Chapter Twenty-Two: Of Revenge and Regret

Disclaimer: I do not own the works of Lord of the Rings, this belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, or the works of Harry Potter which belongs to J.K. Rowling. Any familiar dialogue or scenes belong to their respective owners.

A/N: Hey so here's the next chapter as promised! I also want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews/comments I got on my last chapter. You guys are amazing!

I hope you all enjoy this next chapter! Much love!

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To the south of Lórien, where the Fellowship were preparing to leave for the next leg of their journey, was Isengard. Orthanc Tower was once one of the greatest marvels of Middle-Earth. Trees bordered Isengard and its gardens once held unique flowers which grew nowhere else in the world. Four convolutedly sculpted fountains stood at the four corners, portraying the gods of old and white stone paths were arranged perfectly to permit one to walk through the gardens and appreciate the beauty around them.

However, when the White Wizard, Saruman, fell to the darkness and assurances of power offered by the Dark Lord, Isengard became a hollow shell. It was nothing more than a fiery black maze of caverns which twisted and turned beneath the Orthanc Tower. A smoking cavern full of factories and mysterious contraptions which Orcs worked day and night to craft armour and weapons for the crossbred army being produced for Sauron.

Up in the tallest chamber in Orthanc Tower, Saruman the Wise sat upon his chair as he eyed one of the newest Orc-Goblin breeds which had been born. Saruman had christened these vile creations with the name "Uruk-Hai" and he smirked at the naked, deformed monstrosity standing before him.

Saruman stood from his chair and moved towards it. 'Do you know how the Orcs first came into being?' he questioned it as he circled it like a predator would circle its prey. 'They were Elves once. Taken by the Dark Powers, tortured and mutilated. A ruined and terrible form of life,' Saruman divulged, halting and staring at the Uruk-Hai with pride. 'And now perfected. My fighting Uruk-Hai, whom do you serve?' he questioned it.

The Uruk-Hai let out a guttural rasp. 'Saruman,' it said, a malevolent gleam in its eyes.

Saruman smirked before nodding to one of the Orc slaves. 'Take Lurtz below and make him ready,' he ordered before turning away from them.

The Orc nodded and took Lurtz to the caverns below where he was swiftly outfitted with armour; a breastplate, leg guards, and a helmet. A sword was thrust into his hands before he was shoved into a crowd of Uruk-Hai who were smearing themselves in white paint during a sinister ritualistic ceremony. The White Hand of Isengard appeared smeared on bodies, faces and armour.

Saruman observed this from his chamber in Orthanc Tower before addressing the crowd of around two hundred fully armed Uruk-Hai. 'Hunt them down. Do not stop until they are found. You do not know pain. You do not know fear. You will taste man-flesh,' he said, basking in the cheers from the underlings below.

The White Wizard grinned as Lurtz was brought back into the chamber, fully equipped and armed for what Saruman had planned. 'One of the Halflings carries something of great value. Bring them to me alive and unspoiled,' he commanded indifferently and Lurtz growled eagerly. Saruman turned away before glancing back over his shoulder. 'Kill the others,' he added as an afterthought.

Lurtz smiled a smile so contorted and appalling to behold at these words that it would have sent a chill down the spines of even the bravest and fiercest of men. Lurtz headed to the front of the army, leading the mass of Orcs out of Isengard as they made their way to complete the mission Saruman bestowed upon them. They proceeded rapidly across the lands, their powerful legs bearing them at great speed.

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Somewhere far in the future...

A black fortress stood on a secluded island off the coast of England, concealed by those who did not already know where it was. Millions of people in the world could not even fathom the horrors of what lay within the fortress or of the twisted hulk of a man who sat upon his throne made of the bones of people he had killed in his life.

The Dark Lord, Voldemort, tapped his skeletal fingers against the arms of his chair, a scowl etched upon his snakelike face. He blew out an infuriated breath through the slits he had for a nose as he waited impatiently for Wormtail to return with Lucius.

In front of him was a stone pedestal, the branches of a tree carved into the side with runes appearing at the ends. In the curved surface of the pedestal was another rune which glowed dimly in the clear water. Voldemort knew he was missing something for the pedestal only revealed to him snippets and fractured views of what he needed to see.

