Summary: Gandalf meets a stranger on top of Isenguard. Will the classic story we all know so well change with the addition of one person?

Pairings: Harry/Legolas, Aragorn/Arwen, Faramir/Eowyn, Sam/Frodo, one-sided Eowyn/Aragorn, and Legolas/Aragorn.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter, but I do loan their characters occasionally. JRR and JK will get them back safe and sound, so no worries.

Warnings: This is a SLASH story, which means there will be guys on guys. There will be violence, swearing, and some mature content (which means sex people). Unwritten will butcher Lord of the Rings because it's not her fandom and she will probably suck at writing it. This story is completely from Movie-verse. Characters may be OOC. If anything of the above irritates/disgusts you, then you're free to leave.

Author's Notes: My sister invited me to watch the extended versions of the Lord of the Rings at her church for three Fridays in a row, and this was born. You've all seen this before (Lord knows I have), but hopefully you'll find something new in this. –sheepishly- I know I shouldn't be starting yet another story, but I couldn't help myself (as always).


Away From the Sun
Chapter One: Isenguard and Rivendell

There are some men in this world who are born to do our unpleasant jobs for us. (To Kill a Mockingbird movie)

Kings really were bigger than other people, and sometimes – a lot of times – he wished he was smaller. If you have ever in your life had serious questions about whether you were good enough for some task, then you will know how he felt. (The Eyes of the Dragon by Stephen King)

Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets. (Paul Tournier)

Behind every beautiful thing there is some kind of pain. (Bob Dylan)

"But to change the path ahead is a very difficult task. The smallest word, the tiniest motion, that which lies in people's hearts . . . . The future takes all these things as its cues to determine the path to come. Just like ripples on the water's surface." (Tomoyo, Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicles)


Isenguard Tower, Middle Earth

When Gandalf come to he was no longer inside Isenguard, but instead on top of it. The old wizard blinked and slowly sat up, wincing when he felt the dried blood on the back of his skull crack open. When he put his head to the place, he could feel the trickle of new, wet blood flowing out of the wound. With a sigh he gathered what little power he had without his staff and collected it into his fingertips, trying to get enough to heal the wound. Unfortunately, it seemed that battling Saruman had taken all of his strength, for the power blew away easily. Gandalf slumped heavily, and closed his eyes in weariness.

He didn't know what to do. It wasn't the first time, for he wasn't all knowing, but it was the only time that knowing what to do would be crucial instead of just helpful. Saruman had told him that the riders had left Minas Morgul; the Nazgul were moving again, and they were looking for the ring. Gandalf shuddered; they would find Frodo, he had no doubt about that. Gandalf felt tears trickle out of his closed eyes and slid down his face into his beard. The thought that the quick, bright-eyed hobbit he had known and loved since a little lad might be killed by something as terrible and disgusting as a Nazgul . . . .

"The old one cries," a voice observed and Gandalf immediately opened his eyes and swung his head in the direction that the sound had come from. When they landed on the figure sitting nearby him, his old eyes widened, for even with all of his years in war, he had never seen anything like this.

The man-child didn't look older than 19, and he was half-naked, showing off his caved in stomach and his abnormally protruding spine. For a moment, Gandalf was reminded disturbingly of Gollum, but that image passed when hollow green eyes stared at him blankly. He shuddered; the boy's painfully beautiful face and the pointed ears that peaked out from his raggedly long black hair marked him as an elf. Bruises highlighted his face, and his lips were so chapped that they had begun to bleed because the boy had spoken. Gandalf could see the long lines of whip scars on the elf's back, as well as some still healing wounds had been made by rope and dagger.

"Who are you, Master elf?" Gandalf asked wearily, wondering why he hadn't been able to see Saruman's treachery before this. To harm an elf like this . . . it was a horrendous thing to do.

The elf stared at him blankly for a moment before a sardonic smile curled at his lips, "I am called . . ." he rasped out, his voice hoarse from underuse, "Hannas Nienor, old one."

