Chapter 5
Erestor appeared to be the love child between Snape and McGonagall. Not in looks, no. Erestor was as handsome and ethereal as any elf in Rivendell with his long, dark hair and glittering grey eyes. But his demeanour was such that Harry couldn't help be reminded of his two former professors.
"I have managed to clear my very busy schedule to teach you Sindarin," Erestor announced while Harry sat down at a small desk across from Erestor's own desk in his study off the library. "Though Eru knows it's probably a waste of my time because usually by the time the second born truly master Sindarin they are old and die."
Harry clenched his jaws and kept a polite smile on his face. He'd survived six years of classes with Severus fucking Snape, a man who truly despised him on a personal level, so he could most certainly survive one language course from a snooty, condescending elf.
Was that what Glorfindel was hoping for, that Harry lost his temper or would storm off in a childish huff? Harry was about to show that elf how good of a student he could really be even in the face of an undesirable teacher.
"We start on page one." Erestor gestured at the book he'd placed in front of Harry, together with a piece of slate and a length of chalk. Erestor stepped in front of the blackboard that hung from his wall and picked up a piece of chalk while he gave Harry a pointed look to get going.
Harry quickly opened the book and saw hand written writing and hand drawn pictures. Very simple pictures. The book they were using was clearly meant for children, but that didn't put Harry off one bit. He'd go with the flow and learn this language as best as he could.
The Sindarin alphabet was truly beautiful, it had to be said. Bilbo had made an effort to teach Harry how to write Westron, and Harry had made a bit of progress with that, enough that he knew the entire Westron alphabet and could read and write at least the more popular words in that language. But the Westron alphabet was clunky and rough compared to the Sindarin words Harry saw on the page.
The first word he learned was the Sindarin word for mountain, which was amon. Erestor wrote it on the blackboard and Harry copied it carefully on his piece of slate. Then Erestor had Harry repeat the word amon many times until he seemed satisfied with Harry's pronunciation. Or as satisfied as an elf like Erestor could ever really be.
The second word was forest, which was eryn. Then came star, which was gil. And then came a few more words while Erestor kept a careful eye on Harry's piece of slate and his admittedly poor writing of the Sindarin words. It just took some getting used to, especially writing with chalk on a piece of slate.
Once Erestor gave Harry his twentieth disapproving look at his poor writing, Harry sighed, picked up his backpack and fished out the notebook and self-inking quill he'd been using for Bilbo's Westron lessons. Without saying anything, he opened it up to a clean page and quickly wrote down the Sindarin words he'd learned so far, with both the English and the Westron words behind them.
Erestor stared at Harry in absolute horror, as though he was seeing him transform into an orc in front of his eyes. "Why are you wasting paper like that?"
Harry blinked and looked up in confusion. "I write better with a quill," Harry explained, unsure why Erestor was looking at him like that. "And this way I keep a book of what I learn and I can read it again. I did the same when Bilbo was teaching me Westron."
Erestor sniffed and shook his head. "I knew the second born could be wasteful but this is unheard of. Using paper to learn how to write."
Harry shrugged and went back to writing in his notebook. Erestor apparently forgot Harry was a wizard who could easily transfigure just about anything he wanted into more notebooks. He'd never run out of paper. Or perhaps people hadn't actually told Erestor who and what Harry was, seeing as Erestor also assumed Harry was mortal.
Oh well. Not Harry's problem. He was there to learn the language, nothing more.
After an hour and a half, Erestor sent him away, telling him to come back the next day after the midday meal. Apparently Harry was having daily Sindarin lessons for the foreseeable future, not that he minded. Yeah, Erestor was a bit of a demanding arse, but Harry truly wanted to learn the language so he was happy to put up with one arrogant teacher.
"Can I take the book with me?" Harry asked, holding up the Sindarin language book he'd been using.
Erestor gave him a look as though Harry had asked him if he could murder Erestor's only child right before his eyes, so Harry quickly put the book down again and left the study in a hurry.
Inside the library, Harry ran into Bilbo, who was seated in a comfortable chair with a large book opened in his lap. "How was it?" Bilbo demanded, closing his own book at once.
