Chapter Two:
Harry knew he ought to say something to fill the awkward silence but he wasn't sure what. Polite conversation had never really been his forte, nor Ron's - it was hard to get a word in edgewise when one was best friends with Hermione, so both of them had long since given up trying.
And then there was that pesky fact that he found Legolas extremely attractive and there seemed to be some kind of weird electrical current between them… anyone who could come up with something clever to say in these type of conditions should be awarded the order of Merlin, first class, just for accomplishing the impossible.
What did one say to an unnaturally attracted elf, in a strange world with no bloody public transport system, whom he'd been trailing behind awkwardly for the past half hour? And what kind of world didn't at least have some kind of taxi, or, considering the distinct lack of technology he'd witnessed so far, horse and buggy, to rent anyway?
He didn't think "Lovely foliage you've got here, come into the woods to kill the local beasties often? By the way, you wouldn't happen to have a knight bus that operates around here, would you?" would really quite cut it. But then, if he was going to be fair with himself, and letting himself off of the hook did seem awfully appealing, it did take two to make a conversation, and the elf had also remained stoically silent the whole time they'd been walking as well.
Let tall, blond and handsome break the silence, then, Harry had enough to worry about being around all of this bloody nature without a fly swatter, or two.
Merlin, he would kill for his firebolt.
He'd also kill for his house elf, and though he loved her dearly, and owed her the world, if Hermione didn't like that thought she could just kiss his….
"Tell me about yourself, Harry, wizard who is lost," Legolas said, cutting through Harry's reverie, while halting and turning to look at him in a way that left Harry distinctly uncomfortable. As if he was being studied. Though not in a malicious way, no, more of a way that spoke of unlimited interest on Legolas' behalf.
Harry had never been one for being the center of attention to begin with, but now it was downright intimidating. Legolas frightened him in a way that he really didn't want to examine too thoroughly. He knew, if he tried, that he would find Legolas equally fascinating, he was already in the bulk of Harry's thoughts anyway, but if he let himself get swept up in Legolas, Harry had an odd sort of fear that it would alter him somehow. Alter his thinking, alter something inside of him, in a way that he would never recover from.
He had had enough of life altering experiences to last a lifetime, thank you kindly, and figured is was best to keep himself, to himself, so he could go back home safe and in one piece to the wonderment of 21st century living within the magical community, and Legolas could go back to his bow and arrowing.
Still it would be rude not to come up with some sort of response, and Harry was nothing if not a proper Englishman.
"Um, there's really not much to tell," Harry replied, practically feeling that infernal blush of his coming back, while simultaneously shuddering at his completely idiotic response. Sometimes he could really curse his mouth for speaking without consulting his brain beforehand.
Yes, he feared Legolas and this weird, instant, and overwhelming attraction type thing he felt towards him, but he didn't want to give the impression that he was an imbecile, that just wouldn't do.
He'd like to leave some sort of positive impression, for the sake of wizarding kind, of course.
"I seriously doubt that," Legolas breathed, his eyes sparkling as he flashed a grin in Harry's direction.
And Harry felt his knees buckle. It was all so horribly cliché. The elf was too damn beautiful for his own good, and when he tried to lay on the charm Harry thought less of his bathtub at home with nice, warm, running water, and more about how trees and leaves were really not that bad, as long as they came hand in hand with elves.
"I would really like to know more about you, Harry," the elf requested softly, his expression displaying his earnestness for the world to see.
Harry knew then that he was well and truly fucked.
He should just give up now, peacefully, give the elf what he wanted, and hope that whatever happened didn't have the catastrophic fall out that everything in Harry's life, up to that point, had. But then, he was a Gryffindor, and the least he could do, for himself, if not for anyone else, is put up a token resistance.
"It's not a happy tale. I had a screwed up childhood, followed by a brief moment of happy realization into my identity, followed by war, followed by finding the portal here before I could really catch my breath. I'm a wizard, I like magic, have a few really good friends that I enjoy spending time with, and am too curious for my own good, thus my presence in this forest and our lives intercepting so oddly," Harry stated, hoping his voice didn't sound as hollow as it felt.
A brief glimpse at Legolas, and the sympathy, fascination and ever burning curiosity shining brightly in his eyes, had Harry turning his eyes to the ground and staring there.
It was the elf's fault for asking.
Harry felt the hand approaching his face before contact, that weird electric current that existed between them buzzing, and causing Harry's skin to pebble with goose bumps. When Legolas put his fingers under Harry's chin, moving his face up to look him in the eyes, the static jolted and burned, just as it had before, only more intense because the material of his shirt offered no buffer for the skin of his face. This time Legolas didn't look shocked by their chemistry, as he had earlier. He looked like he had expected it, and was happy, relieved even, to feel it again. His eyes refused to leave Harry's, arresting them, and Harry was too hypnotized to remind himself that he couldn't, wouldn't, get attached to anything in this godforsaken place.
"You have beautiful eyes," Legolas said with wonderment, staring at Harry as if he were the gorgeous one, as if he where the one to ethereal to be real.
Harry wondered if all elves were as loopy as this one.
"Thanks, I got them from my mother. Your eyes are nice, too," Harry said with a sigh, moving his face away from Legolas' touch, and the arrest of his eyes.
He never had been one for taking compliments well, they made him frightfully embarrassed. Hermione had always blamed his knee jerk reaction to them on the Dursley's, but Harry believed he'd have a hard time with them, screwed up childhood or not. When one complimented you, they were studying you, noticing you, and he had had enough of being scrutinized by people to last ten lifetimes.
