Title: Strange Connections

Author: CrimsonSnowflake

Beta: hazel-3017

Warning: There's nothing explicit, nor violent in this chapter, so it is safe for everyone to read! :)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Lord of The Rings belongs to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien, all the copyrights associated with HP and LOTR belongs to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. no profit is being earned by the writer of this story.

A/N: Oh how I have struggled with this monster! I have written and re-written it several times and it was a nightmare each time! Luckily I managed to produce something worth reading and hopefully you will think it is too.

The thing I struggled the most with in this chapter was portraying Harry in a manner that was true to his personality while at the same time giving him the chance to show his grief. I feel as if I managed to do that, and I hope everyone agrees with me.

I would love to get some feedback on this chapter, so don't be shy! Leave a review and say what you think of it!

CrimsonSnowflake

Chapter 9

Caras Galadhon

Harry cried out like a wounded animal as he clawed at the arms keeping him in place, nails digging viciously into skin and drawing forth blood. He trashed violently, barely registering the arrows raining down upon them as the one holding him dragged him out of the darkness of Moria without Gandalf, his beloved Gandalf!

The sunlight was a harsh glare in his eyes, near blinding after having been without it for so long. A slight breeze caressed his face, bringing him none of the comfort it usually would. For a moment, all Harry wanted was to run back into the darkness, back to Gandalf.

Before he knew it, tears began streaming down his face as sobs shook his slight frame. His knees collapsed under him, no longer capable of carrying his weight, forcing Harry to cling onto the elf who had dragged him out of the mines. Legolas was like a rock, barely reacting when Harry buried his face in his chest, stifling the gutting sounds of his sobs into the fabric of the elf's clothing. The blond simply wrapped his arms tightly around Harry's shoulders and kept him steady, ignoring the fact that his shirt was becoming drenched.

The rest of the company was scattered on top of the mountain hill outside of Moria in varying degrees of distress. Though none of them felt the grief quite as keenly as Harry and Frodo, their eyes were all brimming with tears; both disbelief and shock lingered on their faces. None of them had thought their trip through Moria would cost them so much.

"We must move on!" Aragorn spoke, his sharp voice penetrating through their grief, "orcs will be littering these mountains by nightfall."

The man turned concerned eyes toward the rest of the group, forehead furrowing as he took in the shivering hobbits and the absolutely devastated young wizard. It pained him to rob them of the chance to rest and mourn, to deprive them of an opportunity to actually comprehend what had happened in the deep caverns of Moria. "Boromir, Legolas, help me get them up, we have to get them moving."

"Of course," Harry suddenly piped up—sounding nothing like himself—as he released his hold on Legolas and stepped away from the elf. With surprisingly steady feet he made his way over to where Frodo had collapsed, gently patting the hobbit's back. "The last thing Gandalf would have wanted is for us to get caught. It would render his sacrifice to nothing."

Harry refused to let the grief consume him; he pushed the thoughts of Gandalf to the back of his mind and focused every fibre of his being on getting down safely from the mountain. "Come, Frodo, we should get moving."

It didn't take long for the rest of the Fellowship to gather their wits, and soon enough the whole group had begun their long and tiring trek down the mountain side. Legolas' presence had never been more comforting than it was during their descent down that mountain. Whenever Harry's determination wavered, whenever his emotions seemed to overwhelm him, the elf was there, silently offering his support.

The sun shone harshly down upon them, growing hotter and hotter with every minute that passed by. Harry's mood turned darker by the second, and despite Legolas' many attempts at cheering him up, he could not keep the gloomy and heavy thoughts at bay. A dark cloud hovered above him, and his companions deemed it wise to steer clear of him—all but one.

"You know, those first couple of years you came to live with us, I always envied you and the connection you shared with Gandalf," Frodo's quiet voice spoke, having suddenly appeared right beside him. "It seemed so magical, somehow. But then, as the years passed by, I couldn't help but notice how beaten and miserable you always looked whenever Gandalf's visits came to an end. I could never figure out why that was, until now. You have the exact same look upon your face now."

"I cried myself to sleep every night for two weeks when Gandalf first left me in the Shire," Harry said, his voice hoarse and barely recognisable. "I learned to accept that I would never be allowed to go with him as I wanted, and I learned to love Bag End as a home. But that does not mean my heart was not ripped to pieces each time Gandalf appeared only to disappear. I always expected the day would arrive when he'd simply stop coming, I just never imagined it would be due to his death."