"Not bad," Harry said, showing Bilbo his progress in his notebook.
Bilbo nodded as he read the words and then gave Harry an encouraging smile. "You must give me the notebook during our meals and I will test you on your vocabulary."
"That would be great, thanks!" Harry left Bilbo soon after because his head was full and he wanted some fresh air. So he made his way back to his bathhouse and sat down on the floor, just letting his head empty for a moment while he breathed deeply in and out.
Staying in Rivendell had been a dual experience so far. Some of the elves genuinely seemed to like him and appreciate his magical efforts, but others were condescending in their opinion of humans or turned out to be just plain bullies like Glorfindel.
Still, Harry had a home, for now, and there were people who wouldn't age, and that was all Harry could hope for so soon in his stay in this whole new world.
With his head much calmer, Harry released one last, deep sigh and got back to work on adding built in bathing tubs to all the individual rooms on the first floor.
The bells announced that the final meal of the day was served and it genuinely took Harry by surprise. The time had flown by while he was working and he hadn't even noticed his stomach growling as the day progressed.
The meal consisted of leftover stew, bread and cold cuts, with more of the yoghurt, dried fruits and sweet nuts as a dessert. Harry loaded up his plate and joined Bilbo as usual. He told Bilbo about his new bathhouse, which was apparently news to Bilbo. The hobbit immediately had a thousand questions and Harry promised to give him the full tour the next day. At this point Glorfindel sat down next to Harry, much too close as was polite and deliberately bumping Harry with his elbow. Harry bit back a vicious reply, rolled his eyes much to Bilbo's amusement and kept eating as though nothing had happened.
After the meal most people gathered in what Bilbo called the hall of fire, which was a large gathering space with lots of chairs, small tables and a huge fireplace, which was currently unlit since the temperature was mild as it was early summer.
A few elves had brought instruments, like small harps and flutes and they played music. Various elves would join in, singing the songs in their native tongues.
It was truly beautiful music, even Harry had to admit that and he knew nothing about music in the first place. Back in the wizarding world Harry had barely listened to music, muggle or magical. He much preferred to listen to a Quidditch match on the wireless whenever he wanted some background noise. And the Dursleys hadn't been the type to have the radio on all day either, so Harry hadn't even grown up listening to muggle music.
But the elven music seemed almost magical and at once a sense of peace came over Harry as he sipped a cup of herbal tea, seated beside Bilbo on a small bench.
"Lovely, isn't it?" Bilbo said, his eyes suspiciously bright. "It's one of the reasons I wanted to visit Rivendell again. The elven music can heal your soul like nothing else can."
Harry swallowed and nodded, suddenly too emotional to speak. The music truly did touch your soul, and Harry's soul had always been a battered one, thanks to Voldemort's horcrux and the loss of his friends. He shared a small, watery smile with Bilbo, who looked just as emotional as Harry felt and together they sipped tea and listened and slowly, very slowly, they healed just a little bit.
And that is how Harry spent his first week in Rivendell. He slept in his nice suite, he joined Bilbo for all the meals in the hall where Bilbo tested his progress in learning Sindarin, then he spent his mornings in the kitchen doing whatever work that needed doing and quickly becoming Gaeven's favourite person in the whole world. In the afternoon Harry spent an hour or two enduring Erestor as he slowly learned more and more Sindarin, and afterwards he was free to spend a few hours working on his amazing bathhouse, which was coming along nicely. Evenings were spent in the halls of fire, listening to music or chatting with Bilbo, Gaeven or Raithon, who all were happy enough to spend an evening speaking Westron with their newest resident.
Meanwhile, Glorfindel kept up his subtle bullying and it cost Harry more and more effort to not explode in his fucking face, because he had no idea why Glorfindel singled him out like that every single day. He hadn't done anything to that elf, aside from healing his fucking horse.
It all came to a head in the hall of fire, when Harry had been in Rivendell for nine days and was enjoying himself a great deal.
The elven musicians had just finished playing a beautiful song that Harry had enjoyed like usual. He was even starting to recognize certain Sindarin words in the lyrics that he knew the meaning of, which was nice.