'Understanding Sorrow,' Gandalf translated, and in that moment he knew that the name had not been given to Hannas at birth, but had instead been fashioned by the elf himself. He sighed.

"I am Gandalf the Grey," he said quietly. "How did you come to be here Master Nienor?"

Hannas looked at him stoically. "Saruman . . . the White is not . . . as gracious as he . . . appears." In between every few words Hannas gave a hacking cough, obviously pained by using his voice after being silent for so long.

"I had realized," Gandalf said dryly. He sighed again. "Well Master Nienor . . . I suppose I shall have to get two people out this time instead of one." He sat back with a determined look on his face, ignoring the surprised stare Hannas was giving him. He would not let his wits fail him; now not only did he depend on them, but the young, beaten elf next to him did as well.

Gandalf always did have a hero-complex.


Gandalf sat and waited. He had always been good at waiting; any wizard worth his salt had to be.

Sending a message to the Eagles via a moth had been one of his more brilliant ideas. However, he had been lucky that the moth folk could live anywhere, even in the pit that Isenguard was becoming. Gandalf sighed; he could remember the days when Isenguard was a pinnacle of learning and of light; people would travel from all lands to read the books of the White wizard currently housed in the enormous tower. But his subconscious knew that Isenguard would never be restored to its former glory, and that the light and history of the tower would be lost in the coming war.

"Yaaraer . . . looks likely to cry again," Hannas' voice was getting better after talking some with Gandalf, but the elf still couldn't say longer sentences without coughing. Gandalf shot a smile at him.

"When you're as old as I am, Hannas, you have a lot to cry over," he said.

Hannas' smile was full of wry amusement. "How old do . . . you think I am, Yaaraer?"

Gandalf stared at the elf closely. He looked about 19, but elves were always older than they appeared. "Around 1,500 years, Master Nienor."

Gandalf was concerned when Hannas began to croak, but after a few minutes he realized that the elf was laughing. He frowned, somewhat offended, but a part of him was happy to see the strange elf so carefree.

"I have seen over . . . 3,000 and 500 summers, old one," Hannas said, with laughter in his voice. "It is not long . . . for an elf, but 'tis very long . . . for you humans."

Gandalf was surprised. He'd suspected Hannas was an elfling, barely approaching adulthood. Elflings were rare, yes, but it would explain his young face. At such an age he should have looked older, approaching his mid-twenties if you wanted to look at it the mortal way.

"How do you look so young, Hannas, if you are that old? Elves do age, even if it is slowly. I have seen it in my old friend, Master Elrond."

Hannas shrugged, "I do not know, Yaaraer. My face remains . . . young as the years pass, as all elves faces . . . do. Why mine stays this way . . . even after all the summers I have seen, I . . . have no idea."

Gandalf harrumphed but remained quiet. Hannas Nienor was a puzzle, and the old wizard always did like puzzles. However he wasn't sure if he could work this one out; Hannas was mild and gently-spoken, like the rest of his kin, but he was also cold and secretive when Gandalf asked too much.

However his mind was torn from his thoughts when he felt the approaching power of Saruman. Over the days that he had been stuck to the top of Isenguard, his power had slowly regenerated. Now he could sense as he was able to before the fight with Saruman, and use the healing magic that didn't require his staff to heal some of Hannas' wounds.

The white-haired wizard glided up out of his tower, and Gandalf felt Hannas tense next to him. Carefully the old wizard put his hand on Hannas' shoulder, ignoring the flinch that the movement had evoked. He whispered soft words in Elvish, trying to keep Hannas as calm as possible.

"Ah, my two prisoners comforting each other," Saruman said with aristocratic disdain. "How . . . touching." He sneered at the hand that was on Hannas' shoulder. Gandalf frowned as Hannas shook slightly.

"What do you want, Saruman?" he asked stiffly.

"I want to make a deal with you, old fool!" Saruman snapped. "I have already offered you this! Join me and Lord Sauron or die with the pathetic elf!"

Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow. "I will never join Sauron or you Saruman. Sauron is an evil creature that is wasted with madness; to join him is folly."

