Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Hobbit. Even if the Hobbit is in it's movie form just for this fic.
Thanduil, no offense - but what's with your pointy crown and stag ride? Horses too mainstream for ya?
James Potter sighed… In his stag form.
Merlin knew what actually had happened during that night where Voldemort had successfully killed him. He had always thought that the damned two words of Avada Kedavra, his soul would be sucked into that blasted wand of the self-proclaimed Dork Lord (or his Death Munchers, if he was to die in one of their hands). Or perhaps beyond the Veil. He was never particularly a religious person.
He had never expected to be alive again, that was to say the least. Alive with his memories of the Potters, Hogwarts, his Lily and Prongslet intact. He wondered of the fate that should befall to his young one. Had Lily survived? Did she bring their son into safety?
Well – now he hadn't the time to be able to look for them as he had been reborn… As a stag. In the depths of Mirkwood that reminded him awfully of Forbidden Forest, only with more spiders and no centaurs or other magical creatures aside from dwarves and elves. Apparently the elves here weren't as… pitying as the House-Elves of his old home. They were like… an enhanced version of archaic muggles. They have lumos-enhanced skin, and immortal too. Come to think of it, wasn't Dorkmort's name was translated from some language that meant running from death anyhow?
Still, he mused. It was a shame that he wasn't reborn as a wizard. Not that he envied the wizards in this place, mind you. He had heard from some elves that were taking care of his herd (in their terms – but he never were particularly close with the does they had brought him to mate with; he was a human in his previous life, thank you very much! He wasn't going to mate some random, mindless deer. Ewww. His animagus form might be a male deer, but he preferred to be with his actual kind – and his wife happened to be Lily) that wizards took form of old men. He did not envy them. But then, he still have this dilemma of being a stag instead of some creature with thumbs, walks with two legs, uses two hands on daily basis and magic.
Oh, now his 'rider', that elf called Thranduil came. He had to supress a snort.
This Thranduil fellow – not very imaginative was he? Forks for some strange crown… And rode a stag, apparently. He was just as senile as Dumbledore. With his immortality, he couldn't tell how old Thrandul was. Dratted forever young creatures. Now why couldn't he be a more normal king – like, oh he didn't know, King Arthur with his crown of gold, perhaps? Or kings with crowns of some precious metal with precious gems? – instead of a bizarre one? He had seen his offspring called Legolas, and at least he was normal – well, as normal as an elf of this strange place called Arda could be, at least. Riding a horse, for one.
He just had to wonder, though. Why was he being chosen to be the dunderheaded king (as he liked to call his 'rider' in his head as he obviously couldn't speak) as his ride, was on his primary list. Why was he always stuck with idiot people, was the second one on his list.
Well – he supposed he just have to grin and bear with it. Hmm. Perhaps he should make a good time with his 'rider'? A nearby elf jumped away from him once he took a good look of his deer-grin.