself one more moment to gaze around the campsite before pulling his magic up once more and using it to banish the still-burning tents and all that remained of their enemies. When he was done, only the scorched, slightly bloodstained ground and the indents of where campfires had rested gave any hint to what had happened here.

Nodding in satisfaction, he turned around, only to frown when he saw that the Míriel’s had apparently decided this was not a good place for an interrogation, and had instead decided to take the man into the woods he’d come out of a short time before. Rolling his eyes in slight annoyance, he followed them.

It didn’t take him long to find them. They’d taken their prisoner to a nearby clearing, and tied him to a tree there as ordered.

Only sparing the man’s binds half-a-glance, to ensure he wouldn’t be able to escape them even if he wasn’t under a spell, Harry made his way over to the man, summoning a slender vial of potion from the enchanted pocket he’d cast into his leather vest. Again only sparing the vial a glance to make sure it was the right one, he swiftly uncapped it and pried the prisoner’s mouth open, letting a drop of the crystal-clear potion fall on the man’s tongue before closing his mouth again and rubbing his throat to get him to swallow. After a little bit of coaxing the man finally swallowed subconsciously and Harry took a step back, casting “Enervate” and slipping his wand back into its sheath as the man came to.

“What is your name?” Harry demanded, keeping his tone level even as he spoke a language he hadn’t spoken since he’d mastered it under Celeborn’s tutelage.

The man blinked at him, clearly somewhat surprised by the fact that this man in the garb of the Rangers of Gondor knew his language too, but he nonetheless answered and thereby proved that the Veritaserum was working, “Hayan Duane-son.”

Nodding approvingly, Harry continued. “What were you doing here, Hayan?”

“I was tending to the wounded.”

“How many of your people were camped here?”

“Twenty-three.”

“Are you part of a larger body?”

“Yes.”

“Where are the other members of your group exactly?”

“Dead.”

“In battle?”

“Yes.”

“All of them were killed in battle?”

“No. Some died during the winter storms when supplies were short.”

“And the twenty-three that were here this morning were all that were left?”

“No. There were four more.”

“Where are they?”

“Crossing the Sea.”

“Why?”

“To tell the Tribes of our losses and make them see reason.”

Finally! Harry suppressed a smirk of satisfaction, watching the young man’s dark, frightened eyes closely. “Your... The Tribes are fighting amongst themselves?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Until a new High Chieftain emerges.”

“When did the first die?”

“In the late autumn.”

“How?”

“He was slain.”

“By who?”

“His brother.”

Harry nodded, finally looking away from the prisoner for a moment to raise a questioning eyebrow at Voronwë and Veryan. Why neither had bothered to truly learn the tongue of the Easterlings in any of their long years puzzled him, but now was not the time to question it. Though to be fair, as the Easterling people were actually many different Tribes of peoples, there were many different dialects of their tongue to learn. At least, with one of the many spells he’d woven into the amulets allowing them to comprehend all they heard, he didn’t have to translate what the man was saying for them, just ask the questions they thought of in the tongue of the East.

After a moment Voronwë asked, “What are their numbers?”

Nodding again Harry repeated the question in the man’s own tongue. “How many men in the Tribes can fight?”

“Many.”

“How many are of age to go to war?”

“Many.”

“How many exactly?” Harry insisted, frowning as it became apparent that the full potency Veritaserum wouldn’t last as long as he’d hoped on the Muggle. Strange that, as he knew it worked for much more time than this on wizards. Perhaps the potion actually preyed on the subject’s magic and because most Muggles only had that slight-spark that made up life itself the potion couldn’t hold them for as long as it could with a wizard? But that didn’t make sense because very powerful wizards and witches were generally able to resist the potion to a degree, and some were even able to break free of it’s hold in a similarly short period of time... though that could have more to do with the individual’s willpower than their magical power.

“...I do not know.”

Harry shook his head and forcefully brought his full focus back to the interrogation at hand. “Exactly how many warriors have the Tribes lost to your recollection?”

“...One thousand, or thereabout.”

“How many Tribes do you know of?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“About how many warriors do most Tribes have amongst them?”