Saruman snarled and pointed Gandalf's staff at the old wizard; Gandalf winced. He had a connection to his staff, and to have it pointed at him hurt more than any spell would. Saruman knew this of course; that was why he did it.

"Fine!" the other wizard snarled and he jerked the staff to the side, meaning to send Gandalf to the edge of the tower. Gandalf pulled Hannas to him as he slid over; he could sense help coming and he would not leave the elf to be tortured if he could help it.

Saruman sneered but said nothing about it. Instead he made Gandalf slid over the edge of the tower until he was sticking straight out with only his toes connecting him to the black marble of Isenguard. Hannas curled up on his chest like a child, trying to stay as small and light as possible.

"Do you still choose death, Gandalf the Grey?" Saruman asked grandly. Gandalf smiled as he felt the flash of power beneath him. He brought a hand up and tugged with a burst of magic, bringing his staff to him and then let his body fall of the roof when it was no longer held up by Saruman's power. Clutching Hannas tightly to him he fell through the air until he landed with a thump on Gwaihir, the Eagle.

Saruman watched the two fly away with a strange look in his eyes before saying, "So . . . you have chosen death."


Rivendell, Middle Earth

Hannas woke when the Eagle that had saved Gandalf and him landed heavily in a beautiful courtyard full of flowers and fountains. Hannas smiled dreamily; he recognized the touch of elves on the garden.

He blinked when Gandalf slid off of the Eagle and then picked him up, carrying his frail body carefully. Bright blue eyes peered down at him worriedly from underneath bushy eyebrows, and Hannas tried to smile at Gandalf to give the old wizard some reassurance. But, for some reason that made the wizard look even more worried.

Gandalf dashed up the steps at a speed that Hannas would have thought impossible for a mortal his age, and quickly made his way into the elegant house nearby the courtyard they had landed in. Hannas turned his head when he heard a chorus of gasps and was surprised to see a large gathering of elves sitting in the room they had barged into. An elf with long dark hair and wise eyes stood up and made his way to Gandalf, his stately robes making a swishing sound on the stone ground.

When the elf approached the pair he bent down to take a closer look at Hannas and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "He is very old, for one with such a young face," he remarked. Then his eyes darkened as he took in all of Hannas' wounds. "Who did this?"

"Saruman," Gandalf answered gravely. "It seems that he has turned from us and chosen Sauron instead."

The elf closed his eyes in weariness. "I had been warned that he would stray, but I hoped that a wizard's heart would be stouter than a man's." He sighed and then looked down at Hannas once more. "Come, I will heal him, and then we shall hear his story."

Hannas smiled up at the elf and said softly, "Diola lle, Heru en amin."

The last thing he saw was the elf's startled face before his vision was overtaken by blackness.


Rivendell, Middle Earth
Four Days Later

Hannas woke to sunlight and comfort.

Large green eyes blinked open and the elf squinted as bright sunlight flashed across his face, blinding him temporarily. When he could see again he noticed that Gandalf was sitting near his bedside, watching him with worried light blue eyes. Hannas smiled lightly and tried to ignore the warmth in his belly at seeing how the wizard was worried about him.

"Well, Master Nienor, it seems that you have awakened," Gandalf said, trying to sound stern but he only ended up looking relieved and mischievous instead.

"Manen lû ann?" Hannas sighed out. Elvish felt better on his throat, but he hadn't used it on Saruman's tower for fear that Gandalf would not understand him. However, the words of comfort Gandalf had murmured to him when Saruman had confronted them on the tower had been in Elvish, so the old wizard must known something of the language.

"It has been four days since you dropped unconscious," Gandalf said, any form of amusement disappearing instantly. "You have been in a healing sleep, and much has happened during that time. My hobbit friend, Frodo has crossed the border and is currently sleeping off a stab wound. The rest of his company will be here later in the day."

