Title: Fighting Another War
Author: CrimsonSnowflake
Warning: Not very much to warn about here.
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: It's all for you my lovelies!
"The idea of death, the fear of it, haunts the human animal like nothing else; it is a mainspring of human activity - designed largely to avoid the fatality of death, to overcome it by denying in some way that it is the final destiny of man." - Ernest Becker, 1924 - 1974.
Chapter 11:
Death of a Loved One
It occurred to Harry, as he watched Gandalf face the balrog head on, with his sword held in one hand and his staff in the other, that he had never really felt fear. He had never felt the kind of feeling that festered itself into his bones, that threatened to overtake him with its overwhelming presence. He had never experienced the kind of fear that came with watching a loved one sacrificing himself for your own well being, until now, that is. Yet, despite the devastating urge to break free of Aragorn's grip, to run to Gandalf's aid, he couldn't do it. All his strength seemed to have left him as the only thing he could do was stand and watch. Watch as Gandalf fought the terrifying monster that had revealed itself to them, watch as the bridge was split in two and yet as the balrog fell down into the abyss, disappearing from sight no comfort was brought to him. He still had the same unnerving feeling that had welled up inside him the moment Gandalf had halted and turned to face the danger that was after them. And, god damn it, he cursed himself for being without his wand, without the one thing that, perhaps, could have helped his fellow wizard.
It would seem that his instincts were, once again, to be trusted. For in that very moment, a fiery whip flew up from the deep, latching itself onto the old wizard's ankle and with a mighty wrench Gandalf was dragged over the edge, barely hanging on and keeping himself from death. Harry froze. Not a single sound, not even the slightest of whimpers, escaped his throat as the old wizard's gaze connected with his own. With horror and slight astonishment Harry realized that his beloved friend, his mentor was afraid. For the first time since he'd first met the good natured man Harry saw fright in his eyes.
And then, just as the grey haired man mouthed something to him, his grip slipped and Gandalf was dragged down into the darkness to join the balrog that was there waiting for him. The world was once again moving and a throaty scream, filled with anguish fought its way through Harry's throat and over his tongue to spill across his lips. The feeling he was now experiencing, Harry realized, was pure torment and distress and it seemed as if nothing could ever chase it away.
He didn't think, didn't speak as black arrows rained down from the sky, showering them with deathly weapons as he, along with Boromir, Aragorn and Legolas dragged the hobbits away from danger and their certain death. His movements were stiff and unnatural as he was torn between the desire to run back and throw himself over the edge of the cliff in hopes of, by some kind of miracle, saving their lost friend or do the sensible thing and look to the future and rather save the grief stricken hobbits. Honestly, it took every ounce of self-restraint in his body to keep himself from running back.
Sunlight abruptly flooded his sight, nearly blinding him with its strength and suddenness. A flush of fresh air flooded his airways, a welcome change from the heavy and old air lingering in the mines. The sky was disturbed by the presence of a couple of looming clouds that were dark and ominous simply by their looks, let alone the storm they brought with them. His whole body, his whole being felt weary as he, with a final show of strength, the last one he had in his body, heaved Sam over to a rock. He collapsed on the ground with a breathy groan, closing his eyes as he danced dangerously close to the bridge of unconsciousness. Sharp stabs of pain shot through his shoulder, the blood he'd lost served to make him dizzy and the fact that he hadn't gotten a goodnights sleep in days, maybe even weeks, this had all drained his energy out of him as quickly as a sponge sucked up any moisture around it.
He was never allowed to plunge himself into the darkness that was oblivion though, Aragorn seemingly unaffected by any of the things that had happened broke the heavy silence with two simple words. "Get up."
"For goodness sake! Allow them a moment to grieve!" Boromir's voice suddenly rang throughout the air. "Do you not think that their efforts and clear sorrow is deserving of it?!"