“...More than two thousand.”

“Around fifty-four thousand,” Harry translated, glancing at the Elves again. “Not counting all those that might have been lost in this war already and in their civil war as well.”

“How long do their civil wars last?”

“How often are the wars between the Tribes?”

“Whenever the High-Chieftain fails a challenger may approach.”

“Including the most recent, how many High-Chieftains have reigned in your lifetime?”

“Sixteen.”

“This last High Chieftain was the sixteenth to rule over all the Tribes in his lifetime,” Harry translating, a part of him wondering why the two elves had never learned the Easterling tongue despite the fact that it was known to the Elves, as it had been Celeborn who had forced him to learn it. They knew it well enough to generally follow the interrogation, but could not ask the questions themselves. “They fight until a single leader emerges.”

“So we should have at least a few months,” Veryan theorized, his cobalt-blue eyes a bit distant with speculation.

“Why are they attacking Gondor?”

“Why are the Tribes attacking Gondor?”

“The Tribes move West.”

“Why?”

“...Better lands.”

“The lands to the East are barren?”

“Not yet.”

“Their people want to move West for better lands,” Harry reported with a sigh, shaking his head a bit sadly.

“They are not affiliated with the Enemy?”

Harry frowned, wondering where the questions was coming from but asking anyway. “Who is Sauron to your people?”

The man frowned, shaking his head, confusion clear on his dark features. “I...I do not know.”

“He doesn’t seem to know. His confusion seems real, at least,” Harry shook his head again. “Is an alliance likely?”

“Not from the War of the Last Alliance, no,” Veryan shook his head in reply. “But it is, nonetheless, still quite possible. Perhaps something a common soldier might not know of though.” When neither his lord or his brother offered any further opinions or questions, he asked Harry. “What do you wish done with him?”

“I’ll wipe his memory of these events and stun him. Then we can be on our way. He shouldn’t awaken for several days at least.” Harry replied immediately, drawing his wand to start casting the necessary spells.

“No.”

Harry stopped, his entire body freezing on the low-spoken protest. After a moment he turned his head towards Veryan once more, honestly taken aback by the objection. “I beg your pardon?”

“We can’t let him go. It puts you at risk.”

“We can’t keep him!”

“No, we can’t,” Voronwë agreed, though his expression clearly stated he was in agreement with his brother.

Harry stared at both of them for a long moment before he shook his head again. “I can’t kill him. Not like this.”

“He is an enemy.”

“He’s totally defenseless! He’s tied and magically-bound to a tree! And still half-under the influence of both a drug and a spell that compromise his ability to think clearly.”

“We can’t let him go, heru nîn.” Voronwë murmured, his tone gentle but firm, “We can’t take him with us. We can’t leave him here. And we can’t stay here and wait for him to die of natural causes.”

“If I wipe his memory—”

“And one of his comrades finds both him and this campsite? What if his memory returns?”

“It can’t.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I—”

“You’ve said many times that the mind is an incredible thing. Capable of amazing feats. How can you be certain his will never heal? Or that he won’t meet someone who can heal it for him?”

“No one—”

“You can’t be, heru nîn.” Veryan cut into his brother’s logic-driven argument, shaking his head. After a moment he moved forward, placing a hand on the wizard’s shoulder and pushing to turn him away from the prisoner. “Let me deal with this, please. You and Voronwë should check the camp to make sure we didn’t miss anything else.”

A bit shell-shocked at his companions forcefulness it took Harry another long moment, during which Voronwë’s arm slipped gently but firmly around his shoulders, to react. Then he tried to turn back, but found himself being dragged steadily away by his determined friend. “Voronwë, let me go.” When the Elf showed no sign of obeying he tried the other, “Veryan, stop! Both of you, that’s an order!” As he felt Voronwë’s hold loosen he tried to spin around but a sudden, firm blow to the back of his head made the world go dark.

