The Tower Chapter 4: The Golden Wood, a Harry Potter + Lord of the Rings Crossover fanfic

Harry felt the magic as soon as he crossed the border into Lothlorien. Different than his own, and different too than Saruman's had felt, all those many years ago. Different, certainly, than Sauron's. Deep and searching, oppressive in the way that all great powers are. It crawled over his skin like a caterpillar, soft and slow and tickly. It didn't seek to burrow under. It didn't try to eat him.

He let it crawl, let it know him, felt a pressing against his mind. If there was a door in his shields, this magic would be knocking, a polite facade to cover the power that sat behind it. Enough to tear his shields down he knew, but wise enough not to try. He opened them just slightly. He'd lived long enough to learn that sometimes it was easier just to give a little.

Welcome, Harry Potter, to the land of Lothlorien, the greatest of the eleven realms. It has been many years since first your name was spoken here. I have very much desired to meet you.

Harry would never be comfortable with any voice in his head that wasn't his own. It was one of the many things that Voldemort had taught him to be afraid of, and Sauron had nicely reinforced the message; clearly, they'd graduated from the same school of dark lordship. Haldir had warned him of Galadriel's penchant for mind speak, however, so many years ago when he still pretended that he believed that Harry may one day come.

My apologies for keeping you waiting, my lady. I have been… otherwise indisposed. He thought that was the most polite way to say he'd been avoiding this meeting for most of his life.

For over 1500 years? My my, you must have been busy.

Her laugh was deep and catching, and he felt himself relax slightly despite himself.

Wizards are in short supply, I'm afraid, he said. So much to do, so little time.

I've no doubt she replied. But you are here now, though not, I think, for me. You have fortuitous timing.

Harry felt her presence leave before he could answer; he'd long since realised that Haldir was not unique in his tendency toward ambiguity. He used to wonder if it came with age, but the years kept passing and he'd felt no desire to speak in riddles. Eventually, he realised it just came with elves.

He walked deeper into the forest, and it wasn't long before he heard the sound of steel on skin. Orcs screeched, but there was no sound from their attackers, and not for the first time Harry thought this world was lucky that elves were generally peaceable by nature.

He sped up, cloak trailing behind him, and soon he saw long blonde hair like a beacon in the distance. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Haldir fight, fluid and sure, a grace that would put any man to shame, but it never did stop taking his breath away.

So much so, he was almost too distracted to cast a protego in time to stop Haldir from slitting his throat.

Fortuitous timing my arse.

They stared at each other silently, Harry flicking his eyes over Haldir's form, checking for injury; Haldir just standing, staring. There was a time when he would have reached for Harry, clasped his arm in greeting at the least, but he just stared as if Harry had apparated in out of nowhere.

"Well, you're a sight for sore eyes," he said softly. It used to be an easy win, finding phrases they didn't have here. It was guaranteed to get Haldir to quirk his lips or raise an eyebrow; on rare occasions he'd laugh out loud, and once a few hundred years back he'd laughed so much he snorted, his look of shock sending Harry into hysterics.

Cat got your tongue? He thought, but didn't think Haldir would appreciate it now. Till the cows come home was one of his favourites. How long would you wait? He'd asked him once. Until the cows come home, he'd said with characteristic solemnity, and Harry had laughed it off, but they'd both known he wasn't joking.

That was a long time ago now. The look on Haldir's face suggested the cows had been home a while.

It was Rumil who broke the stand off, stepping forward to greet him. They'd met three, maybe four times since those long days in Mordor. Only in passing really, but enough that Harry could recognise him despite the passing of time. Orophin he had never seen since; he refused to leave Lothlorien, and Harry refused to enter it. Yet here he was, so if there was a competition for most stubborn immortal, clearly Orophin had won.

He wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a crowd, except the look of disdain on his face was instantly recognisable. People didn't tend to look at Harry that way anymore, the way they had when he was a skinny little boy dressed in oversized clothes. He stood straighter rather than shrunk, and he looked Orophin straight in the eyes until the elf faltered and looked away.