Voldemort had assumed an ancient magic was at work with the pedestal, but he had recently discovered who it had belonged to. Imagine his astonishment when he found the owner to be none other than Helga Hufflepuff, but she had done well to withhold most of the knowledge pertaining to its function. He had no influence over what he could and could not see, which was not only frustrating but served to infuriate him beyond belief.

Voldemort, in his travels, had learned much about runes, symbols, languages of old and relics of myth and legend, but this pedestal was beyond anything he had come across. He had his followers bring him ancient books, scriptures and scrolls which may give an inkling to its true function, but he had come up empty-handed save for a single book. The runes were also a mystery to him, having never seen them before in his long life.

Even combining the Water of Alatáriel with the pedestal yielded few results and he deduced something was missing from the pedestal itself. He knew it had something to do with the water and the rune which glowed faintly, as if mocking him, but he had yet to find the solution.

'We have found a curious object, my Lord,' Lucius declared as he entered the room with a cowering Wormtail in tow.

Voldemort did not even grace them with a scowl or response, but merely raised his hand to provide them the permission they required to approach him. Lucius bowed his head and offered a silver bowl to Voldemort who took it interestedly. He examined it, turning it over in his white hands until he detected the silver bottom under the rune in the pedestal. There was no bottom to the silver bowl, just a hole where something may sit. Curious, he raised his wand, returning the water back to the glass bottle. He positioned the silver bowl into the curved surface of the pedestal, only a little surprised to find it was a perfect fit. He shielded his eyes as the rune shone brilliantly before settling.

Fascinated, Voldemort poured the water into the basin and this time it was much clearer than before. He smirked and ordered everyone out of the room except for Lucius and Bellatrix. He reached for a book which had been the diary of Helga Hufflepuff. It was the only book he had uncovered which alluded to any knowledge on the pedestal. There were several depictions of the runes set in specific orders and he had presumed that they would do something if he touched them, but he could not be sure. The diary was penned in a dialect he had never seen before and translating it was taking longer than he liked.

Regardless, Voldemort sensed he was closer to determining what the pedestal could be utilised for other than just a scrying tool.

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Draco inclined against a tree next to the river, his arms crossed. The sun was already high in the sky and he still hadn't found Galadriel. He had talked to some of the Elves, trying to discern where she was, but had received no specific answers. Only one Elf told him to wait by the river.

Sighing, Draco pushed his hair out of his eyes before staring back at the calm waters. The mists of morning lay heavily along the river, obscuring it and making it nearly impossible to see anything in the distance. Bare-branched trees arched through the fog and stray beams of light fell on the cold, blue water.

Draco shook his head, about to give up on finding Galadriel at the moment, but when he glanced once more to the river, he detected something appearing out of the mist. He raised an eyebrow when he realised it was an elegant boat, carved in the likeness of a swan. Galadriel was on the boat and it approached the bank gradually as if it had a mind of its own. She stepped out of it gracefully and almost floated over to Draco who blinked at her.

'Master Draco,' Galadriel greeted, inclining her head to him. 'I am delighted you were able to meet me on this fair morning,' she said, smiling at him.

Draco blinked again. 'Clear cut instructions on where might have been nice,' he countered through gritted teeth.

Galadriel laughed, a sound like tinkling chimes. She did not seem affronted in the least by Draco's brazen tone. 'Shall we?' she invited, moving through the trees towards the clearing.

Draco pushed off the tree and trailed after her, finding himself walking down the spiral stairs to the clearing he stomped down into the night before. In the morning light, he took a moment to assess his surroundings and found his eyes drawn to the mosaic on the ground which he didn't notice the previous night due to his one-track mind.

Galadriel walked over to the pedestal and ran her hand across the lip of the bowl before glancing at Draco. 'Join me, Master Draco,' she summoned, waving him over to the pedestal.

Draco swallowed thickly before moving towards the pedestal cautiously, ogling it as if it would attack him at any minute or Voldemort would emerge from it. Upon closer scrutiny, he found it was not as daunting as he thought. 'I cannot decide if it is impressive or disconcerting,' he muttered, frowning and crossing his arms.

Galadriel tilted her head and narrowed her eyes slightly. 'You appeared fearful of my mirror, Master Draco,' she coaxed, gazing at him with intense blue eyes.

'My father was hunting for your mirror in our time. The Dark Lord had need of it,' Draco replied pensively, rubbing the back of his neck uneasily.