Hannas nodded. Gandalf had told him about the hobbits he had been helping during the time they had spent together on the tower. However he had said nothing about what Frodo's mysterious "quest" was, nor why they needed this amount of secrecy. In return, Hannas had kept secret the reason Saruman had imprisoned him on top of his tower.

"It is thanks to Lord Elrond that you survived." Gandalf continued to talk, and gestured behind him where, to Hannas' surprise, Elrond was standing at the door.

Hannas bowed his head as lowly as he could in his position and murmured, "Gen hannon o gûr nîn."

Elrond inclined his head grandly and said quietly, "Gell nîn, Mith'quessir."

Hannas' head snapped up and he sighed. "So you have . . . figured it out then?"

"You reek of it, mellon en mellonamin," Elrond said with some amusement. "It was obvious when I first had the chance to take a good look at you."

Gandalf interrupted. "May I take Hannas with me to see Frodo, Lord Elrond?"

Elrond considered Hannas for a long moment with steady dark eyes making the younger elf feel like squirming. Eventually he said, "Very well. However, Master Nienor, if you feel ill in any way you will go straight to bed."

Hannas nodded solemnly, all while inwardly wondering if the world knew that Lord Elrond of Rivendell could be such a mother hen. It was amusing, if nothing else. Shaking the thought off, he slowly got out of bed and leaned heavily on Gandalf as they made their way out of the room, Elrond following behind them.

When they reached the room, Hannas frowned and pressed a hand to his forehead, troubled by a sudden headache. Every step that brought them closer to the room made the pounding in Hannas' head worse and soon the elf had his eyes tightly screwed closed from pain. Elrond grabbed his elbow as he started to faint, helping him stay upright.

"Master Nienor? What is it?"

"Can you not feel it, Heru en amin?" he asked breathlessly. "The evil in that room . . . does it not crush you under its weight?"

Elrond's eyes were somber. "I can feel it, Mith'quessir, but I have the power to block it from hurting me. I will have to teach you, if you are as sensitive to the magic as I believe you to be."

Hannas nodded, but the sparks of pain shooting through his head didn't stop. However instead of turning back, he continued forward, drawn by the strange power that was inside the room.

When he entered he was startled to find that the only two people inside were small hobbits – one unconscious on the bed, his inky hair spread across the pillow, and the other bent over his friend's body, one pale hand clasped in ruddy fingers. Bright blue eyes peered out from a strong face and Hannas smiled gently at the hobbit. 'Such strength for one so young . . . .' he thought, watching the stouter, red-haired hobbit turn back to watch his friend's body with worried eyes. 'But then I shouldn't be surprised; they are hobbits, after all.'

He winced as he saw the thick line of black smoke floating around the unconscious hobbit's neck, occasionally tightening and loosening, but mostly just drifting aimlessly. However the shoulder wound was the most serious; a black cloud hovered over the wound itself and thin black threads were moving towards the hobbit's heart. Hannas swayed as another throb of pure evil came at him and sat on the bed to steady himself.

"That'll be enough, Master Hannas," Gandalf said, his beard practically quivering with seriousness. Hannas almost smiled. "Back to bed with you – you can ask Frodo as many questions as you want when he wakes," Gandalf briefly spared a look at the fragile body lying next to Hannas and the elf saw an overwhelming amount of concern in the wizard's eyes. Smiling he stood up, but before he left he pressed a hand to the red-haired hobbit's shoulders, bringing bright blue eyes to meet his own green ones once more.

"He'll be alright, Master Hobbit," Hannas said calmly. "Your friend is very strong, to bear such an evil and not surrender. But when he wakes . . . he shall need your strength. You must prepare yourself for that." With those parting words he hobbled from the room, gratefully accepting Gandalf's helping hand as they made their way back into Hannas' room, leaving Elrond to check on the young hobbit in the room behind them.