"Thank you," Rumil said, clear but deeply accented, "For…coming." The pause told Harry it had been a while since Rumil had used what little Westron he'd learnt, but he smiled slightly at the effort.

"Your lady has been a friend to me from afar, in her way." He replied in lightly accented Sindarin. "She has kept my secrets and asked little in return. I would not have refused her even if I wished to. And I didn't. It is time I stopped hiding, don't you think?" It was a rhetorical question, and Rumil did not respond, but Haldir grit his teeth ever so slightly.

Harry sighed and started walking into the forest, and his own mental voice, sounding suspiciously like Ron, questioned how, after all these years, he still managed to act like such a prat.

Haldir stalked out in front the entire journey to Caras Galadhon, long legs striding ahead at a pace Harry couldn't hope to match. Orophin hung back, apparently to confirm they weren't followed but more likely to avoid any expectation of conversation. It fell to Rumil to walk beside him, mostly silent but with spontaneous commentary.

He told him of the Mellorn tree, silver and gold and brought from a land long gone. Harry could feel the life in them when he drew his hand across the bark, a golden thread that laced through them, deep into the soil. The air smelt like the Hogwarts grounds in spring, and he wondered if that could really be true. How could he even remember what that smelt like? But he breathed it in and felt such a deep, forgotten desire for home that it ached.

When they crossed a river Rumil called the Silverlod, he was offered a rope for balance, but after seeing Haldir cross without a care he refused; cutting off your nose to spite your face. He could not have walked it successfully had he been a normal man, but levitation charms were surprisingly useful in these situations. He could just see Haldir in the distance, watching him with a hint of concern despite himself, and he supposed that even falling in the river would have been worth it.

"It is not far now," Rumil said, and Harry suspected he looked as tired as he felt. When he'd been found by Radagast's messenger he'd been as close to Mordor as he was willing to get, overlooking the black gates as orcs spewed out. He'd hoped the sight of it all would spark some certainty of purpose, but instead he'd dithered on the outskirts. Arrogant, perhaps, to even think about attempting to fight Sauron alone. There was a time he'd have done it though. He didn't know if it was courage or recklessness that he'd lost. The message made his mind up for him, and he'd turned and headed back to safety. Headed to here.

"Is it deserved?" Rumil asked as they walked on. Harry looked at him, confused, and Rumil looked pointedly at his brother, who was staying just within human eye line.

"You don't already know?"

"Haldir prefers to keep his thoughts to himself."

"Ah. Well then, yes, I think it is I'm afraid." Harry said ruefully.

"May I ask?"

Harry sighed, scuffing his boot and kicking a stone ahead of him. "I kept him waiting. And I made a promise that I couldn't keep. I'm not sure which is worse."

"The latter, I would say." Rumil said thoughtfully.

"Why is that?" Harry asked, grateful for any insight that may help him fix the hurt he'd caused.

"Elves do not make oaths lightly, and they break them only in death. Whereas the waiting…you have kept him waiting so very long already. What's a few centuries more?"

Harry realised that whilst Rumil may be glad he'd come, he wasn't particularly happy to see him either.

His hair always shimmered in the moonlight, white gold and endless, strands so soft they never tangled, wrapping around his fingers like silk. The sound of the waves behind them, softly stroking the shoreline. The touch of a little finger against his, cheeks so close they brushed noses when he moved. Warm breath, quick and shallow, matching his own. And he leaned forward just a little, just to feel the lightest touch of his mouth

And waking was always the same. Alone and gasping. The setting changed sometimes; the gardens of Isengard, the sun setting on Osgiliath, any of the places they'd met over the years. But the ending was set, even in sleep.

No matter who moved first, one of them always turned away.

Harry knew he was at fault for this endless dance between them; a mockery of a courtship stretched too long between two strangers. One step forward, two steps back. It was only now, when the shadow over Middle Earth had grown so dark, that Harry realised just how much time he'd wasted.

He'd had reason to hold back, to be wary, to be alone; as ever, war made it clear how little reasons mattered. And yet rather than search Caras Galadhon for Haldir, he had no choice but to spend his morning with the lady of the Golden Wood.