~ * Caras Galadon, Lothlórien - Lótessë 5, 542 * ~

Celeborn glanced up from the text he’d been reading when he sensed his wife pause abruptly a few steps away, her entire form freezing for a moment as her mind went elsewhere. “Melda nîn?” he inquired after a few moments of silence, knowing what such an instance meant after long centuries of experience.

Galadriel did not answer immediately, shaking her head as her focus remained away. Then she nodded, closing her eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath before opening them again and making her way to the seat next to her husband’s, where she’d initially been headed. “That was Voronwë Míriel.”

“What happened?” Celeborn asked, frowning as a dozen different scenarios ran through his head, each one worse than the last.

“Apparently the Míriels’ were forced to obey the last order we gave them specifically, and Voronwë needed to strike Elerossë into unconsciousness to do it.”

“Elerossë intended to endanger himself?” Celeborn shook his head, still frowning deeply as he marked the page he’d been reading with a bookmark and set the book on the table beside him. “I had thought the danger for that had long passed. We only gave that order when they first set out with him on his adventures for fear of his youth. What changed?”

Galadriel shook her head sadly, her eyes still a bit distant, though probably in contemplation. “He did not want to slay a helpless enemy that he had used his magicks to capture and interrogate.”

“Ah...” Celeborn nodding, understanding on his face even as he sighed and rose, taking his wife by the arm and gently guiding her to the seat beside him before reclaiming his own. “Honorable as that may seem, the Míriels were right to protest, and to act.”

“So I told them,” Galadriel nodded, smiling slightly as she sat down. “Though I believe the only act they regret overall is striking Elerossë.”

“They were right to knock him out,” Celeborn reasoned. His silver eyes a bit distant in thought. “Though it pains me somewhat to say it. Had he truly been against their actions, they wouldn’t have been able to overpower him once he thought to use his magic to stop them.”

“So I told them,” Galadriel nodded again, before shaking her head sadly. “And so I will tell Elerossë when he awakens...” then she frowned in contemplation. “Should Ránewen be informed of this?”

After a long moment Celeborn shook his head. “Not by us, melda nîn. If Elerossë tells her of his time at war, it will surely come up. It would make no sense to her out of context... Have they reached Imladris yet?” he asked, referring to the caravan that had set out a little over a week before with their daughter-in-law and all of their daughter’s family.

“No, they’re still a few days off. The roads are poor due to the recent rains.” She still again, before quickly saying, “Elerossë is waking. I must go,” and then she closed her eyes and was almost certainly ‘gone.’

Sighing, Celeborn picked up his book and returned his attention to the text, hoping it might distract him while he waited for his wife’s return.

~ * East of Gondorian Encampments, East-Lands - Lótessë 5, 542 * ~

A blow to the head that was strong enough to knock someone out would normally take the body some time to repair. The difference for wizards was that their magic could speed the process along quite quickly. That, and Voronwë’s had been a firm blow to a pressure point, and not intended to do him any real harm.

Even so, it did take him several moments to orientate himself to his surrounding as he woke and looked around him. He saw that the Míriels had already set up camp for the night around a small fire. But from the look of the forest around him they had not moved him far from their last location.

“Heru nîn?”

Harry closed his eyes and drew on some of his magic to dispel the lingering pain in his head and the confusion that had resulted from it. Then he opened his eyes to see both of the Míriel brothers studying him. He returned their gazes for several long moments before speaking, his tone laced with ice. “You deliberately disobeyed me.”

The brothers glanced at each other, and after a nod from Veryan, it was Voronwë who replied. “We disobeyed orders you could not, cannot, give, heru nîn,” Voronwë told him, his voice still that strange combination of gentle and firm, his face impassive when Harry’s green eyes snapped over to stare at him.

“What do you mean?” Harry demanded, not quite as cold as before, but far from warm.

“We are first and foremost your guards. Our responsibility is to protect you. By the wills of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, you cannot expect us to obey orders that would unreasonably endanger your person.”

“They give you these orders and allow me to go to war?” Harry demanded, his tone forcefully calm instead of cold, “that seems rather contrary.”

“‘Allow’ is not the word I would use, heru nin,” Veryan murmured. “As I recall both protested rather vehemently for some time before they relented. And that is not the danger we are most bound to protect you from.”