"You do know he loved you, right Harry?" Frodo's big blue eyes looked questioningly up at him. "There was none Gandalf cared more for than he did you."

"Really?" For a moment Harry's mask broke, revealing the vulnerable child hiding beneath the surface. "At times I've found myself wondering if that is necessarily true."

"Of course it is," Frodo replied fiercely, grabbing a hold of Harry's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "It was easy to see that he loved you, and you should never doubt that. Gandalf loved you more than anything in the world."

Suddenly, Harry stopped walking, and he threw his arms around Frodo, kneeling before him and burying his face in the hobbit's neck as a half-choked sob escaped him. Small arms wrapped around him and Harry could feel Frodo's small frame shaking against his own, tears dampening his shirt. A jolt of guilt flashed through him then. Frodo shouldn't have had to comfort Harry and hide his own grief when it was most likely just as great as Harry's. And so, with a deep breath, Harry pushed his own grief to the back of his mind and focused on the trembling hobbit in his arms.

In mere seconds their roles were switched.

"It's going to be all right," Harry whispered, gently rubbing Frodo's back, "we are going to get through this. Me and you, together, we'll get through this."

Before long, the Fellowship, out of breath and with trembling knees, reached the foot of the mountain and was greeted by a vast field of wildflowers spreading out in all directions, with a few trees scattered here and there. Had it not been for their previous ordeal and the many orcs hunting them, Harry would have found it an uplifting sight. But as it was, they passed through it without much admiration for the flowers or the tranquillity of the field. Only one thought occupied their mind: they had to reach the woods of Lothlorien before the orcs caught up to them.

The day passed quickly, and soon enough the sun which had kept them company for the entire day was replaced by the soft light of the moon. Darkness surrounded them and the many sounds of night—the hoot of an owl, the constant hum of crickets—filled the air. Still, they did not stop. Orcs travelled at night, Aragorn had said; to stop and rest for the night was folly, they would be captured and killed before the dawn could greet them.

Harry stumbled slightly, barely catching himself when his foot got caught on a tree root sticking up from the ground. Fatigue was sneaking up on him, a result of little to no sleep and the constant strain his body was put under. Righting himself, Harry drew his cloak tighter around his body, shielding himself from the cold night easily felt through his clothing.

"Are you well?" Legolas questioned in a quiet voice as he appeared at Harry's side once more, his blue eyes taking in the young man's exhausted features in concern.

"No, not really. I never thought Gandalf would live forever, but I always imagined he would at least outlive me." A small, trembling smiled passed Harry's lips in a flash. "It seems so unreal that I'm never going to see him again."

"You will see him again," Legolas claimed, reaching out to take Harry's hand in his, "I am sure of it. The Gods are never so cruel as to forever separate us from those we love. You shall meet again, if not in life, then in death."

"You sound so certain of that," Harry replied, taking comfort in the warm fingers wrapped around his.

"I am." It was said as if it was an absolute truth.

"Well then," Harry squeezed Legolas' hand, "who am I to say otherwise."

They continued on in silence, Legolas remaining by Harry's side and keeping him company. Soon enough, night turned into day and they reached the tree line that marked the borders of Lothlorien. It was a beautiful sight and a most welcome reprieve; Lothlorien meant safety, which in turn meant an opportunity to rest and regain their strength.

A sanctuary lay before them.

There was something to be said for the stealth of elves, Harry mused as he stared into the eyes of Haldir, Marchwarden of Lòrien. He had not seen them coming, nor had he heard their approach for that matter. The group of elves that now surrounded them—their bows and arrows pointed threateningly at them—had taken the entire Fellowship by surprise, ambushing them as they wandered through the forest. Not even Legolas had been aware of their coming, though that could partly be because he had been distracted by looking after Harry, and that he too, despite his elven heritage, was weary from their travels. Either way, they had been taken off guard, and as a result, their fate now lay in the hands of elves.

Suffice to say, Gimli was far from being a happy dwarf. He looked positively outraged at the fact that they had been captured by elves, and more than one colourful phrase had passed his lips the short time since said capture. The dwarf had not improved the elves' impression of them, and as a result, Harry could feel more than one dark glare aimed at them.