He'd been taken straight to a bedroom off one of the central trees the night before, told to get some rest and recover. He heard the implicit request to clean himself up and made use of the mirror and sharp knife provided to shave his facial hair down to something resembling stubble. Too close and he looked younger than he'd like, but the days when he kept a full beard in memory of Sauron's distaste of it were also gone. Haldir was too polite to say he hated it, but regardless Harry couldn't be bothered with keeping it clean. His hair, these days, stayed only slightly longer than he'd tended to keep it on Earth. All those times he'd wished it back as a kid had clearly left its mark as he'd managed to magic it to the right length through sheer force of will.

They'd left him some clean clothes, tunic and trousers, and whilst Harry felt strangely naked without his own armour- clothes, he thought it best to graciously fit in. His cloak, of course he clasped round his neck, and he didn't need anyone else to tell him that it elevated the plainest of outfits to something regal. It had grown its own aura of power, and Harry had given up trying to blend in with settlements of men.

A soft knock on the door heralded the arrival of an elf he didn't know, who bowed her head lightly and wished him good morning. Harry replied in kind, and pleasantries over they made their way onto the central staircase winding their way up until they reached a room near the top.

"I will take my leave now," the elf lady said, "My lady awaits you."

Harry thanked her, but as she made her way down the stairs he hesitated at the doorway. He'd been postponing this meeting a long time. Hesitant to get involved in elvish affairs, in the White Council; hesitant, if he was honest, to be held responsible, or to be judged and found wanting for that desire. He had vacillated between hero and hiding endlessly in his life, and he wasn't sure which way the scales weighed overall.

It was pointless, though, to pretend his path had not been leading him here regardless of how many wrong turns he'd taken. In coming here at all he'd made his choice. He opened the door.

She was everything Haldir had described; arresting in her beauty, awesome in the truest sense. In a human her long golden hair and pointed features would have had her dismissed as breakable and delicate, something to be protected and admired and subdued. But the power of Galadriel was unmistakable to Harry, and her presence had a gravitas that could not be explained by her sheer height.

He could see she was appraising him too, and he wondered if he met her expectations. Had she looked for him in her magic mirror? Seen him in his greatest moments, in his worst? He'd always suspected she'd have little luck, but he could have been wrong. And anyway Haldir kept no secrets he knew, though he'd professed that he did not share what was not asked, and it left him feeling wrong footed.

She smiled at him then, amused at his expense, and he remembered that he'd left his shields slightly lowered. He'd been warned that Lorien may relax him, but he hadn't expected to lose himself so soon.

"Ask your question, Harry Potter."

Harry looked into her eyes, and thought better of pretending he didn't know what she meant.

"Can you see me? In your mirror? I've always wondered."

"A little," she replied, "Glimpses, here and there. Your past is slightly clearer, your future mostly impenetrable even to me. I, for my part, have always wondered why that is."

She gestured him to take a seat opposite her, and even just sitting felt graceless. The experience reminded him of sharing space with Sauron more than he liked, as he'd assumed it would. Majesty is similar, whether for good or ill. He distracted himself with determining whether to answer her truthfully. The time for secrets was passing, he supposed, if they were to fight a war together.

"I hear the cloaks of Lothlorien can hide their wearer in times of difficulty," he said, which may have been taken as a strange diversion by someone less used to talking in subtleties. Galadriel's eyes sparked with interest and went immediately to the velvet cloak he had pushed over his shoulders, and he inclined his head lightly. "There are no eyes that will find me, should I not wish to be seen."

"That gives some explanation for how you have stayed so long out of mind of the White Council. Yet Curunir knew of you for many years, until one day he did not. Gandalf believed you had meddled with their minds. Is that so?"

She sounded less amused now, and Harry wondered suddenly if he'd walked straight into a trap. Mind magics were frowned upon in most societies that knew of them, memory manipulation a grievous infraction when used against others who had magic. For this reason Harry used them as a last resort and mostly stuck to humans. That time with Saruman and Gandalf was a rare exception. It was clear that she already knew the answer however, so there was no use in denying it.