“It’s not.” Harry repeated, watching both closely.

“No,” Voronwë confirmed firmly, “Though that was initially our purpose, when you were younger, the Lord and Lady have since agreed that you are an adult, capable of making your own decisions and taking the consequences for them.”

“But,” Veryan cut in quickly, before Harry could do so, “If you recall, you yourself are under orders to keep your true identity, and your very nature, a secret from all but your family, the King and Queen of Eryn Galen, the Galadhrim and close family friends.”

Harry closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, striving to release his outrage and anger as he knew the last statement was quite true. And though he had technically outranked his parents since his wedding day, his parents rarely gave him actual orders. And this was a command he had given his word to abide by. After several long moments of silence he opened his eyes, clearly much calmer, though his mouth was still set in a deep frown. “So I did... Where is he?”

Voronwë shook his head, “Heru nîn, you don’t have t—”

“Yes. I do. I need to see him, Voronwë.” Harry cut in, his tone hard and unyielding. “I don’t know if I could ever get past this without doing so.”

Voronwë opened his mouth to object again, but paused when his brother laid a staying hand on his shoulder. And after another long pause, Veryan sighed and gestured off to the right. “He’s still in the same clearing, Heru nîn.”

Harry nodded and turned quickly, almost marching in that direction. He swatted tree branches aside as he moved through the woods, too angry to bother with any of the stealth he usually used.

It only took a few moments to reach the clearing. He paused at the edge, all but staring at the corpse at the base of the tree he’d bound Hayan son of Duane to only a few hours before, judging by the fading sunlight. After several seconds of staring he finally stepped into the actual clearing and made his way over to the body. He vanished the conjured ropes that lay around the body and tree, cut but not removed by the Míriels.

The son of Duane’s eyebrows were thin and arched like a woman’s, a dark black just like his tangled hair and short beard were. His skin was a deep golden color, which had paled from blood loss and the quick death it had caused as blood had flooded out of the deep, clean cut across the man’s throat. His brown eyes, which had been fogged from the effects of the Veritaserum when Harry last seen him were still open, but lifeless. His expression had sagged a bit as life had left his body, but the set of his jaw still clearly showed the terror that he must have been feeling in his last few moments as the potion was wearing off and one of the Míriel’s were approaching his securely-bound form with a sword or dagger.

‘Elerossë...’ His mother’s mental-voice echoed gently through his mind.

Harry ignored her as he scrutinized the cut across the man’s neck more closely and then nodded to himself. Too clean and deep for a sword. Had to be dagger, done at closer range.

‘Elerossë, there was nothing else that could be done. You know that.’

The boy’s blood was still flooding out, staining his whole form, the tree, and the grass around him. His heart had obviously stopped beating some time before, but his body had fallen to the side when the Míriels had cut the ropes that had bound him to the tree, allowing gravity to force the blood out of his body even after his heart had stopped trying to frantically pump blood to his brain.

‘Elerossë, you know this was the only way.’

Harry knew from his training with Elrond that the body could survive loosing up to a third of its total blood volume in this world that didn’t have the possibility of transfusions available. But that was on wounds that weren’t immediately fatal. Cutting his throat had permanently stopped the flow of blood to his brain, which no one could survive... He’d probably been dead in about a minute. Two minutes, at most...

‘Neither of your friends would wish to be needlessly cruel,’ Galadriel pointed out reasonably, before pleading, ‘Elerossë, answer me!’

Yet even after his heart had stopped beating blood continued to flood out of his form. Staining his clothes red. The tree’s bark red. The grass beneath him red... Red. Red. Red.

“Heru nîn?” Veryan’s quiet inquiry from immediately behind him made him jump even as the elf took a hold of his arm and began dragging him away just as brother had done a short time before. “We should be going.”

After a moment the Lady of Light’s mental voice sang through his mind again. ‘Go with your friends, Elerossë. There is nothing for you here. Nothing to hold you, and nothing to take with you.’