"I would give them the time if we had it." Aragorn calmly replied, lifting Pippin to his feet and making sure that the hobbit was able to hold himself up before turning toward Boromir. "By nightfall these mountains will be swarming with orcs, we do not have the time to grieve for the loss of Gandalf."
A choked sob sounded from Sam as Gandalf's name was mentioned. Clenching his hands into tight fists Harry's teeth latched onto his lower lip, abusing it without relent as he forced himself up from his position on the ground pushing back a whimper that threatened to escape him as he did. He swayed for a short moment after he had finally managed to stand on his own feet, fighting to keep his feet from collapsing on him. Shaking his head he straightened to his full height, thankful that the world was no longer spinning around him. He could easily, as easily as walking around with an injured shoulder was, make his way towards the hobbit that had chosen to linger away from the rest of the Fellowship.
"Frodo," He whispered, looking upon the hobbit with a sad gaze.
The small body tensed immediately upon hearing the young wizard's voice. It almost seemed as if Frodo was preparing an attack of some sort.
"Could you have saved him?" His voice sounded hoarse, as if it hadn't been unused as the hobbit refused to look at him, instead preferring to look at the scenery before them.
"I-I didn't have my…wand." Harry stated, cursing himself as he stuttered slightly.
"Answer the question," Frodo said, turning around to glare at the young man with a gaze that screamed accusations. "Could you have saved him?!"
"If I'd had my wand, then…" Green eyes flickered from the hobbit to the ground. "Yes."
Harry hated the sudden silence that stretched between them, he hated the way his voice went up a notch as he answered Frodo's question, he hated the way the world seemed to be against them and most of all he hated himself for being so weak as he was. By allowing Gandalf to die without even trying to use wandless magic he had betrayed them all, no one in the fellowship, with exception of him, could have saved him. Gandalf's death was entirely on Harry.
"So Gandalf died because you didn't have your silly wand?" It was made quite clear to Harry as Frodo approached him, rage painted across his face, that the hobbit wholly blamed Harry, that he thought Harry to be the reason why they were now one man down.
To be honest Harry agreed with him in every aspect.
"Yes."
"He trusted you!"Frodo roared. "He loved you and all you have to say is yes!?"
Chaos erupted as the small hobbit launched himself at the young wizard, flying through the air the small body connected with Harry's petite frame with a heavy thud, knocking Harry's breath out of his body as he landed on the hard ground, barely managing to raise his hands to protect himself from the blows delivered to him by Frodo's clenched fists. A pained gasp escaped him as flesh met flesh and a throbbing pain spread through his right cheek. Tears collected in his eyes as he allowed Frodo to take out his sorrow on his body, meeting the physical abuse with nothing but grunts, gasps and muffled cries of pain.
The assault was finally halted as Aragorn and Boromir dragged the furious hobbit off of the wizard, watching with confused eyes as the raven haired male lay on the ground, not making a single move to get up, as if defeated. Emerald green eyes were closed, hiding Harry's feelings from the world as his chest moved up and down in a steady rhythm.
"You didn't even try." Frodo's hoarse voice rang through the air, slamming against Harry's ear drums, despite the fact that it wasn't louder than a whisper.
"I know." His voice was dead, not a single emotion could be heard within it.
"Why?" The hobbit was defeated as he hung his head, slumping in Aragorn and Boromir's grip.
"I don't know."
Silence ruled as the fellowship made their way through a thick forest, moving around broad tree trunks, ducking as unexpected branches came in their way and looking around them with a suspicious air about them. Ever since the happenings in the mountains had occurred a tense atmosphere had developed between them. Frodo was kept in the front of the party, watched over by Aragorn, while Harry was kept at the back, accompanied by the ever faithful dwarf. A slight bruise had begun to form on the young wizard's right cheek bone as evidence of the accusations and abuse thrown at him.