"It is, and if Gandalf were here I would apologise for doing so. I was…angry, and he was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Mithrandir was ever forgiving. He would likely have considered an explanation of how you'd accomplished the feat payment enough for an apology. I note that you do not mention the other?"

"He may be a friend of yours, but I have no apologies for Saruman and I certainly have no regrets."

"I suspected that may be the case. Haldir made us aware that there may be concerns with his conduct. We had no proof, though his ego began to overshadow his purpose and he had begun to research into matters of darkness and power best left alone."

"Gaze too long into the abyss…" Harry muttered, and she looked at him, face quizzical, before it cleared with recognition.

"The dwarves say something similar, I believe. Delve too deeply into darkness, and the darkness will come to you. A warning of a more practical nature given their history perhaps, but it sings the same song."

"You are no longer allied with Saruman then?" He asked, another reason he'd avoided this place struck off the list.

"No. My preference was always for Gandalf the Grey, but Saruman was named the White by the Valar, and so the leadership of the White Council fell to him. I began to seek his counsel less, though I do not believe he didn't notice. It is no matter now. His treachery is no longer in doubt. He has betrayed his order and all of Middle Earth. Even now he builds his army to war against his mortal neighbours. He has no care for past loyalties."

"Did you call me here to fight him?' Harry asked intently.

"I hope it may not come to that, though Gandalf has fallen and may not return, and so it may fall to you, in the end. No, I called you here because the time has come for all those with strength in Middle Earth to take a stand. But many have their own people to defend, and Mordor will bring battle to their own lands. Some, like your friend Tom Bombadil, no longer have the inclination to leave their borders, and have little power outside them besides.

In reality it is men who will be relied upon to hold back the darkness, and they become weaker with each generation. Their chances of success are lower than I would admit outside these walls."

Harry sighed, resisted the urge to bite his lip, a habit he thought he'd killed when Gondor still had kings.

"I can't change the tide alone." He said. "I don't know how much power you think I have, but it's not enough. I've tried."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone."

"That would be your mistake, though I would ask you to tell me the tale sometime. There are few who could say they have walked away from Sauron; that is enough to commend you. There is none other who could say they have done it alone."

"I'm not sure I'm brave enough to try it again."

"I would not ask it of you. I ask only that you do what you can, and hope that that will be enough."

He'd eaten lunch with Galadriel and her husband Celeborn, lembas bread and berries and sweet wine that made his head fuzzy after two glasses. He'd never shared the elves' tolerance for alcohol, though they didn't take advantage of it, keeping conversation to his travels and their history. He'd heard that elves preferred to keep meal times for lighter topics and he didn't disagree.

They took their leave soon after. Harry found himself slowly strolling through the settlement, elves greeting him as he passed and kind enough not to stare too long. It took a while before he realised that finding Haldir here would not be an easy task. Like a needle in a haystack. He'd never seen this many elves together, all blonde hair and long limbs. It reminded him oddly of a herd of unicorns, and the more he thought it the more apt the comparison seemed.

He considered asking someone. He doubted it mattered who. The settlement was not so large that there could be anyone who didn't know Haldir - he'd lived here thousands of years after all. Haldir was private by nature though, and he wasn't sure he'd appreciate Harry publicly searching for him.

Eventually he stumbled upon Rumil, who looked rather inclined to pretend he hadn't seen him before he seemed to think better of it. He didn't say much, but clearly knew what Harry wanted; he gave him a list of directions which seemed to rely on Harry being able to distinguish between multiple identical trees.

He followed them for a while before realising he was just going in circles, which he didn't know whether to blame on his poor directional skills or Rumil's purposefully sparse instructions. In the end he picked up a stick and laid it in his palm.

"Point me Haldir."

The stick twitched.

"Point me Haldir." He said louder and slower, as if the issue was that this stick had suddenly stopped understanding Westron. It slightly seemed to work as it twitched more vigorously, before suddenly spinning and spinning, not stopping until he clenched his palm.

Perhaps he should have assumed that his magic would be curtailed within Galadriel's borders, but the peril of immortality is the belief that you are limitless. There were few beings on Middle Earth who could even have conceived of suppressing his magic, and he avoided almost all of them.