Harry said nothing as he was pulled away from the death-filled clearing. But before leaving he waved his wand and made the boy’s corpse and any signs of its former presence disappear just as he had erased all trace of the boy’s comrades some time before. No physically evidence would ever be found of him, but his face and fate would undoubtedly haunt Harry’s mind for a long, long time. He shook his head slightly as he finally offered his foster-mother a faint reply, ‘The man is—and was—not nothing, Naneth. Having never gone to battle yourself, you may wish to consult with Adar about this before you make such judgments.’ Then he slammed his mental shields up as hard and far as they could go.

If she really wanted to, Galadriel would certainly be able to break through. She had many, many more centuries practice then he did. But she wouldn’t. And while he would feel bad later for treating her so coldly when she was only trying to help him, it wasn’t something he could help right now. Right now, he just needed to think. To be alone in his head and come to terms with what he had done.

~ * First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Lótessë 5, 542 * ~

“Welcome back, Captain! Lieutenants.” One of the watchmen greeted them with a salute. He obviously hadn’t been on duty too long, as the sun had only just set and that was when the shift changed occurred. “What news from the East?”

The Miriel’s remained silent as Harry sighed, shaking his head. “That’s for the King’s ears, my friend. Where is he?”

“The King took to his tent not to long ago,” Captain Aldous cut in before the guard could reply. He waived them to follow him before turning back the way he’d come from, towards the center of the camp where the King’s tent was stationed for his protection. “His Majesty left standing orders that you come to him immediately upon your return... though we did not expect it to be so soon.”

“We made good time,” Harry agreed noncommittally.

“Very good. Is your news important enough to rouse the other Captains while you report to the King?”

Harry thought for a moment, before shaking his head. “No. His Majesty will undoubtedly call a meeting in the morning, but we have nothing to fear in the near future.”

“Very good then,” the old Captain offered him a warm smile, as they came to a stop outside Turambar’s tent, which they could all clearly see was still lit from the inside. “Welcome back, Captain. Lieutenants. I’ll send one of the squires for refreshments while you report.”

“Thank you, Captain Aldous,” Harry replied with a nod, watching the old mortal make his way over to where one of the young squires stood waiting before returning his attention to the entrance to the King’s tent, where two guards were posted. When he raised an eyebrow at them, one turned slightly to pull the tent entrance open enough to call respectfully into the tent’s occupant.

“Forgive me, my Lord. Captain Hadrian and his brothers have returned.”

“Send them in,” Turambar ordered from within, his voice holding clear but pleasant surprise. The guards held the entryway open for the three to pass through, before sealing it behind them once more. “Captain Hadrian. Lieutenants Hama and Herall. Welcome back.”

“Thank you, My Lord,” all three replied in unison as they saluted Gondor’s monarch.

“At ease,” Turambar immediately ordered, before glancing at the Miriel’s. “Do either of you have anything of great import to add to your commander’s report?” When both shook their heads, he nodded. “Then you may take your leave. Go eat and rest.”

The brothers bowed before leaving the tent and Harry sighed as he was waived over to the sitting area he’d left not too many days before. “Captain Aldous sent one of your squires for refreshments.”

“Good,” Turambar approved, while pouring water into goblets for both of them and taking his seat, watching as ‘Hadrian’ followed suit and accepted one of the water goblets as he went. “What new have you, my friend?”

“We traveled eastward for many days before we found any sign of them. We found a small encampment with many wounded and managed to slay all of them, sparing one for interrogation.” Harry paused for a moment before shaking his head and continued. “The Easterling Tribes are currently fighting a massive civil war. Apparently their last central leader was overthrown and now the Tribes are fighting for supremacy.”

“So reinforcements won’t be coming any time soon.”

“No, my lord.” Harry confirmed with a nod. “The man we interrogated said that each of the tribes has more than a thousand warriors at their disposal, and there are more than a score of Tribes. But as long as they continue to fight each other...”

“They don’t have the men to fight us... Good, good.” Turambar nodded, clearly pleased by the news. After a moment he looked back at his captain and frowned slightly, “And you, Captain?”

Harry frowned, “My lord?”

“How do you fare?”