They had been travelling for several hours now, moving under the constant worry that orcs and goblins could be upon them in an instant, ready to tear their intestines out, ready to spill their blood and rid the world of them. They were all worn down but they couldn't afford to take a break. If they did they would lose what little head start they had, making it even easier for the enemy to track them down. The whole day had finally begun to wear him down, the constant pain in his shoulder, the disgusting feeling of walking in clothes coated in someone else's blood and the fatigue that had settled in his very bones the moment they had exited the mines of Moria had seemingly defeated him.
His argument with Legolas and his worries about Gollum, even his thoughts about getting home seemed insignificant when compared to the happenings of the last 24 hours. In a matter of few hours a large split had been created between the fellowship and Harry and Gimli, who had decided to stay by Harry's side when the others didn't. In a way Harry felt nothing but gratitude towards the dwarf for being so good to him. Gandalf had been precious to the dwarf as well, but despite Frodo's loud accusations, that had reached the rest of the fellowship's ears, Gimli had stayed with him, supporting him when he got tired, helping him along the way when the blood loss began to get to him and giving him comfort when Frodo's piercing glares became too much. He felt pathetic at the way he leaned so fully on the Dwarf's supporting shoulders.
He was perfectly aware of the fact that Legolas had become more and more persistent, constantly trying to get close to the young wizard only to be hindered by Gimli's brusque presence. It was clear to him that the elf was trying very hard to make up for his harsh words outside of Moria and that he was beginning to grow quite frustrated when he wasn't able to do it. Something told Harry that the blond elf wasn't used to not getting his way. A sneer tainted his features as he thought of it. Perhaps it would do him some good to realize that he wouldn't always get what he wanted in life. Perhaps it would teach him a lesson and bring him down a notch. Immediately, upon thinking the thought, Harry dropped his eyes to the ground, ashamed of himself for thinking such things. For all he knew Legolas could have been raised to act in such a way, just as Harry had been raised to being submissive and to never believe that he was worth more than the Dursleys.
"They say a great sorceress lives in these woods, an Elf-witch with terrible powers. All who look upon her fall under her spell I've heard." Gimli suddenly said, breaking the silence that had lingered for so long.
"But not to worry," the dwarf said as he grabbed Harry's hand with his own. "Here is one dwarf she will not ensnare so easily!"
A small smile unexpectedly made its way onto Harry's face as he leaned slightly into his friend, "I'm sure, Gimli that she wouldn't dare to try to take on such a great dwarf like you."
Beaming, the dwarf raised his axe, allowing it to rest on his shoulder as he tightened his grip on the young wizard's hand, "Ah yes, I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox! Nothing will pass us by without my knowing it!"
And then, just as he finished his sentence a sharp arrow was notched right in front of Harry's face, gleaming in the slight sunlight as if it was eager to bury itself in the raven haired boy's head. Abruptly, the whole fellowship was surrounded by bows and arrows. Elves in all shapes and sizes, but mostly with blond hair, stared at them, some curious, while others were more hostile. Swallowing the steadily growing lump in his throat, Harry dropped Gimli's hand, moving a small step forward so he was standing slightly between the dwarf and the new arrivals.
It was no surprise that as soon as he moved most eyes settled down upon him, taking in his dark hair and his unusual green, almost glowing, eyes. One of the elves stepped forward, establishing himself as the leader as he moved uncomfortably close to Harry's stiff frame. Blue eyes curiously trailed up and down his body, taking in every single line, every single detail as the elf's nostrils flared slightly as he discreetly took in the young man's sent. A small smirk settled down upon the elf's thin lips as he turned his gaze from Harry to the rest of the fellowship.
"The dwarf breathes so loud, we could have shot him in the dark." A small thrill raced up and down his spine as the elf's melodious voice reached Harry's ears. "It is a wonder you have come as far as this."