He presumed it wasn't personal, some kind of ward stretched over the wood. But that didn't make him feel any less vulnerable, weakened in the seat of someone's else's power. It didn't matter. He wouldn't be here long.

At that moment an elf appeared through the trees, suspiciously good timing that made him wonder how much Galadriel was monitoring his movements, or his magic. They were tentative allies, likely could have been friends if Harry had not resisted all such overtures. Allies of necessity never inspire the trust of friends made in peace. Regardless, the elf led him through the trees until he could see Haldir in the distance, and since that's all he'd wanted it seemed mean spirited to complain.

He was sat against a tree beside a pool in a small open glade, humming softly to himself. He didn't look up as Harry approached, though he would have heard him coming a mile off, but when Harry sat in front of him Haldir looked up and raised an eyebrow.

Talking had never really been Harry's strong point. Talking about his feelings even less so. Talking to Haldir, somehow, always harder than anything else. But it was time. He looked into the water rather than at the grey eyes watching him.

"It's beautiful here. You always said it was, of course, but I don't think words could have ever explained it to me. It's so peaceful. I can see why you love it here. It suits you, Haldir."

He paused for a moment, hoping Haldir might take pity on him and steer the conversation as he often did. Not this time, it seemed. So he carried on.

"I never really had a home like this, growing up. I made homes as I got older, out of people and places, but I never really had stability. Somewhere I could just relax, and be myself, and be content with that, like you have here."

He didn't need to look at Haldir to know his brow was furrowed slightly, surprised by his rambling, unsure why any of this mattered. Harry couldn't blame him. He didn't often share deep thoughts unasked, and he wasn't convinced he was sharing the right ones.

"The closest I ever got to being at peace was in that Tower. I know it's… stupid, and horrible really but… for a while my world was simple and small. I'd never known safety like that. And I've never felt that way again, in all the years that have followed. I know it was a lie. But it was a good lie, for a while.

It's… hard. To realise that, that you can't tell the difference between home and hell. It makes it difficult to believe that anything good will stay that way. And, I don't know, I guess it all just kinda becomes a habit over time. Running and fighting and not knowing how to settle."

He drew a breath through his teeth and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back and looking up at the branches above.

"Sorry, I'm not all that good at this. You've probably gathered, over the years."

Haldir nudged him lightly with his foot, and when Harry looked at him his face had settled into an amused indulgence, though his eyes told Harry he wasn't going to be let off this time.

"I've heard it helps to say what it is you mean, rather than, say, a collection of assorted words which never bring you to your actual point."

"Seems a bit rich coming from an elf."

Haldir shrugged, the slightest movement. "Elves say exactly what we mean to say. It is not our fault that other races do not have the acumen to understand subtlety."

Harry gaped at him, only half mockingly. "Are you calling me thick?"

At this Haldir smirked, a look of smugness that Harry had always found annoyingly attractive.

"If you cannot answer that yourself, I believe you have proved my point."

"Wow. That's… deserved, but still. Mean."

Haldir laughed softly and Harry couldn't help but smile in return. A mistake it seemed, for Haldir's face immediately cleared, and Harry figured this was probably the moment to apologise and yet somehow the words had left him.

Haldir clearly realised this because he sighed, shaking his head lightly, making to stand. He started to walk away and Harry dropped his head into his hands, frustrated with his own inadequacy, when he heard Haldir turn back to him.

"It is not that I believed this would be easy Harry. I made my peace with that a long time ago." I made my bed, now I must lie in it. "It was enough for me to spend the time together that you allowed, to have those moments where our lives briefly intertwined. A little sun is better than none at all, as they say. And if I hoped that some day you may give me more... that was my choice to do so. I know that you did not ever ask me to wait.

I have waited despite this. I have waited, and I do not believe it is unfair to say you gave me hope that my waiting may one day end. But there is a difference, Harry, between unspoken hopes and promises made. The first I am responsible for, and the latter? Well that is for you to bear."

Harry went to speak, but Haldir held up a hand to stop him.