“...Well enough, my lord,” Harry replied, his voice firm. But he then wilted a bit under the King’s stern, silver gaze, and sighed. “Sometimes the actions that are necessary in war weight heavily on my mind.”

Turambar frowned, but nodded. “It happens to all of us, and even more so to the best... there was a reason I wanted to send more men with you, you know. Neither you, nor your brothers, have ever struck me as the type to...uh, handle interrogations easily.”

Harry laughed dryly, surprised by his wording. “Is there really such a type, my lord?”

“Disturbing as is to think of, they do exist.”

“I do not believe I should really like to have such men at my back.”

“Perhaps not,” Turambar agreed with another sigh, his eyes dark. “But they are necessary.”

Harry looked away for a moment, shaking his head after thinking that through and sighed. “I’m afraid that’s one thing we disagree on.”

Turambar blinked, clearly startled. “What? The necessity of interrogating our enemies for information? Surely—”

“Not that necessity, my lord. But that it might be necessary to employ men who actually enjoy doing so...” Harry shook his head. “Just because the acts are necessary, does not mean they should not be regretted.”

Both started as the King’s squire suddenly arrived, bearing a plate with various food-stuffs and wine. “My lord?”

Turambar nodded, waiving the boy in to the table at his side, then looked at Harry and indicated the other seat beside it. “You make a good point, my friend. But you must be famished.”

Harry sighed, but obediently took the seat and accepted a goblet of wine with a nod of thanks before watching the boy leave. Truth be told, he wasn’t remotely hungry. He hadn’t been for days. But after years of training under highly skilled healers, he knew he had to eat regardless. “Thank you, my lord.”

The King of Gondor nodded, and held his silence for several more minutes, while both picked at the bread and fruit the squire had brought them. “I know you are not wrong, my friend. But it is a difficult concept to consider while at war, and sure an impossible one to adhere to.”

Harry nodded in agreement, smiling sadly after he’d finished taking another sip of wine with the image of the man the Míriel brothers had executed for him drifting through his mind.

“Would that such things were not necessary,” Turambar murmured, his tone as sad as Harry himself felt right then. “But we cannot change the past or present.”

“No,” Harry agreed sadly, finishing his goblet of wine with a long gulp. “We can only look and work for a better future...” After several long moments of silence, Harry rose and set his empty goblet on the table. “I find myself rather weary, my lord. May I retire?”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Turambar agreed with a nod. He spoke up a moment afterward, as Harry turned and stepped towards the door. “Hadrian?”

Harry turned back towards his friend, an eyebrow raised.

“Fro what little it may be worth,” Turambar murmured, holding his gaze steadily. “I thank you, for myself, for Gondor, and all of our men.”

Harry bowed in reply, before leaving the tent.

~ * House of Elrond, Imladris – Lótessë 24, 542 * ~

Ránewen couldn’t help but smile as she ran a brush through her hair, looking around her room—the very set of chambers she’d always shared with Elerossë when visiting Imladris since their wedding—and seeing everything unpacked. Though she hadn’t brought much with her from the Golden Wood, she had brought everything she might need or miss—save her husband, of course—and even in his absence it seemed the change of scenery itself was enough to lift her spirits.

The journey alone had helped her, as her sister-in-law and everyone in their caravan hadn’t allowed her a moment alone to ‘languish in boredom and loneliness,’ as Celebrían put it. No, she spent every moment on the road in the company of another individual, each of whom had relentless sought to draw out her thoughts and feelings on a wide range of discussion topics and activities, until she simply forgot her perpetual brood.

Now, finally allowed a moment by herself in her brother-in-law’s house, she found that the dreary cloud that had hung over her spirits since her husband had gone to war was nearly gone. Oh, she knew it was still there. Merely thinking of Elerossë—of the wound he’d come home with a few weeks before, or of his melancholy mood of late—would summon it up again. But she had made a promise, and so she would continue to push it back as much as she could.

Ránewen glanced toward the door’s reflection in her mirror as a slightly timid, and familiar, knock came through it. “Enter.” She smiled as the door opened and her niece slipped through, a shy smile also gracing her face.