A growl rumbled from Gimli at the insult, only to be halted as Harry lightly hit his shoulder, sending him a warning glance, it wouldn't do for them to upset the ones in front of them even further. Silence once again reigned as the blond paced back and forward, taking them all in as he seemed to consider something. Several times Harry caught the elf's eyes lingering a little longer on him than was usual, a fascinated and amused glint seemed to light his blue eyes each time he was caught. It almost seemed as if the elf was entertained by it, by him. And each time it happened it seemed as if his amusement, along with Harry's annoyance, rose.
Finally, as he finished his inspection of them, the elf spoke, "Come with us."
There was left no room for argument, an order had been issued and it was painfully clear that it was one they were expected to obey. And they did, as soon as the blond turned away from them, moving in the same direction as they had originally been heading for, they followed him, not wanting to lose sight of him when he was the one that could lead them to safety. The group would have been a strange sight to any passer bys as they moved through the forest, split into four different groups. The leader elf, flanked by two other elves were in the lead, the two men and four hobbits followed behind them as Harry and Gimli walked a short distance after them again, Legolas joined by the rest of the elves made up the rear, talking softly between themselves. It would seem that Legolas, unlike the rest of the fellowship, was welcomed and fit right in.
Moss and sticks crackled under his feet, making him feel particularly ungraceful when compared to the many elves surrounding him. He had always known that he wasn't the most refined of people, but that fact was made painfully clear when he walked in the middle of a group of elves like this. Usually he wouldn't have cared, but there was something in the way they were observing him that made him self-conscious. Their scrutinizing eyes made him want to look his best, even though he had never been one for trying to impress other people. Perhaps that was just the effect elves had on other races; their beauty and perfection were, after all, intimidating and it was only logical that, when faced with such flawlessness, he would want to look at least half as good as them.
He realized that it was a silly thing to be thinking about in their situation, but he found that it helped to move his thoughts away from the more depressing thoughts, giving him a slight reprieve from his rather dark existence. If anyone else had been in the same situation as he, he was sure that they wouldn't blame him; they would have done just as he, wanting to escape the harsh reality for just a moment and wallow in his own mind.
A small snort from his left brought him out of his own musings. Gimli, looking like a stormy cloud was hanging over his head, was grumbling, shooting glares at the elves before them as he murmured to himself 'stupid elves' and 'as if they could beat a dwarf' and such things. It was easy to say that the dwarf was still upset about the insult and how it had, in his mind, ruined his glorious appearance in front of his companions, but more importantly, in front of Harry. Gimli had never had much fondness for elves, but when they made him look like a fool in front of one of his prized friends that lack of fondness turned into loathing. The dwarf had never been tolerant when it came to looking foolish, even less so if an elf was involved, and not in the way Gimli preferred an elf to be involved in. He rather enjoyed the situation when it was they, and not him, who were humiliated. Though that wasn't a secret, it was widely known how tense the relationship between dwarves and elves were.
Harry, who, other than the elves of Rivendell, hadn't gotten a favorable impression of them, found that he was leaning more towards the dwarves' side of the conflict, agreeing with them that some, not all, but some elves could be too proud and arrogant for their own good. They didn't care much about races other than themselves and the vast amount of elves that had left the shores for the grey havens only enforced that as the truth, if they could abandon the rest of middle-earth's population for their own safety, then it was quite clear that they didn't think much of Men or dwarves. The Istari, of course, had their respect, but they were too few to be accounted for in this case. Five, with Harry in addition, wasn't a large number, after all.
The sight of a ladder hanging down from a humongous tree was enough to distract him from his thoughts on the elves. With fascination he watched as an elf, with swift grace that made it seem like child's play, climbed up the ladder without showing a single hint of finding it to be difficult. The rest of the elves, including Legolas did much the same, varying in what type of gracefulness, some radiated masculinity, while others had a hint of delicacy to them, in which they moved. It made Harry dread the moment when he would have to move up the ladder; his movements would surely seem clumsy and inexperienced compared to theirs. His only comfort was that the other mortals in his company would certainly be just as clumsy as he.