Still, it felt different when it was Legolas doing the studying, not as annoying, not as imposing…
Home, home, home… that's what Harry needed. He needed moving pictures, brooms, and the constant bickering of his lovelorn friends. He needed fried fish on Wednesdays, and the mind exercise that came from figuring out ways to sneak out of his house while avoiding the reporters that sometimes camped in his front walkway.
But more than that he needed a shot of firewhiskey - anything to dull his senses and limit the effects that Legolas had on him.
For the first time in his life he wondered about the origin of alcohol and if they had it in the olden days… like ice age olden days, as any minute now he expected to stumble across a saber tooth tiger. Would this eclectic civilization of elves and thingamabobs, and he used the term 'civilization' loosely as he had yet to see a building, have such a thing as firewhiskey?
Legolas sighed, and though Harry's eyes were turned away from him, he could still feel the elf's gaze on him.
Apparently elves weren't anything if not persistent little, uh, tall buggers. Harry had looked away, officially breaking the moment; apparently Legolas still needed to get that memo… figuratively speaking, of course, as they probably didn't have memos yet in this hellhole either.
"We should stop for the night, set up camp, we're a few hours away from my home, but it will be dark before that. Once morning comes we can finish the journey to my father's dwelling, gather supplies, and head to Rivendell, where Gandalf is visiting Lord Elrond," Legolas stated, finally moving his eyes away from Harry.
There were so many questions and exclamations that Harry wanted to make to Legolas' proclamation that he didn't know where to start. Stay the night? In the woods? Without a tent and with thingamabobs and potential saber tooth tigers lurking around? Who was Lord Elrond? And was this Rivendell place an actual town? With buildings, food, and more importantly, showers? Did Legolas' Northern Mirkwood home have such things as well? Harry really needed to wash the forest and clean air off of his body as soon as remotely possible.
But since he didn't want to look like a complete pansy in front of Legolas, Gryffindor reputation to uphold and all that, he left out any question dealing with his trepidation of settling down for the night to commune with nature, and settled for a…
"How long is the journey to Rivendell?"
Long being relative, of course. Long to a wizard meant something they couldn't apparate to, something they'd have to find other, wheeled, means of transportation to find. Harry had a sinking feeling that long in Middle Earth terms was actually as the word implied, lo-ong. Perhaps he was better off not knowing just how far Rivendell was and just how it was they were going to get there.
"It is not too long a journey. Indeed I think you might enjoy it," Legolas said, his eyes conveying his hope that Harry would, in fact, enjoy it. Which was about as bloody likely as Harry getting home to a dinner of Kreacher's famous beef stew within the next half an hour. It was a bummer that he'd be missing that, too. Kreacher always put curry in it, just as Harry liked it.
Still, there were times when you just had to accept fate and take it like a man, and this appeared to be one of those times. It wasn't like he could wave his wand and change his circumstance. Not even magic could accomplish that. Perhaps this whole thing could be chalked up to a lesson; locks, curses and spells were on doors for a reason. You'd have thought his first year experience with Fluffy and the stone would have taught him that.
And truly, he was appreciative that Legolas; a complete stranger not hours before, was taking Harry under his wing, willing to lead him on this journey, and help him out. The least he could do for the guy was keep his complaining to a minimum. The elf certainly didn't have to assist him. Legolas was doing it out of the kindness of his heart. That kind of niceness, that willingness to help out someone in need, was a rare quality to posses. Harry would know. Niceness and his past didn't go hand in hand.
"I'm sure it's going to be great," Harry replied with as much false enthusiasm as he could muster.
He'd have to remember to use a shielding charm around he and Legolas tonight to keep from being trampled by a woolly mammoth in their sleep, and to, better yet, keep out any biting insects.
Harry sighed, categorically listing the spells he would need in order to ensure that his person, and Legolas, made it through the night, preferably without coming down with a medical condition. He turned to his companion, the offer of assistance in whatever the elf was doing to help them get set up on the tip of his tongue, when he caught sight of the elf picking up dry branches for what Harry assumed was to be a fire.
Well, perhaps he wouldn't be so much of a burden to Legolas after all. Manually picking up wood? Perish the thought.
"Um, there's a faster way to do that, you know," Harry stated, pulling his wand out of his back pocket and pointing it at several nearby scattered braches, "accio firewood."
In a flash Harry had a stack of perfectly burnable wood stacked neatly at his feet.
Legolas looked at the wood, then looked and Harry and then looked back to the wood and shook his head, a devilish grin spreading across his beautiful face.
"It's amazing you're as slender as you are, if all wizards are so categorically lazy as to use magic instead of garnering enjoyment from a little hard labor. Still, I'm not likely to complain. Magic the night away, my friend, you need to fatten up anyway," the elf said with shining eyes.
Harry felt his throat make a choking sound. The elf was… teasing him? Elves had senses of humor? Sure, the statement wasn't really that funny, but to tease? To have that potential there? Oh no. It was bad enough that Harry was already attracted to Legolas - the elf was not allowed to have a sense of humor on top of being lovely.
Merlin, the fates must really hate his guts.
'Home, home, home,' he repeated in his head, 'do not make eye contact with the elf; do not look in his direction. Think beef stew with curry,' and with that thought Harry looked around for something he could transfigure into a pint of firewhiskey and a pillow; the hell he was going to sleep with his head on the dirt.
To be continued…