'Do you know what his intentions were for it?' Galadriel asked gently, glancing down at the mirror with a frown.

Draco was thoughtful for a moment, but then shook his head. 'No. My father never told me anything about it. I… overheard him discussing it with my aunt Bellatrix. Something about it being vital to the Dark Lord and that they had to find it quickly before he lost his patience,' he answered guiltily, grasping how foolish it was for him to dash down here and attempt to destroy it without even understanding the facts.

'I see,' Galadriel replied, clasping her hands together in front of her. 'The mirror permits one to see visions of the past, the present and the future. Past concepts are set in stone, but the present and future are ever-shifting from each instant to the next,' she described, running her fingers over the green rune which glowed for a moment.

Draco frowned. 'Is that it?' he inquired, crossing his arms.

Galadriel's lips twitched. 'Not exclusively,' she replied, leaning down and touching the runes on the pedestal which began to glow, and Draco took a step back nervously. 'These runes have several functions, some of which I do not know myself. I am still in the process of discovering them myself. Nevertheless, if Tom Riddle has unearthed any writings on it then he may yet know its potential,' she told him, standing back up and eyeing him worriedly.

'So… there is a possibility that one of the functions will allow him to come here?' Draco asked apprehensively, eager to take out his wand and obliterate the damn thing before it doomed them all.

Galadriel raised her eyebrows. 'I cannot discount the prospect, but what will be, will be, Master Draco. Particular events are already ordained and cannot be altered. Tom Riddle's life and timeline is already a certainty. Every deed he makes has been predetermined in the tapestry of fate,' she responded with a small smile, but Draco was not overly thrilled with this answer.

Draco crossed his arms. 'But… if I was to destroy this mirror… surely he can't use it in the future?' he questioned with a frown.

Galadriel tilted her head. 'Can actions such as destruction make the possible unfeasible? It may hinder him, certainly, but it would not impede him from what he aspires, Master Draco,' she countered, shaking her head deliberately.

'So, regardless of my actions, it's not necessarily a fact that things will change?' Draco inquired, quickly comprehending that this also extended to the actions they would make in the past.

Galadriel nodded. 'Only specific feats will trigger a chain effect to ripple down the timeline and alter the outcomes of history. Destroying my mirror would have an ambiguous effect because it can be restored,' she replied and Draco sighed as he understood the implication of what she was informing him.

'Right,' Draco murmured with a sigh and ran a hand over his face resignedly.

'Do not let this trouble you, Master Draco. There is no assurance of Tom Riddle finding himself in this age. Until it transpires, naught can be accomplished to counteract it,' she answered, shaking her head.

Draco frowned broodingly and gazed at Galadriel. 'Have you seen him in the mirror?' he requested curiously, wondering if she had some insight into what Voldemort was after.

Galadriel shook her head. 'Nothing of note. I have always known he encountered the Ring in your future, yet the particulars of what came after became shrouded,' she answered kindly, frowning down at the mirror.

Draco nodded before reaching up to move his hair out of his face as it fell into his eyes. 'There was one other thing I wanted to discuss with you,' he said timidly as he stared down at his hands.

'What is it you wish to know?' Galadriel invited, her eyes glittering as if she already knew.

Draco glanced up at Galadriel with a frown. 'I need to know who I am. When I arrived in Lothlórien, it was like the Elves knew who I was. They bow to me, they treat me like someone to be worshipped…' he trailed off, shaking his head and closed his eyes. 'I was able to understand the lament they sang for Gandalf, but I have never comprehended Elvish before… so why?' he choked out, his voice shaking and he clenched his fists firmly as he opened his eyes and stared into her blue ones.

Galadriel tilted her head, a radiant smile spreading across her lips as she opened her mouth to answer…

oOoOo

'Nín mellon, mani presta-lle?' a voice solicited, pulling Legolas from his thoughts and he looked up to find Haldir eyeing him curiously. (A/N Translation: 'My friend, what troubles you?')

'Haldir,' Legolas hailed, nodding his head in acknowledgment.

Haldir returned the gesture before frowning. 'Lle thia úga ha itha, Legolas,' he said, tilting his head inquisitively. (A/N Translation: 'You seem ill at ease, Legolas.')

Legolas looked away from Haldir to the stream where he and Hermione had spoken the previous night. After she had left the small clearing, he had found his way back to it and had spent the night reflecting on their conversation. It was plaguing him, dredging up questions he never imagined he would have and memories he would rather forget.