With that in his mind he took a secure hold of the coarse rope the ladder was made out of, tightening it to an almost painful degree as he carefully drew himself up from the ground, his feet dangling in the air for a short moment before he placed them securely on the steps. Methodically, he climbed upwards, drawing in sharp breaths now and then when his shoulder was jolted too much. He still hadn't gotten it looked at and the ever present danger of it getting infected lingered at the back of his mind. He would have to get it looked at during the night, he decided as he finally reached the top, reluctantly accepting the help offered to him, resulting in him being lifted up on the sturdy wood platform, only to be gently released right after.
The fact that the elf, immediately upon dropping him, stepped back as if he had some sort of transitive disease and looking in every direction other than in Harry's, made him even more uncomfortable than he originally had been. A frigid tension developed in the air as the stood there, silence ruling as they waited for the rest of the fellowship to appear, and all the while Harry was painfully aware of how Legolas had, the moment Harry had been dropped onto his own two feet, moved closer to him, standing behind him and slightly to his right, almost brushing up against him. Harry had the vague, yet strange, notion that the elf was somehow trying to keep the other elves away from him, almost as if he was staking his claim. He scoffed at the notion, it was a ridiculous thought that the blond would actually dare to do such a thing when he was perfectly aware of how Harry had reacted when he had come even remotely close to doing it. Harry was confident that the elf would realize that if he were to do so than his chance of winning back Harry's forgiveness was as good as none. It was with that thought in his head, that the young wizard dismissed all suspicions of being claimed and remained blissfully oblivious to the fact that it was, indeed, exactly that that was happening.
The first head to peek over the edge of the platform after his own was Boromir's ragged appearance, destroying the tense silence that had developed as he, with grunts and a few muffled curses, clumsily flipped himself onto the safety of the stand. One by one they joined them, some looking breathless, while others looked as if they'd done nothing more than a light walk through a park. Blankets were spread out, food was given to everyone and an almost melancholy silence stretched between them all as they settled down for the night. Whispers could be heard as the leader elf, now known as Haldir, and Aragorn stood a little away from the rest of the group, obviously arguing about something if their heated voices were an indication. If it wasn't for the fact that they were conversing in elvish and not common language, as he'd learned English was named here, he would have been able to listen in, but as it was he didn't know a single word in elvish and so it wasn't to be. Instead he made himself comfortable, wrapping his blanket around him as he leaned against the harsh bark of the tree trunk, closing his eyes as he shut the rest of the world out.
He didn't know when, but sometime during the evening he must have drifted off, falling asleep leaning against that thick tree trunk as his tense features smoothed out into a relaxed expression, for when he woke up the sun was once again shining and he was gently woken by Gimli shaking him awake. Apparently, they had reached an agreement when he had been asleep and they were now to follow the elves to speak with their lord and lady. They would be leaving the platform within an hour.
It was only when they had been walking for quite some time that Harry realized that he'd forgotten to get his injury checked on, he was paying for it with every step he took. Sweat pimpled out on his forehead, running down his right temple and across his cheek before ending its journey when it dropped from his chin. His teeth grinded against each other as he did everything he could to not voice his predicament, keeping up with the company had begun to get harder and harder now, but he wouldn't admit to a weakness, not when they were surrounded by strangers. The elves may have proven to them that they wished them no harm, but Harry still couldn't open up and bare himself by revealing his weaknesses. It would make him too vulnerable for his liking.