Frodo didn't wake for another week, giving Hannas time to heal and get to know the hobbit's companions. He'd been amused by Merry and Pippin, became quick friends with Sam, and had been quietly respectful of "Strider". Hannas was observant enough to notice that despite being a Ranger, Strider carried himself with a noble stride, his speech was very good for a man who supposedly lived in the woods for most of his life, and he was perfectly at ease in the Elvin courts, when no self-respecting ranger would be caught in them on a good day. But he said nothing about this to the oblivious hobbits; with plenty of his own secrets to shoulder, Hannas was more inclined to respect other people's privacy than some might be.

Hannas' wounds had started to heal already; away from the evil presence of Isenguard, his natural healing powers started to come back to him, smoothing over the wounds on his chest and back and enlarging his stomach bit by bit so he was able to eat more. Soon he was able to walk without assistance (an accomplishment he was proud of) and he often sat or walked in Rivendell's large gardens, feeling content at seeing such beauty once more.

When Hannas heard of Frodo's awakening he immediately left the gardens he was so fond of, hurrying to the small hobbit's rooms, his elven-made robes flowing behind him as he did so. The room held only Gandalf, Frodo, and Sam when he entered, making the threesome look up at him with varying emotions across their faces; Gandalf with amusement, Sam with surprise, and Frodo with confusion. Hannas bowed to Frodo before sweeping over to Gandalf's side, giving the amused wizard a stern look.

"Who are you?" Frodo asked, his voice soft and lilting; a singer's voice. Hannas smiled at the hobbit.

"I am called Hannas Nienor, Frodo Baggins," Hannas said quietly. "Mithrandir rescued me from Isenguard a little over a week ago."

Frodo looked astonished. "You don't look like you were a prisoner there!" he cried.

"I heal fast," Hannas answered with a shrug, ignoring Gandalf's appraising look. "However, I heard you were awake and came to ask you a few questions." Frodo tensed, but Hannas continued to talk as if he hadn't seen it. "That thing on your neck; what is it?"

Frodo hesitated, "What thing?"

Hannas gave him a look. "Don't play stupid, Mr. Baggins; I am an elf and I can sense things easier than most. There is something of great evil around your neck, and its black cloud closes tighter and tighter around you every day that I see you. I will ask you again; what is this burden that you carry?"

Frodo looked to Gandalf before turning back to Hannas. "It is the One Ring," he answered, his voice low and troubled. Sam laid a hand on his shoulder and glared up at Hannas, who gave him an amused look. It looked like Frodo Baggins had quite a guard dog!

"So it has returned to the world," Hannas said, his amusement fading as he thought about Frodo's burden. "You have been asked to carry it, yes? It was a wise decision; hobbits are made of sterner stuff than any mortal or immortal in this world. Perhaps it has something to do with them not wanting something big and grand, as most of the 'Big Folk' do . . . ." Hannas trailed off, thoughtful, while the three others in the room watched him.

"How do you know so much about hobbits?" Sam said suspiciously. He may like the odd elf, but Mr. Frodo was always his first priority.

Hannas laughed. "I may look young, Samwise Gamgee, but I have been alive long enough to know your great-great-great grandfather's father! I have not come across many hobbits during my travels, but the ones I have were much stouter than any man could hope to be."

He turned to Gandalf, who was still smiling in amusement. "You have told him about the council haven't you, Mithrandir?"

The old wizard's amusement faded into a decently guilty look. "No I have not. Frodo," the hobbit's attention turned back to Gandalf sharply, "there is going to be council tomorrow about what will happen next with the ring. You have been invited to attend, as a bearer of it."

Frodo hesitated for a moment. "Will you be there, Gandalf?"

Gandalf inclined his head. "Unfortunately, none of the other hobbits will be allowed in by Elrond's orders, but Strider and Hannas will both be there as well."

"Who else will be coming?" Frodo asked.

"Hmm . . . Some of the dwarves and elves of Mirkwood are supposed to arrive today," Gandalf explained. "I believe Elrond mentioned a couple of guests from other countries as well, but I was wool-gathering at the time, so I didn't quite catch them." Gandalf looked quite sheepish.

Hannas laughed melodically and placed a hand on the old wizard's shoulder. "Do not worry, Mithrandir, it is the side-affect of old age."

