The Price of Life

Chapter 3: Meetings

Almadynis

AN: All mistakes are mine, no beta sorry. Sindarin and translations were provided by and .com. I'm still learning, so please don't yell at me if its off.

Thanks so much to all of you who reviewed! It is to you that I dedicate this chapter.

Harry woke to the odd—and rather tiring—sight of trees. A blink and he noticed that these trees were not the ones he had been under when he had—apparently only tried—to take his own life. But those trees had been evergreens, these were deciduous in their full green splendor of mid-summer.

Sitting up proved to be an odd challenge. The distance between the ground and his arms, legs—his whole body really—was not what he expected. "Man?" He said softly, and then froze. His voice was different too: softer, gentler, and musical. With an almost child-like quality he had not heard since his son. Then Harry's brain registered what he had said with what he had meant to say and pulled into overdrive. He knew several languages: English, Parseltongue, Gobbledygook—it had taken awhile to smooth over the Goblins feelings on the whole breaking-in incident, French—courtesy of Fleur, and through Hermione's insistence, Latin. But what he had said was 'man?' with the intention of 'what?' which did not fall into any of those categories.

Before he could begin to analyze further, another musical voice intruded upon his thoughts. "Mae l'ovannen, toleg." His brain had already translated the sentence even as he turned his body inhumanly fast, on his feet and around 180°; 'well met, little prominent one' wasn't exactly the best greeting he'd ever heard, but it wasn't the worst either. His reaction was mostly due to the situation and his surprise that anyone could sneak up on him. Thirty years of being hunted by various wizards, witches, and beings tended to give one excellent reflexes and paranoia.

The woman now in front of him was leaning against a tree trunk with a deceptive air of relaxation. She was wearing a dark grey cloak clasped at her throat with an ivy leaf masterfully crafted in silver and green enamel. Her dress was a lighter grey in a style that would have been at home in the early part of the 16th or 17th centuries: several layers to keep out the cold, cinched at the waist with a leather (again of master-level quality) braided cord, embroidered in silver at the neck, waist, and hemline. Her hair was a beautiful waterfall of liquid gold, two small braids at her temples kept the silver ivy circlet firmly in place even as it emphasized her perfect, delicately pointed ears. Her eyes were a liquid brown that echoed both a deep sadness, pity and endless joy as they seemed to gaze deep into his very soul.

Throughout his inspection of her, she had remained patient and silent, waiting for him. To do what, he didn't quite know, but he hadn't been Gryffindor for nothing. "Suilad, hîril nín." Okay, so it was still in that weird language that he suddenly knew, but the general 'greetings, my lady' his brain assured him was correct. The wary tone was to be expected. By her smile she didn't take offense and was rather pleased instead.

She smiled at him, a look in her eyes he couldn't quite place. "Im Nienna eston." She spread out her hand to encompass the trees around the two of them. "Me min Eryn Lasgalen."

He snorted derisively. Like that was supposed to mean something to him. 'I am called Nienna. We are in Eryn Lasgalen.' Doesn't mean anything to him!

Nienna smiled slightly wider and nodded. Her words became a fluidic flow of words his mind translated instantaneously—apparently the faster she spoke the better he could keep up with her; either that or his mind was becoming more accustomed to the new language. "You are here because of a debt that my family and I owed to Death. Many eons ago, we bargained with him to increase the lifespan of our chosen race." She watched as Harry's eyes widened in suspicion, disbelief, and then to sad resignation. "In return, he wished for his Master to live in Arda. He wanted you to have a life worthy of the demanding duty of being Death's Master. He brought you to us so that we may fulfill our promise."

Harry was by this time incredibly angry. So many people deciding things for him without consulting his opinion. He had grown out of standing idly by while other planned out his life when he had died at seventeen! He was not going to get back into the habit! "Send me back! I don't care what you promised that bloody asshole! It's my life! Send me back!" He was trembling with rage at the injustice of it all, fists clenched at his sides as he glared at Nienna.

Brown eyes filled with even more pity, "We have no jurisdiction outside of Arda, little one. We could not send you back even if we so wanted." Her delicate hand came up and gestured to his body. "My brothers and sisters and I have instead given you all that you require to prosper in your new home—"

He cut her off immediately, "This is not my home!"