Breathing heavily, Harry forced himself to pick up speed, ignoring the concerned look sent his way by Gimli as he walked up alongside the dwarf. If he'd been able to look in a mirror he would have been able to see exactly how pale he had become during their journey, despite the fact that not an ounce of blood, due to the blood dried up on his wound, escaped him. It was mostly due to that fact that he'd been able to deceive his companions for as long as he'd done. The thing was that he was starting to reach his limit. His limbs were growing heavier, the metallic taste of blood had begun forming in his mouth and he felt the need for water and rest increase with every step he took. It wouldn't be long now, and he would have to toss in the towel, give up, and admit that he wasn't as strong as he wanted them to believe and go against his own pride and allow Aragorn to tend to his wound. The mere thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
In the future he would realize exactly how foolish and dangerous his thinking was, nearly sacrificing his life for his pride wasn't one of the smartest things he would do in his life, but that was in the future, not here, not now and so he continued to stupidly bite his teeth together and endure the pain. A small hand suddenly grabbed a hold of his injured arm, jerking it slightly as he was forced to stop moving, turning around he was faced with the sight of a guilty looking Frodo. A small, unnoticeable grimace discreetly flitted across his face before he abruptly covered it up, allowing the small hobbit to lead him away from the rest of the group, earning them a few odd looks on their way.
"I-I'm sorry…" Frodo said as he came to a stop, turning so he could look Harry straight in the eyes. "I didn't mean what I said when I blamed you for G-Gandalf's death, it was unfair of me and I apologize."
"It's alright." Harry choked out, averting his gaze away from the hobbit.
"No-no it's not!" The ring bearer shouted, drawing the rest of their company's attention. "You loved Gandalf just as much as I did, perhaps even more. It's not alright; it's never alright to be blamed of a loved one's death!"
By now tears were brimming in the small male's light eyes. "You should hate me for saying what I said! For accusing you of what I did, it's not alright!!"
"Do you want me to hate you?" Harry dispassionately questioned, lifting a single eyebrow skeptically.
"No…" The hobbit whispered as he suddenly deflated, not looking at the wizard for more than a single moment before looking away.
"Then don't encourage me to." Said Harry harshly, being more ruthless and unfeeling than he had intended.
Regretting his own behavior, he immediately softened his features, looking at the hobbit with gentle eyes, "All is forgiven, Frodo, don't worry about it."
The small male didn't say anything, only nodded with a tiny, hesitant, smile as he followed the young man back to the rest of their group. Things were far from being solved, but Harry found that he didn't quite have it in him to clean up all his problems. He was too worn, too tired to deal with them. The prospect of a bath and a warm bed to lie in was getting more and more tempting, much more so than staying in the wilderness while having heart to heart talks.
A hiss escaped the confinements of his mouth as a particularly painful jolt raced through his shoulder. The pain was enough for his step to falter for a small second, which, again, was enough to alert his companions of how not everything was as it should be. In an instant Legolas was by his side, keeping him from moving anymore as Aragorn approached with swift movements, a concerned glint in his usually calm eyes. Things were beginning to fall down all around him. Nothing worked out as it should have. He had failed, horribly so and as he stood there, numb as Aragorn reprimanded him and tended to his wound. Harry realized that he was beginning to get stretched, stretched so far that it was a wonder he still existed.
"How long?" Aragorn whispered to him as he smeared some sort of ointment on his wound. "How long have you been hiding this from us?!"
"Since Balin's tomb…" Harry replied as he allowed a slight wince show on his face as Aragorn abruptly put more pressure on his wound than strictly was necessary.
"What?!"The ranger roared. "How foolish can you be, Harry?! Hiding something as important as this from us isn't very wise. What if the wound had been poisoned and you fell ill because of it? What kind of a situation do you think we then would have on our hands?!"
He truly felt as if he was a child being reprimanded by his parents, the guilty and humiliated feeling that rushed through him like a great storm was overwhelming, forcing a slight blush on his cheeks as he stood there, taking it all without uttering a single syllable. This, he realized, wasn't a time for arguing. Strangely enough he realized that what he had done was wrong, that it had been stupid and dangerous and certainly not a way a responsible adult, no matter how much they would have wanted to keep their pride intact, would have acted. Yet, even though he did understand that he had been in the wrong, being reminded of it was like having a sack of feathers emptied on him when he was already covered in tar.
Complete and utter mortification.