Legolas shook his head before glancing back at Haldir who was watching him silently. 'Ân ae kai en gorremad. O lyt lach alahûrod sin tella n'nir ar amin trass ten mani i esta en sina lema thel gonalas,' he replied pensively, although he knew it was only a half-truth. (A/N Translation: 'It is nothing of consequence. A lot has transpired these last few days and I worry for what the rest of this journey will entail.')

'Av-il adla vanwa mani ae ben tol ar ten mani lle gar-ava ach,' Haldir advised, glancing at Legolas who frowned at him. (A/N Translation: 'Do not fret over what is to come and for what you cannot change.')

Legolas's lips twitched after a moment. 'Fael ago, nín mellon,' he uttered as his eyes subconsciously located Hermione who was sitting next to a small pond at the other end of the pavilion, her head laying on her knees. (A/N Translation: 'Fair words, my friend.')

Haldir noticed this and a smile blossomed onto his face. 'The heart is delicate,' he whispered, bringing Legolas's focus back to him. 'Av-il ûl i nadh faun lleû baudh go mani thel gar, Legolas,' he said and tilted his head. (A/N Translation: 'Do not let the past cloud your judgement of what will be, Legolas.') 'Aena hûn dringa tariluged a tog ammen bas imrad ar nan oltha ar harch aphada. Dani'iad, aphada ân ar boe,' he said before turning and walking away towards the pavilion. (A/N Translation: 'Every heart beats differently and leads us down paths we never dreamed we would follow. Nevertheless, follow it we must.')

Legolas watched Haldir go for a moment before staring down at his hands, a sorrow clouding his eyes. He turned towards the stream, gazing up at the clear blue sky. 'Ane lle antaehad lleû hûn, nín mell Hélène?' he asked in a whisper and closed his eyes. (A/N Translation: 'Did you question your heart, my dear Hélène?')

oOoOo

Caras Galadhon was beautiful in the morning sunlight streaming through the trees, rays of light cast on the pond water glistening with every ripple on the surface. Under ordinary circumstances, Hermione would have been captivated by the radiance of the forest, but this morning found her staring into the clear depths of the pond dejectedly.

Images replayed themselves in Hermione's mind like a broken record and Galadriel's words from the night before haunted her, tearing at her mind like nails across a chalkboard. Her heart was aching, and she felt a deep-rooted guilt eating her up. She still couldn't process the notion of what her birth parents went through to ensure that she would remain protected from Voldemort. Such altruism should not warrant a death sentence. Her childhood had been nothing but happy, for which she was grateful for, but that happiness should have been reserved for her birth parents.

Why didn't they tell me? Hermione questioned heatedly, thumping her fist into the grass. She would be eternally appreciative to her parents for keeping her safe from Voldemort and making sure the wisdom of the Elves was passed onto her, but she couldn't help but feel slightly deceived. I was living a lie, she believed, tears falling from her eyes and she wiped them away irritably. She took a deep breath and shook her head. No, I need to believe they did what they had to, she told herself as she wrapped her arms tighter around her legs.

Hermione gazed up at the sky, a frown forming on her brow as the other reason for her melancholy came to the forefront of her mind. Her future was now entirely undecided, and she found herself balancing on a tightrope. No matter which way she plummeted there would be consequences.

Becoming an Elf and returning to the future meant she would lose everything as she would have to leave everyone behind to journey to Valinor. The past would hold the same outcome, but at least she would be with other Elves she had encountered and grown to care about in this age. At this thought, she glanced behind her to where Legolas was standing by the fountain talking to Aragorn. As if sensing eyes on him, he glanced over at her and tilted his head. She blinked and looked away, but still felt his curious gaze burning into her back.

Opting to be Mortal would make little difference to Hermione. She had assumed she was Mortal her entire life and imagined it would continue as it always has. This was the preferable choice because, although she would forget this time, she would still have everyone in the future. She also believed Harry and Draco would return to the future rather than stay in the past. On the other hand, should she remain in the past she would have people here, but the Elves would return to Valinor… including Legolas.

Hermione closed her eyes, unsure why this thought disappointed her more than it should. She took a deep breath, trying to soothe her worries. The image of her birth mother holding her and crooning a familiar lullaby entered her mind and she found herself singing it, in the hopes it would calm her racing mind like it did when she was a child.