"Let me say these words Harry, for if I do not say them now I may not find the courage again, and I do not believe that will be best for either of us."

The more he said the more Harry wanted to stop him, fear and hope and panic mixing together to cause a nauseousness that made his head pound instantly, blood rushing.

"I once hoped that with enough time you would have the grace to make a choice for good or ill, but it is clear to me now that hope was false. It is as if you froze at some point in our time, a crossroads before you, unable to choose a path to follow into eternity.

I lay that choice before you now.

There is a path for you and I; a path I have walked in my mind for all the years that I have known you. We walk that path together for all the endless days of our lives, and all the trials and hardships of the passing years are trivial because we are joined, and there is no one who would dare to try and tear us asunder.

And there is the other path. You may take the other road, and it is for you to decide where that will take you. Like all journeys, no doubt, it will contain both joy and pain and all the wonder that life can offer. But it will not contain me. When this darkness ends, if we prevail, I will take a ship with my brothers and carry my love for you with me, where I will lay it to rest in the Undying Lands.

Do not answer me now Harry. I will not have you decide in panic what you should choose in joy. Think on it, and hope that we live long enough for you to answer me before this war is over."

He wasn't sure how long he sat there in the end, laying beside the pool, head spinning. He'd known that this moment would come, had meant to bring them here himself, and yet somehow it still shook him. His instinct was to run, hide, get lost for a hundred years or two, hope Haldir would let things just fall back to how they were. That ship had sailed, a phrase they both knew. There was nowhere left to run; not now when Sauron was sending his armies to overrun every inch of Middle Earth. And Haldir deserved better. Had always deserved better than this constant push and pull. Haldir gave and Harry took, that's the way things worked between them.

He could see his face faintly in the pool when he looked sideways, distorted and too familiar. Despite the unstoppable passing of time, and seeing a face that never changed, Harry sometimes felt he was still that lost boy at the end of a magic war, trying to wrap his head around the fact that inevitable death had turned into forever.

It had never stopped terrifying him.

And so he never stopped running away from it.

Maybe he'd have been okay if he'd had a few hundred kind years to adjust to it. But instead he was ripped from his home and his friends with no explanation. Held captive in a foreign land and controlled by a Dark Lord. Died alone in agony in a dark cave. Spent hundreds of years hiding, just to be sure no one was chasing him. Spent hundreds more trying to find a way back.

He'd spent most of his years surrounded by mortals, pretending to still be mortal himself. Even when he knew there were settlements of immortal beings. Even when he knew Haldir would have been overjoyed to make a home with him amongst his people.

Fuck.

"Fuck!" He shouted, frustrated, digging his head into the ground, his hands into the forest floor. He felt grass burning beneath them, was glad this time for Galadriel's magic dampening. He never had stopped with the accidental magic.

He ran his left hand over his face and as he pulled it away his eyes fixated on the ring on his finger. He'd had the resurrection stone set back into a ring when he realised it wasn't going to let him go; it was easier to keep track of it if he wore it and it reduced the temptation to others. Unfortunately, it did little to reduce the temptation for him.

He'd used the same password Dumbledore had set on the Snitch. Sentimental really, but it was a phrase he wouldn't say often, and he'd hoped the seriousness of it would serve to put him off using it except in the most dire circumstances. It hadn't really, not after all the dying he'd done.

He lifted the ring close to his lips and whispered "I am about to die." He could feel something in the ring change, and pushed the release clasp to lift up the emerald that was the centerpiece. It was mostly hollow, and once open he let the resurrection stone fall into his hand.

He deliberated for the briefest of moments. Then he turned it three times in his hand. He didn't have to wait long.

"Oh Harry, not again."

Even dead Hermione retained the same tone of affectionate exasperation, something so familiar it made his heart ache. She was shaking her head slightly, lips pursed tightly. He didn't try to hug her, though it never stopped being his default. He had tried once in desperation, convinced himself that she was solid enough that he'd feel something, but he went straight through her and ended up feeling more alone than ever.

"Hey Hermione. It's been a while." He said softly.