“Nana said you might like to visit the gardens, Nanethêl nîn,” the younger elleth murmured, her sapphire-blue eyes bright and her smile cherry.

“Ai, yes, I would love to. Hannon le, Arwen,” Ránewen replied, a matching smile drawn to her face by the younger elleth’s enthusiasm. “Shall I fetch my cloak? And where is yours?”

“You shan’t need it, Nanethêl nîn, it’s quite warm out tonight.”

Ránewen eyed her niece closely for several long moments before nodding, setting her brush down on the vanity and rising. “Very well then.” She moved towards the door, sparing her niece a raised eyebrow before passing through. “I do hope your brothers’ aren’t planning anything special to welcome me?”

“I shouldn’t think so, Nanethêl nîn,” Arwen replied, and then shrugged. “They wouldn’t tell me if they were, of course, but after the way Nanatôr nîn reacted the last time they, um, tried to prank you...”

“One would think they might consider me off limits, yes,” Ránewen nodded, then sighed and shook her head. “But this is, after all, the Gwenyn we’re talking about...”

“That’s true,” Arwen agreed, and then giggled, drawing a slightly suspicious look from her aunt, to which she shook her head. “I was just thinking of what Ada nîn will do to the Gwenyn if they are foolish enough to prank you too soon.”

Ránewen smiled, and chuckled herself. Yes, Elrond would undoubtedly respond rather poorly to his sons behavior if they were foolish enough to prank her before—or during—the banquet tonight. She was the guest of honor, after all, and had been brought to Elrond’s house out of a concern for her health.

Much as her beloved nephews surely loved a good prank, she had trouble believing the elflings—almost adults, extraordinarily enough—could be so foolish.

But, then, this was the Gwenyn...

~ * First Gondorian Encampment, Dagorlad – Cermië 31, 542 * ~

‘Happy birthday, ion nîn.’

Harry smiled as his mother’s voice echoed warmly through his mind. ‘You’re late, Nana. Is everything all right?’ He asked, glancing at the rising sun.

‘Of course.’ Galadriel replied, her voice tinged with a little bit of exasperation. ‘I had hoped you’d have the sense to sleep through the night. I suppose I should have known better?’

Harry shook his head, still smiling slightly. ‘If I didn’t wait till midnight for the start of my birthday I’d be breaking a very old tradition. And one that I started, which makes it all the worse!’

‘Your father sends his greetings and well-wishes as well. I suggest you call your wife through your mirrors today, she misses you.’

‘She has settled well in Imladris, has she not?’

‘So your sister assures me so. But she still misses you.’

‘And I miss her. But I am needed here.’

Galadriel did not reply immediately, instead allowing her disapproval to ring unvoiced for several seconds before she continued. ‘So you are. Turambar has grown accustom to your presence. And your powers.’

‘He knows nothing of my magical abilities.’

‘He knows you can make enemies speak when his best tortures cannot. And that you don’t even need to torture them – for long, at least – to do it. He knows you can sense attacks, or something of the sort. He knows you, and the Míriels, your supposed brothers, do not fall ill from any of the illnesses that fly through the camps. He knows you are probably better educated then he is. And he is very intelligent. He knows you are not who you say you are.’

‘Of course he does, Nana! How could he not? But he knows nothing of magic. If anything, he probably assumes I am a closer descendent to elf-kind then he, and that I therefore have closer relations to the Eldar. He has no reason to think more. I have used Veritaserum once, and he never saw that man, alive or dead. He himself can sense danger approaching, as many experienced warriors can to a degree, he probably assumes my elf-blood makes it easier for me. And that that very same blood protects me from most illnesses. He knows I have lived amongst Elves for at least some time, and may account my wisdom to that. But he has no reason to suspect magic.’ Harry protested, wincing as he realized his thoughts were taking a turn towards whining at her pressing concern. He quickly took a deep breath and released it, then another more slowly, before continuing more calmly. ‘He knows nothing we need worry about... He is my friend, or as close to that as he can be with all the secrets I keep from him.’