'Ilia ndu nît dol ar enn glîr lle o melana,' Hermione began, not realising that a pair of blue eyes had shifted promptly to gaze at her. 'Ad a i idhrinn en loo-li lai-lay. A enn glîr lle a kaima ar enn glîr lle abarad. Galu lle yassen mela ten i malle tanya lle ia. Lotesse lle mista hae a i hae parth en haren yassen faenfîth ar aithva ls ie lleû dol ar lleû gosn. A lotesse lle baur amrad a warlen athgalu. Lotesse lle hir mîl e ilya tanya lle govad. Lotesse eller ilyamenie na glîras a tir vanwa lle. Pol gûde lle ilye vano en i lend. Pol tiria lle ar gartha lle varna tuulo ilya útha. Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay…' she trailed off, tears coming to her eyes and she buried her face in her knees.

Hermione felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she jumped, wrenched from her reflections back to reality. She peered over her shoulder to find Legolas bent down just behind her, his pale blue eyes soft but probing. She bit her lip and looked away back into the pond as more tears welled in her eyes. She didn't want him to see her like this and she felt feeble under his gaze.

Abruptly, Hermione wanted to be away from Legolas. The influx of feelings and emotions she was struggling to identify where he was concerned were too much. She staggered to her feet and took a step away from him. 'I'm fine,' she whispered, crossing her arms.

Legolas straightened and arched an eyebrow at Hermione. 'Evidently,' he replied quietly, tilting his head slightly and she could tell he didn't believe her for a second.

Hermione stared back at Legolas with a frown. She knew it was meaningless to lie to him, but she wasn't sure he was the best person to speak to about how she was feeling. Would he even try to understand? Would he even care? She questioned herself, but it seems her feet made the judgment for her as she turned to walk away.

Not knowing what unexpectedly possessed him, Legolas reached out and grabbed Hermione's arm gently, pulling her back towards him. He felt her tense as he wrapped his arms around her. 'It is easy to accuse ourselves when we lose a dear one, Hermione, but it is not your fault,' he whispered tenderly, closing his eyes as he tightened his hold on her.

Hermione closed her eyes, relaxing into Legolas but her arms remained at her side, too afraid to wrap her arms around him for fear of him coming to his senses and fleeing. She leaned into him, burying her face in his tunic and breathing him in like he would disappear at any moment.

Legolas, on the other hand, was completely terrified of the raw emotion that took over him when he identified the heartache etched so unmistakably into her face. He needed to embrace her and shield her from the world that would seek to harm her. He knew she was more than capable of looking out for herself physically, but he sought to fight the demons plaguing her mind. Even though he knew she would probably never let him.

Hermione sniffed and brought Legolas out of his deliberations. He swallowed thickly and withdrew away from her, keeping her at arm's length. She gazed up at him, smiling sadly before stepping away from him before he could have an opportunity to do so himself. She turned back to the pond and sighed. 'Thank you,' she whispered, crossing her arms.

Legolas frowned, wondering what he did to make Hermione feel like she needed to thank him, but he nodded slowly. 'Hermione…' he trailed off as she turned back to glance at him inquisitively. 'No matter how dark the night, morning always comes,' he whispered, his eyes searching hers for a moment. 'This journey is far from over. Are you prepared for what may come?' he asked, tilting his head as he gazed at her.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, I'll be fine. It was just some unexpected news…' she trailed off, looking away from Legolas and frowning at the pond.

Legolas nodded, taking a step towards Hermione and laying his hand on her shoulder tenderly. 'Do not carry these burdens alone, Hermione. Remember you have Master's Harry and Draco with you. Should the necessity arise, it may be prudent to speak with them to alleviate anything that is disturbing you,' he whispered, stepping back again with a frown. Part of him longed to tell her that she could speak to him as well, but he wasn't sure if that was sensible.

Hermione gazed at Legolas, something he couldn't be certain of flickering in her eyes before it was gone. She nodded sluggishly before moving past him towards the pavilion without another backwards glance.

oOoOo

A/N: Sorry for the shorter chapter, but if I added everything I wanted to in this one chapter it would end up as a short story in itself!

The song sung by Hermione and translated into Elvish is called "Sleepsong" by Secret Garden.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please let me know what you thought in a review!