Hostility lay thick in the air as the Fellowship, led by the elves, began making their way further into the forest. Keeping to the back of the company, Harry began observing their captors. It was amazing how graceful and silently they moved, every little movement seemed so deliberate, as if it had been planned minutes in advance. It surprised him how different the elves of Lòrien were from those of Rivendell. There was something in their manner, something hardened and primal in the way they moved about that made it perfectly clear that these were elves used to living on the edge of constant danger.

"Should I be ready for a fight?" William wondered suddenly, making his presence known, his dark head peeking out from beneath Harry's shirt. "You are very tense."

"Of course I am tense," Harry drily replied, reaching up to stroke the underside of the King Cobra's head, "if it hasn't escaped your notice, we've been captured."

"Do you want me to bite them? I could you know, I could have them on the ground writhing in pain as my venom rush through their bodies before they knew it. They would be dead in minutes."

"No, save your bites for now, I do not think they wish us any harm," Harry retorted, lowering his voice as Haldir threw a suspicious glance his way.

"If you wish." In gentle strokes William caressed Harry's neck with his tail, flaring his hood and hissing threateningly at the nearest elf. "Though I will not refrain from biting if they move too close. You might think them harmless, but I still have my suspicions."

"As you always do, William." Climbing over a fallen tree, fingers burying themselves in a moist layer of moss as he steadied himself, Harry added, "Do try to keep yourself in check though; an elf falling over dead will do nothing to improve our situation."

The snake snorted, tightening his grip on Harry's shoulders and moving his head to rest at the top of the young wizard's head. With a slight hissing laughter he replied, "No, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The trees grew thicker and taller as they ventured deeper into the forest, long branches covered in green leaves reaching out in all directions in an expansive network. Soon enough they had grown so dense that the sky was hidden from view and not even a single ray of light could penetrate the many layers of leaves.

"These trees must be over a thousand years old," Harry whispered to himself as he took in his surroundings, eyes darting back and forth in curiosity, trying to catch every single detail. He had never seen anything quite like it.

"Oh, they are far older than that," a melodious voice suddenly said from his right.

"How old are they then?" Harry asked, and turned to face the elf who had spoken. He was what Harry had come to know as a typical elf. His hair was blond, his eyes a striking blue and his lithe and tall frame displayed the elegance and grace that Harry naturally expected from any elf. Despite this, Harry found him to be surprisingly ordinary for an elf. He was not as handsome as Legolas, though that could be attributed to his slightly crooked nose. Nor did he command as much attention and respect as Haldir had done when Harry had first seen him.

"No one really knows," the elf replied. He had a pleasant enough voice, Harry mused when the elf answered his question; there was something melodious and very pleasing about it. "But I can assure you they have existed for much longer than me and my two thousand years."

"Really?" Harry gifted the blond with a small smile. "How fascinating."

"My name is Cìldan," the elf introduced himself, placing his right hand over his heart and giving a slight bow, "may I have the honour of knowing yours?"

"Oh," Harry began, astonished, "why yes of course! My name is Harry."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry."

And a pleasure it was. While Harry may have originally thought Cìldan's looks and presence to be ordinary, his conversation skills were not. The most interesting of stories and facts flowed unceasingly across the elf's tongue. Cìldan had a voice made for storytelling, and Harry couldn't help but to be swept up and affected by every word the elf uttered.

Despite William's suspicious mutterings in the background, Harry stayed by Cìldan's side for the duration of their journey that day, only separating from him when they reached the tree they would be staying in for the night. With a brilliant smile and a promise to walk with him again the next morning, Cìldan was the first to start the tedious climb up the tree.

"I am not going up there!" Gimli protested loudly, crossing his arms and observing sceptically as several elves followed Cìldan's example.

"You do not have a choice," Haldir replied, raising one eyebrow as he looked at the dwarf in distain. "One way or another, dwarf, you will be climbing that tree."

"Come on, Gimli," Harry stepped, in trying to diffuse the situation. He grabbed his friend's hand and dragging him to the tree. "I'll help you."

Reluctantly, the dwarf began climbing, making a show of his displeasure by huffing and sending the occasional glare Harry's way. Smiling amusedly, Harry grabbed a hold of the first step on the rope ladder hanging from the tree and heaved himself up until he had both his feet placed securely on the step. Drawing a deep breath he slowly conquered each step, one by one, all the while making sure to keep an eye on Gimli.