"Not long enough." She responded tersely. "I told you to stop doing this."

He felt immediately guilty, as he always did when he called her. "I have! I did… It's been a really long time Mione. I just needed someone to talk to."

She sighed, face softening. "And there was no one living who would do?"

"No, not really."

"Which, as always, is the problem Harry."

"I know, I know, but… it's just not that easy."

"It's not that easy because you think you still have us, but Harry you don't, not really." She went to reach for him and quickly stopped herself, huffing softly. "The dead are no substitute for the living Harry. We're just a dream you won't let go. But there's a whole world of real people out there."

"You're real!" Harry protested vehemently.

"Am I? How would either of us even know? It's not really the point anyway. Moaning Myrtle was real but you wouldn't have considered her a substitute for me."

"She did live in a toilet," he responded, purposefully contrary.

Hermione just glared.

"I know," Harry said. "I know you're right but…"

"It's tempting, I know. It's supposed to be I imagine. But you are more than old enough to know better Harry James Potter. All the time you spend talking to the dead is time you're not spending with the living. I mean, it's been how many thousands of years? You should have forgotten us by now."

Harry never took that suggestion well. "How could I ever forget you, and Ron, and everyone else? We were best friends, we fought a war together!"

"We were and we did but Harry, it's all so long ago now. You've lived so many lifetimes since then. You were a huge part of our lives, but we should have been such a small part of yours - and that would have been okay."

"I don't want to forget you." Harry said, slightly petulantly.

"I'm sure. But more than that, I think you're worried about forgetting you. It's okay to change Harry. Nothing stays the same forever. You should know that better than most."

"If I'd known you were just going to lecture me I'd have called Ron."

"You called me because I'll lecture you. Because you know I'm right. There's a reason you only call me when something's wrong Harry; if I was corporeal I'd be charging you money for all the therapy sessions."

"Does that mean you'll stay?" He said slyly.

Hermione's face was both serious and sad when she replied. "I don't really have a choice do I?"

Harry closed his eyes, chest tight, went to turn the stone again.

"No… don't." She said softly. "Talk to me. But this has to be the last time Harry, you understand?"

He nodded quickly. "I do, I do, you're right. It's time to… move on. Move forward. That's really why I called you to be honest."

And so they talked, long after the sun went down to sleep. They talked about the years that had passed and the war that would come. The choices Harry had made and the ones that were before him. And they talked about Hogwarts, and their friends; Hagrid and his beasts; Arthur and his rubber ducks; Mad Eye and constant vigilance. They recalled the constant near misses, the luck that somehow kept them living through it all, the adult lives that Harry never really got to live with them.

And they said goodbye, with a finality that Harry knew he had to respect. So after she was gone, and he had cried the same tears he'd cried a hundred times before, he changed the password.

The dead are gone and the living must endure.

The sun was rising over Weathertop, bathing the land in a warm glow. The fire kept them far warmer than it should, magic burning it hotter and spreading it further than strictly possible. These moments of peace were rare, just the two of them. Silent. Comfortable. A hand intertwined with his, wrinkled and thin skinned, and Harry brought it up to his mouth to kiss it gently. He turned to him, head crowned with grey hair, the years heavy on his face, and Harry would have given all the magic he had to make this moment infinite.

He woke softly, eyes wet as they always were when he dreamed of Arahael. Talking via the stone, talking about the past, tended to trigger the dreams but he didn't mind. It didn't hurt quite as much as it used to and he didn't want to forget.

It was harder to picture his face every century that passed. He didn't dare use the stone to see him, not again, not since those dark days after his death when Harry had stared far too deeply into the abyss. And when he'd dragged himself back from the brink he'd spent so long in his pensieve that he only came out when he woke up in his body and realised that he'd died; starved to death slowly and hadn't even noticed the hunger beneath all the pain.

There was a line between mourning and obsession that Harry was not adept at walking.

His talk with Hermione was likely not the only cause. He struggled to think of Haldir without thinking of Arahael and that was probably part of the problem. Moving on but not forgetting seemed like a contradiction. Haldir, who he had known far before Arahael was even born and just as long after, seemed more like a betrayal, as if Arahael was a passing fancy, a brief detour in his immortal life. He didn't want to diminish what they'd had.