"Aa, but if that applies to me, mellon, then what are we to say about you?" Gandalf teased back gently.

Hannas threw his nose into the air, and looked every bit as snobby as some of the elves strutting around Rivendell. "I'll have you know, Mithrandir, that we elves would never do anything as plebian as to wool-gather." He sounded rather disgusted with the very idea. "Younglings these days," he muttered under his breath.

Gandalf sent Hannas a grateful glance when Frodo started to laugh at their antics – they both knew that the little hobbit was being weighed down too heavily with his burdens. 'Besides,' Hannas thought, watching Frodo's laughter with a smile, 'happiness suits his face better.'

"I will see on the morrow," Hannas said when their merriment had run out. He rose and bent his head. "Steel yourself, Frodo Baggins," he murmured to the hobbit as he passed. "You have a long, hard journey ahead of you."


Hannas watched quietly as the people began to pour into the small, outdoor gathering area Elrond had arranged. He could sense no evil from any them, other than from the ring around Frodo's neck, so he relaxed slightly. As soon as everyone was seated and quiet, Elrond rose to his feet.

"Welcome, guests," he said grandly. "We have gathered here together for the purpose of deciding what to do with a great evil that has fallen into Rivendell's grasp. Frodo, come here. Show them the ring."

Frodo hesitantly stood up and, once reaching the small, round table sitting in front of Elrond, deposited the small ring onto the middle. Hannas winced as he felt a boom of power as the ring connected, the evil spreading quickly through the room to find the easiest victim.

"This," Elrond told them, "is the ring of Power, forged by Sauron all those years ago. What we need to decide," he sounded decidedly weary, "is how to destroy it."

The area was silent for a moment until a dwarf leapt to his feet, ax in hand. "Well, let's just get it done and over with," he said gruffly, hurrying forward to attack.

Elrond and the people gathered were decidedly surprised to see that the dwarf was stopped by an annoyed looking Hannas, who blocked the axe with a strange blade. "Do not be stupid, Dwarf," he told the dwarf crossly. "If we could have destroyed it already, we would have! It cannot be destroyed by any mortal hands, no matter what tools they hold." He turned to Elrond. "You shouldn't encourage such foolishness, Heru en amin," he muttered. Elrond hid a smile as all the elves in the surrounding area looked astonished.

"Who is this, Lord Elrond?" asked one of them.

"This is Hannas Nienor, an elf who was captured by Saruman the White and rescued by Mithrandir. He is my guest."

"You wish to bring it to Mount Doom, Heru en amin, correct?" Hannas asked, ignoring the speculating looks he got from all of the new arrivals.

"Yes. The Ring can only be destroyed in the fires of Mount Doom, where it was created," Elrond explained to the rest of the group. "What we need is someone to bring it there."

Silence spread again until a man spoke up. "Why destroy it at all?" He ignored the sharp looks he got from Elrond, Gandalf, and Hannas. "It has great power, does it not? Why do we not use it? Gondor needs such a weapon!"

"Are you a fool, man of Gondor?!" Hannas demanded. "You have a weak soul – if you tried to take over the Ring it would take over you instead! And when the Ring has someone in its grasp it can easily make sure Sauron finds it! Do you really wish to end all hope just to settle your vanity?!"

"It is not vanity!" Boromir leapt to his feet, outraged. "Gondor is attacked by all sides, it needs this ring!"

"You cannot control it," Hannas told him coldly. "Elves cannot control it, Men cannot control it – no one can, except for the one who made it. But there are many people who would handle it better than you, man of Gondor. It has already captured you, and you have not even held it in your hands yet!"

"I will not stand here and take this!" Boromir thundered, half-drawing his sword from its scabbard. Hannas just smiled grimly at him.

"Do you think you can beat me, mortal child?" he asked in a soft deadly voice that had a hint of a serpentine lisp to it. "I have sseen thoussandss of yearss passs by, while you have barely seen 25 ssummerss. You will only look the fool."