"Wizard," Glorfindel called across the room from where he stood with a group of elves Harry didn't know. Glorfindel gestured at Harry with his cup of wine. "Sing us a song of your people."
"Er…" Harry gave Bilbo an alarmed look, but Bilbo only smiled in encouragement.
"Go on," Bilbo said, looking as though he, too, would love to hear Harry sing.
"I know no songs," Harry managed to stutter, truly feeling like he'd suddenly been placed in front of a firing squad. "I cannot sing."
This was met with lots of whispers and looks of absolute pity. Apparently to the elves not knowing songs or not being able to sing was on the same level as being told you had an incurable disease and you were on your deathbed or something, given their extreme reactions.
Glorfindel sniffed and shook his head, as though he'd expected just such incompetence from Harry and he wasn't in the least bit surprised.
And Harry had enough. He was just fucking done. He'd put up with over a week of constant bullying and belittling while he'd done absolutely nothing to deserve it. Harry sprang to his feet and was about to rush towards Glorfindel to give him a very detailed piece of his mind when Gaeven stepped directly in his path.
"Come, walk with me," Gaeven said, putting his hand on Harry's arm and leading him to the open doors and out onto the veranda. Raithon hurried after them while he glanced over his shoulder as though to make sure no one had noticed anything amiss. Bilbo was there as well, naturally, because that hobbit wasn't about to miss any drama, even if he had to run to keep up with the rest, his pipe trailing clouds of smoke after him.
"I'm sick of it," Harry grumbled when Gaeven came to a stop under a large beech tree in the adjoining gardens. They were surrounded by trees and plots of flowers and the darkness kept them quite well hidden.
"I understand your frustration," Gaeven said with a slow nod. "But you must understand that Lord Glorfindel is testing you for very good reasons."
"What reasons?" Harry hissed, doing his very best not to take his anger out on an elf who didn't have anything to do with Harry's burning rage. "I've never done anything to him."
"Raithon, perhaps you should tell the tale," Gaeven suggested to their companions. "You are the historian, after all."
Harry glanced at Raithon in surprise. So far he'd sussed out that Raithon was an assistant of sorts of both Erestor and Elrond, and delivered messages for them, as well as took care of some correspondence. Harry hadn't realized until that moment that Raithon was also apparently an official historian.
Raithon briefly closed his eyes. "Let's see how best to tell this tale without it taking hours." Raithon narrowed his eyes as he stared at Harry. "Once you have enough of an understanding of Sindarin, you must read some of our history books. I will make you some recommendations when that time comes."
"Thank you," Harry said with a solemn nod, his anger having subsided for the most part now that he was about to get some answers. "I was already planning to learn your history."
"Good." Raithon drew in a deep breath and seemed to gather his thoughts for a moment. "I'm leaving a lot out, mind you, but this will explain Lord Glorfindel's behaviour. In the first age, there was a Dark Lord who waged war against all the free people. The elves, the dwarves, and the men of Middle-Earth. His name was Morgoth, and his most trusted lieutenant was named Sauron, who was very powerful and almost all feared him in his own right.
"Morgoth was defeated after a great battle that lasted many years and that broke the land. Sauron fled before he could be brought to justice. The second age dawned and for a time the people of Middle-Earth knew peace."
Harry listened attentively, fascinated by what he was hearing. He'd already guessed that the elves had faced some very powerful enemies in their past, if the many murals of battles that Harry had seen so far were any indication.
Raithon brushed some of his silver hair out of his face and continued with a faraway look in his grey eyes. "I was born in the second age, in Lindon, where Lord Elrond lived as an advisor to our ruler, the High King Gil-Galad. One day we learned that a powerful being calling himself Annatar, Lord of Gifts, had come to Eregion, where Celebrimbor ruled, who was a descendant of some of the greatest elves that ever lived. Gil-Galad didn't trust this Lord who had shown up out of the blue, performing great magical feats for the benefit of all."
Harry inhaled a sharp breath, already seeing where this was going and what it had to do with him.