The journey up the tree must have taken them no longer than five minutes, though looking at Gimli's trembling limbs and shortness of breath one would have thought it to be at least an hour. It was perfectly clear to Harry and any who bothered to look that the dwarf was far from comfortable with heights. Despite having a solid platform beneath his feet, Gimli was clinging to the trunk of the tree, refusing to look down at the ground.

It had never occurred to Harry that the dwarf might be afraid of heights. He had automatically assumed that since dwarves dealt with heights when they were mining, climbing a tree would be no problem for his friend. Clearly he had been mistaken.

"Are you all right, Gimli?" He approached the dwarf, placing his hand on Gimli's forearm to catch his attention.

"I'm all right lad; I just prefer to have my feet firmly planted on the ground, rather than in a tree." Pressing his back to the trunk, Gimli slowly slid down until he was sitting propped up against the tree, his eyes closing in exhaustion. "You'd better leave me to sleep, Harry. I am afraid I'm not any good company at the moment."

Harry hummed, moving to join Gimli against the tree and leaning against the dwarf so his head rested on his shoulder. "I think I'll stay here, I could use a good pillow for the night."

They were up early the next morning, eating a quick breakfast before climbing down the tree and continuing their journey into the forest. Apparently, sometime in the night, Aragorn had managed to persuade Haldir to bring them to the Lady Galadriel. How he had done it was a mystery, but it was evident from the manner in which Haldir was carrying himself that he had only reluctantly agreed.

The night of sleep had done Harry a load of good. His body felt completely rejuvenated, and the thought of spending the day walking did not seem as bleak as it had done the previous day. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining and a pleasant temperature—not too cool, but neither too hot. As a result, Harry's mood had improved drastically.

"I hope you haven't forgotten your promise to me?" Cìldan's smooth voice suddenly reached his ears.

Spinning around, Harry plastered a small smile on his face, "Of course I haven't! How could I?"

"Good," the elf said as he fell into step with the young wizard, "I would hate to think I made such a poor impression that you would forget me so soon."

"Forget you? Oh no, I could never forget an elf with such talent for storytelling as you, Cìldan."

"I do believe you're trying to make me blush, Harry." The elf smiled, smoothly ignoring the glare and scoff sent his way from a rather grumpy dwarf.

Harry stayed by Cìldan's side for the better part of the day, relying on the elf for conversation and company. It did not take long before they reached a small river carving the earth in two. Two, thick ropes—one stretched over the other—were tied to two trees on each side of the river as some sort of bridge. With no hesitation an elf jumped onto the lowest rope, reaching up with one arm to steady himself on the other as he swiftly made his way across the water. The rest—including the Fellowship—quickly followed and, despite some slight protests from Gimli and the hobbits, soon enough the entire group had crossed the river.

"Blindfold them," Haldir suddenly called out as he unsheathed his long-knife and moved to cut the ropes.

"What?!" Boromir protested, a suspicious look taking over his features.

"You do not honestly believe we would lead you to our home without precautions, do you?" A scathing look lingered in the elf's eyes.

"Of course not," Aragorn suddenly cut in before a conflict could develop, "we consent to being blindfolded."

"Good," the Marchwarden said before gesturing to the other elves.

Immediately they stepped forward, each holding a dark cloth in their hands. Harry stood still as Cìldan stepped up behind him, wrapping the cloth around his head and gently tying a knot. Harry's world turned black. He was immensely aware of the warm body behind him, and he couldn't help but stiffen as suddenly a strong hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Hold on to me. I will guide you."

It was an almost unreal feeling, walking through the forest while blindfolded, relying on someone else to get him safely through. Harry was far from comfortable giving up as much control as he had, but Cìldan guided him with no trouble, easily manoeuvring the young man around any obstacle.

Hours passed, and Harry could feel the air growing colder as the sun began setting. He stiffened as the group suddenly came to a halt and the blindfold was removed. Harry winced as his eyes struggled to adjust to the new light, and for a moment he was so disoriented that he barely registered the impressive sight before him.

Harry had never seen anything like it. A cluster of impossibly large trees could be seen in the distance, nearly glowing as the last rays of sun shone on it. Small glints of light could be seen through the intricate web of tree branches. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

"Welcome," Haldir's deep voice said with fondness, "to Caras Galadhon."