Boromir colored and slowly his sword returned to its scabbard. Hannas eyed him for a moment and then spoke again, in a normal voice this time. "The Ring cannot be destroyed by us. It cannot be used by us. It can only be taken to Mount Doom. That is the only course of action. What we have to decide is who will do it." He turned on his heel and slumped back into his seat, ignoring the curious looks of his neighbors.

A blond elf leapt to his feet. "If no one else will go, I will take the ring." Hannas eyed him for a minute then sighed. Before he could say anything Gimli snorted.

"I would sooner die then trust anything to the hands of an elf!" the dwarf protested. Most elves leapt up in the defense of the blond and soon a huge group of squabbling elves, dwarves, and men was made. Hannas, Gandalf, Elrond, and Frodo were the only ones still seated; even Strider had succumbed to the madness. Hannas' attention was caught when Frodo suddenly stood. He frowned when he noticed the thin black strands extending from the ring to circle around Frodo's waist, pulling him gently towards it. 'It's manipulating him,' he realized. 'He probably doesn't even realize it.'

"I will take the ring!" Frodo declared. The squabble continued and he said louder, "I will take the ring!" Finally the voices felt silent. Hannas felt his heart go out to the small hobbit that looked so unsure with all the big people looking down at him in surprise. "Though I do not know the way," he added quietly.

"I will lead you," Gandalf said, standing and placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder.

"You have my sword," Strider said with a smile.

"And my bow," the blond elf said, sharing a look with Strider.

"And my axe," Gimli said, sending a smug look up to the blond elf.

"Mr. Frodo isn't going anywhere without me!" a voice cried from the bushes and out leapt Sam.

"No, it is impossible to separate you too, Master Gamgee, even when he is invited to a private gathering and you are not," Elrond told the stout hobbit in a wry tone. Sam just blushed.

"We're coming too!" Two voices cried in unison and Merry and Pippin popped up next to Frodo.

"You need people of intelligence on this sort of . . . journey . . . quest . . . thing," Pippin said.

Merry shot his cousin a look. "Guess that rules you out Pip." Hannas stifled a laugh.

"And I will join you as well," Hannas said, standing next to Gandalf. Elrond raised an eyebrow but didn't comment on his sudden decision. Instead he surveyed the group with an approving eye.

"10 companions," he said. "Eight of you to combat the eight soldiers of the Nazgul and two of you," here his gaze wandered to Gandalf and Hannas, "to combat the Nazgul king. Yes, this will work out perfectly. We will work out the details later on, but you have a week to prepare for your journey. After that, it would be wise to head onward."

"Onward to Mount Doom," Hannas said grimly, hands tightening into fists. "May the Gods help us."


Author's Notes: Heh, heh, heh…Maybe I shouldn't start yet another story when I've got dozens of others on hold? But when a story's finished, I can't help but post it! And you all seemed enthusiastic about this particular story in the poll, so…Hannas is, obviously, Harry, and his past and how he got to Middle Earth will be revealed later on. He seems quite a bit different now, but you would mellow down after 3,500 years of living, don't you think? Please leave a review!

A Note on Hannas' Age: Elrond is supposedly somewhere over 5,000 years old; he was roughly around 2,000 years during the first war, and it's been 3,000 years since then. Legolas is around 3,000 years. I decided to put Hannas between the two (older than Legolas and younger than Elrond) at around 3,500 years.
A Note on Gandalf: The original chapter had Gandalf as younger than Hannas, but I'd forgotten how old he really is (blame it on not reading the books for several years). I've fixed it, but you have to remember that Hannas doesn't realize how old Gandalf is (thus, the Younglings comment) and only thinks of him as a human.

Translations:

Yaaraer: Ancient One
Diola lle: Thank You
Gen hannon o gûr nîn: I thank you from my heart
Heru en amin: My Lord (Formal)
Manen lû ann?: How long?
Gell nîn, Mith'quessir: It was my pleasure, Grey elf.
Mellon en mellonamin: Friend of my friend
Mellon: Friend
Mith'quessir: Grey elf