Raithon gave Harry a knowing smile as he continued. "But Celebrimbor did accept Annatar and his gifts and together they created many powerful artifacts for Celebrimbor was a gifted smith. Then Annatar finally showed his true face."
"It was Sauron, wasn't it?" Harry guessed with a resigned little sigh.
"Indeed it was." Raithon waited a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. "Many battles followed as Sauron made war against everyone, and Glorfindel fought in most of them. Eregion was laid to waste, and Celebrimbor was tortured and killed by Sauron himself. Finally, at the end of the second age a great battle and a long siege followed that saw Sauron defeated for a long time. But of late he has been stirring again in the east as we've recently learned. And then suddenly you show up, with your wondrous magic."
Harry ran a tired hand across his face. Now he understood. All too well, even. "How can any of you ever trust me?" he asked, more to himself than to his companions.
Gaeven snorted and gave Harry an amused little smile. "My parents were born under the light of the two trees and crossed the grinding ice following Fingolfin. I was born in the first age when Fingolfin was our High King, and I was there in Eregion when Annatar arrived. I have seen him with my own eyes." Gaeven leaned a little closer to Harry, eyes sparkling with mirth. "Sauron would never have sliced a mountain of onions, with or without magic."
Bilbo threw his head back and laughed at that, and Harry couldn't hold back a chuckle either.
"I am no famed elf lord," Gaeven said, righting himself again. "But I have seen the enemy, and I have fought the enemy many times. And I can tell your intentions are benign, Harry Potter."
"You have to understand," Raithon added with a sympathetic curve of his brows. "Glorfindel is the Captain of the Guard. He is our greatest warrior and he is responsible for Rivendell's safety."
"Yeah, that makes sense." Harry shook his head, finally understanding why Glorfindel seemed to have it out for him personally. Glorfindel was pushing Harry, sometimes literally, to see his reactions. To draw him out. To see what he would do once he got angry enough. Harry had made it to Head Auror before he quit and went on to teach at Hogwarts for many decades, so he understood that sense of responsibility all too well.
So while Harry couldn't blame Glorfindel, he did want his bullying to stop. Frowning, Harry thought about how he could accomplish that. Perhaps he should be honest about some of his own history in return, so others might understand that Harry would never, ever side with any Dark Lord.
"Wait here a moment," Harry said, turning on the spot. He all but ran back to the building, where Glorfindel stood in the opened doorway, sipping wine and pretending not to eavesdrop. Harry had learned that elves had exceptionally good hearing so he was sure that Glorfindel had heard every word.
Harry gave him no time to speak. "Come with me." Harry grabbed Glorfindel's wrist and gave him an unforgiving yank so Glorfindel had no choice but to follow Harry or he'd fall flat on his face. Harry hauled the elf back to his companions.
"You will listen," Harry said, raising a finger when it looked like Glorfindel was about to tell Harry off. "After I'm done you can yell at me."
Glorfindel still didn't seem convinced as he narrowed his eyes, but then Gaeven said, "Let him speak. Hear him out."
The two elves shared a few looks that Harry couldn't make any sense of until Glorfindel finally gestured at Harry to carry on.
Raising his hair up with a hand, Harry turned his face towards Glorfindel. Even though his scar had lessened over the years, it had never gone away entirely. "A Dark Lord gave me this scar when I was one year old, after he killed my parents. He used the foulest of magic that should have killed me instantly, but instead it made a bond between us. His name was Voldemort."
Bilbo inhaled a shocked breath as he stared up at Harry with worried eyes.
Harry had no intention of mentioning the horcruxes, unsure even how to explain them in Westron, but he could explain most everything else. "We met again when I was eleven, when he offered to bring back my parents if only I sided with him. I told him no and he attacked me. I barely survived. For years after that he tried to kill me. He killed many people I loved. Finally, when I was 17 there was a huge battle and my teacher, who was old and wise told me that the only way for Voldemort to die, was for me to die as well. The bond between us was keeping him alive."
"Harry, no," Bilbo said, clearly overcome with emotions as he placed a comforting hand on Harry's forearm. Glorfindel's expression in the meantime had become utterly unreadable.