"—including the language we are currently speaking, the form of the longest lived race in Arda, and we are but a day's walk from the home of Thranduil." She continued on over him, knowing he would hear. Nienna smiled gently at him, "Your life at the hands of Men was lacking in many ways—"

"My life was just fine!"

"—so we decided to give you that which your heart desires but is too afraid to ask." She pointed to the west, "In that direction lies the closest population. Beware, little prominent one, this wood is dangerous at the best of times. I would travel swiftly."

Harry saw her turning to leave, and all but growled at her, "And what am I supposed to tell these people, if I do decide to go there? A stranger showing up out of the middle of nowhere with no story they would believe isn't going to go so well."

Nienna half-turned back to him, sad smile still in place. "Even if you tell them nothing, you will be well cared for, child. If it becomes necessary, my family and I will arrange a more believable story. Our debt to Death covers all of this and more. You are well worth the effort. Go and live, little one." Her words echoed oddly as she vanished through the trees' shadows. "A'ngell nín."

Harry's mind obediently provided the translation: 'please, for my joy' and he scoffed. Like he had any reason to please his kidnapper. But he acknowledged to himself that without provisions he would have to seek out help of some type.

A yelp echoed in that part of the forest as Harry—mind now not focused on an immediate potential threat—found that he had shrunk several inches, his body was more lithe and slender, his hair now straighter and fell a third of the way down his back. His change of clothes could be easily dismissed, but Nienna and her family had apparently also decided that without his consultation to change his species as well, for those were pointed ears on his head! Probably just like hers too.

A quick pat-down confirmed the absence of any wand and Harry had to fight the urge to groan. Once again his life had been changed without his consent and he had no choice. But just because he had no option but to go along with this 'live in Arda' business, did not mean that he would cooperate! With a turn on his heel, Harry went in the easterly direction, the exact opposite that Nienna had pointed.

Besides, in his own personal experience, when one was a bloody child (again!), one was not to trust adults. Seventeen years of trying had led to that revelation and he wasn't about to make the same mistake again. The only adults any child could rely on were their own parents.

Just his luck that his own were dead.

With a resigned sigh, Harry began to make his way through the trees, aiming for the rushing sound of water he could barely hear in the distance.

It didn't take long for the river to be visible—though longer than he thought considering the water had sounded much closer than it actually was. It was a rather large river flowing toward the west. Harry snorted at the instinct to follow the flow and headed upstream. He was not going to give in to that Nienna's suggestions.

He walked beside the river for hours. As the light began to die, he silently thanked Hermione again for her camping supplies all those years ago, and wished she was there now to provide them again. Or her pack that held all the supplies. Harry shook his head and gazed around him. He spied an old oak with a branch about the right height if he jumped and took a running head-start. A bunching of his legs and up he went into the very top branches, as close as he could get to the sky without danger of falling off.

The sun was setting when Harry allowed himself to drift off to sleep, nestled gently against the trunk at the intersection of a branch with his back to the trunk and legs stretched out, arms folded across his chest to keep his fingers warm during the night.

He never saw the branches of his tree sway against the wind, or the branches of the tree next to his, or the one beside it, all in a line to the west with as much speed as a tree can give. He never felt his tree curl a vine around him securely, or the way the trunk caved in ever-so-slightly beneath his back to form a more comfortable chair back. He never saw any of this, even though his eyes never fully closed as he slept.

King Thranduil frowned as he looked into the east. As the king of Greenwood, he had a very close connection to the forest he and his people protected. It was part of his lineage that he could understand the trees, though they mostly kept to themselves unless asked, occasionally they would voluntarily speak with him. These few times they would carry messages to him were always urgent: an army was marching onto the wood, a hard winter was coming, the animals were being turned not-of-the-forest, etc.

But this time the message was more concerning. According to the trees, an elfling was alone, without provisions or protection, and travelling in the wrong direction. The last elfling Thranduil knew of was his own son, who even now was well past his majority. No other elfling had been born for the past thousand years, in any of the Elven realms. He would have been informed immediately of such glad tidings. However, when he answered the trees message that perhaps they were mistaken, their return of haughty indignation moved him to action.

Thranduil sent a messenger to his son, who was currently on patrol, with the simple command "Follow the trees." Legolas would understand, if he hadn't been already alerted from his own connection to the forest.

Can anyone tell me who Thranduil's married to? Her name? I can't find a reference anywhere! Also, does anyone know if elves scar?

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