Galadriel’s reply was touched empathy and compassion, ‘Perhaps. But that is how it must be, if you are to remain safe on Middle Earth, so that you may eventually return to your own world, ion nîn.’

‘I know, Nana. I know.’ Harry sighed, and shook his head, then laid back on his bedroll with a sigh, closing his eyes in his darkened tent to continue his conversation with his far-off foster-mother. ‘I remember your vision, and the prophecy we both heard when I came here, quite clearly. And I know that I am taking great risk in coming here. But your mirror did not tell you that this was wrong, did it?’

‘No. It did not.’

Harry nodded and pressed on, having known that this would be true if only because Galadriel, despite the reservations that she and Celeborn both shared, had relented and agreed to letting him go to war. ‘Surely, you know that you have no need to worry then.’

‘On the contrary, ion nîn,’ Galadriel’s thoughts were now touched with clear disapproval that made Harry wince. ‘What my Mirror shows me, is merely possibilities. Not certainties. So I am free to worry as I please, as you can still come to harm at any time.’ She paused for a moment, before another thought came through. ‘And a mother always worries.’

‘Forgive me,’ Harry sighed. ‘I did not mean—’

‘I know, ion nîn. I know.’ Galadriel cut him off, and he had the strange mental picture of her sighing entering his mind as she continued. ‘Nevertheless, I can understand your being weary with having to defend your place in this war. I apologize for that.’

‘Hannon le, Nana,’ Harry smiled, suppressing a yawn as it came up, then wincing when his mother called him on it.

‘You should be resting, ion nîn. We shall speak another time.’ Galadriel told him, her thoughts gentle and mild again. ‘For now, know that we miss you and that everyone wishes you the very best of birthdays today.’

‘Hannon le, Nana,’ Harry repeated, smiling slightly as he continued. ‘Will you thank everyone for me?’

‘Of course. Goodnight, Elerossë.’

‘Goodnight, Nana.’

End of Chapter 3

Translations

Ada = Dad (father, informal)

Ammë = Mom (mother, informal)

“Be iest lîn.” = “As you wish.”

Daer-Naneth = Grandmother (or literally: great-mother)

Elleths = Female Elves

“Hannon le” = Thank you

Heru = Lord

Ian = Daughter

Ion = Son

Melda = Lover/Lover

Mellon = Friend

Namárië = Farewell

Nana = Mom (mother, informal)

Nanatôr = Uncle (literally, mother’s brother)

Naneth = Mother

Nanethêl = Aunt (literally, mother’s sister)

Nîn = My (indicates possession – the speaker indicating that the previously mentioned word—usually a person—is theirs in such-and-such a way: following “melda” it means “my love,” following “ian” it “my daughter.”

Telain = Treehouse. Or, more specifically, the homes the Elves of Lothlorien build for themselves in the bows of the golden trees, earning themselves the name “Galadhrim,” which means “tree people.”

Thêlian = Niece (literally, sister’s daughter)

Tithen = Little (usually used to refer to a small child affectionately)

Tôrvesse = sister-in-law (literally, brother’s-wife)

Uma = Yes

AN #2:

Well, there you have part-two of Turambar's part in Harry's story, and the third chapter of the whole story! Sorry for the wait. I'd decided that Turambar was only going to have two chapters, but then this chapter just wouldn't end. After I got upwards of forty pages--with the part of hte story nowhere near done--it just seemed like a good idea to cut it off at a good point and give the part one more chapter. Of course, I suppose it's possible that I just don't want to write the end of the next chapter, but I don't think that's it...

Anyway, I could only find one note (1) that I marked in the chapter, and that was a reminder for me to tell everyone that while I did research horse travel a bit before writing that scene, I’m certainly no expert and apologize if I pushed it at all. I was also planning to post a link to the site that I did most of the research at, but I wrote that scene over six months ago and the site no longer exists. :-(

I hope the chapter was worth the wait and hopefully I’ll be able to post the next part again soon. And again, a thousand thanks to ‘Kevin’ for beta-reading the chapter.

Happy New Year! ^_^

~ Jess S

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