Harry swallowed. "So I walked to my death. Faced Voldemort without a wand and he cast his foul magic on me. This time it worked. I died."
Gaeven muttered something in Sindarin that Harry couldn't understand while Bilbo looked ready to burst into tears.
"But I was told I could go back, finish the job. So I did." Harry shrugged while he glanced down at his feet. He hated having to recount these events, even if they had happened a long time ago. He'd just never been happy to draw that kind of attention to himself. "I killed him, and a few years later I noticed that I wasn't aging. Everyone around me grew old and died and I still look the same as I did the day I died."
Harry took a few steps closer to Glorfindel, standing toe to toe with him while he glared up at the elf, letting a bit of magic pool in his eyes, knowing they must almost be glowing green. "I know you probably don't believe me, but understand this. Even if Sauron came to me and offered me anything I desired, even to bring all my loved ones back, I would tell him no and I would spit in his face while doing so. And then I'd fight him with everything I have."
Glorfindel blinked very slowly, his face still a mask Harry couldn't make sense of. Everyone else remained quiet while Harry and Glorfindel stared into each other's eyes, neither one looking away or even speaking.
Finally, Harry had enough of that particular challenge, or whatever the hell Glorfindel thought he was doing. "If you want me to stop using magic around here, I will."
"Now, now," Gaeven said quickly with an alarmed look on his face, probably worrying about having to slice onions by hand again. "Don't be hasty, Harry."
Harry ignored him. "If you want me to stop building the bathhouse, I will."
Someone cleared their throat behind them and when Harry looked over his shoulder he saw Elrond standing there, Erestor, Elladan and Elrohir by his side.
"I should warn you, Glorfindel," Elrond said, looking rather amused, much to Harry's relief. "That most inhabitants of Imladris know about Harry's project and should you demand Harry not finish his bathhouse, you will have a riot on your hands."
"Yes, you will," Elladan said in a flat voice while Elrohir gave Glorfindel a mutinous glare.
Glorfindel took a step away from Harry, holding up both hands in a sign of surrender. "I won't make those demands." He briefly shared a look with Elrond. "But I do expect you to run any new magic you plan on using here past me first."
"Fine," Harry said, crossing his arms and giving Glorfindel a bit of a mulish scowl. "As long as you stop angering me." Harry didn't know the Westron word for bullying, if it even existed at all. "Not just Dark Lords would become enraged if you push them enough. It also goes for normal people like me."
"Very well," Glorfindel said with an utterly innocent smile on his face, that enormous arse. "I will stop pushing you around as long as you report your magic to me."
"Done." Harry quickly glanced at Elrond, who seemed more than pleased with these results.
"How long until the bathhouse is done, Harry?" Elladan asked with an eager smile. Elrohir immediately smiled in the exact same way as his brother.
"Not very long, a week at the most. I am adding laundry facilities as well, so it's taking me a bit longer," Harry said, at once in a much better mood now that he could talk about his pet project. He truly enjoyed creating a bathhouse from scratch like that and he couldn't wait to see people's reactions.
"Laundry facilities?" Erestor asked with a frown. "Whatever for?"
"Because washing your dirty sheets in cold water is not nice," Harry said with a bit of venom in his voice, offended on behalf of Rivendell's washers. "It hurts the hands."
Erestor huffed while he gave Harry a look as though he was talking gibberish.
"Well, let us return and enjoy the rest of our evening," Elrond said diplomatically before a whole new fight could break out, this time concerning the laundry.
Harry was interested to see, though, that there was a very real class difference between certain elves and where they stood in society. Gaeven was a very old elf, apparently, who'd fought in many battles, yet he worked in the kitchens. He was one of the elves in charge there, sure, but it was still manual labour. Raithon, who was younger than Gaeven, had a higher position as assistant to a couple of Elf Lords.
Once he knew enough Sindarin, Harry was determined to work his way through the entire library to learn everything he could about elves and their history so he'd hopefully gain a better understanding of the society he now lived in.
Just as they all trooped back to the hall of fire, a new figure emerged from the shadows. It was an old man with a large hat, carrying a long, wooden staff.
Bilbo perked up and cried, "Gandalf!"