Hermione had thought he wouldn't mind. Such worries are for the living, and it wasn't like he had ever expected they would meet again in the after life. Harry had asked her if she would have wanted Ron to remarry if something had happened to her. She'd replied that Ron was so terrible at speaking to women that the likelihood of him convincing another one to marry him was frankly laughable. Which Harry had to agree to, but thought it besides the point.

She said she would have wanted Ron to be happy. Even if it was with Pansy Parkinson. She wouldn't have wanted him to be alone for the rest of his life. That part was clearly aimed at Harry.

As usual though, she was right. Arahael had said as much, the one time that Haldir had visited when he lived with the Dunedan. It had been brief and tense, and whilst Harry had never mentioned the potential undertones of his relationship with Haldir, Arahael had realised them all the same. He can wait, he'd said, hand in Harry's hair, so close their foreheads touched. He has eternity. But I have only now, and these brief years in which to love you.

It was a long time after his death that Harry realised the permission in those words. He hoped that Arahael knew it had never been a negotiation. He would never have left him. Their love had its own natural ending, ticking down day by day. Until death do us part. He and Haldir, on the other hand, did not. Unless taking a ship across the sea somewhere Harry could not follow counted as an ending. He supposed it did.

Unwilling to follow that thought further, Harry dragged himself out of bed. The day was bright and he was pretty sure he'd slept past midday; a combination of the late night and a safe place to rest where he wasn't his only defence. He had a slight headache, courtesy of oversleeping, but nothing water and fresh air wouldn't fix.

He wandered down the stairs and soon found some elves engaged in an afternoon meal. They exclaimed with delight "look, the wizard has awoken!" when he entered and he found their mood infectious, gratefully accepting the food they plied him with.

They told him tales as he ate, regaling him with their knowledge of plants and rope making, their love of song and music. Listening to them was an excellent diversion, and when they asked for stories in turn he felt compelled to share them. The mood called for lighter tales, so he told them of his times with Tom and Goldberry, though they called him Iarwain Ben-adar; his meetings with the Ents, residing in woods they no longer visited; his first meeting with hobbits, and the hours they spent convincing him they were not children. After too much sweet wine he even told them of a castle full of children and ghosts, talking portraits and staircases that moved on their own. When they voiced their disbelief he laughed and did not attempt to convince them.

Too soon the sun was setting again and he joined them in their evening meal, feeling strangely content in their company. He could have wiled away the evening like that, but he heard a voice in his mind and excused himself. There was still much for him and Galadriel to discuss.

He followed the tugging of her mind to a clearing bathed in moonlight, and found her standing beside a wide basin on a plinth. The famed mirror of Galadriel. It was with trepidation that he went to join her, but when he looked into it he saw only his reflection staring back.

"Thank you for joining me." Galadriel said sincerely.

"I may not have if I'd known where you were leading me," He replied. "I've never had much love for divination."

"The future can be ambiguous," She agreed, "And it is difficult to know what may lead to one path or another. Even the past can show things which are best left forgotten. It does not do to obsess over days long gone."

He wondered if she was watching him last night.

"There are no secrets from me in my realm," She said with a smile. "Yet I would have suspected nonetheless, given the request you made of me long ago. Never before or since have I made a gift of the water from this basin, but Haldir asks for little and I could see no harm in it. The mirror may not show much of you but enough to know you have ever been an ally against darkness, and I thought it well to build bonds between us.

Perhaps I was wrong to see no harm in it. I believed it would be the future in which you were interested, but when Haldir returned alone each time I began to wonder if it was the past."

There was a questioning tone. Harry had not fully explained to Haldir exactly what he wanted the water for, just that his people had had similar skills to Galadriel and he wished to see if he could reproduce them. When Haldir asked if he was successful, Harry had said no. If Galadriel knew that was a lie, it was because Haldir had not believed him.

"My people created a device they called a pensieve. It was a receptacle for memories, a place where you could put them and view them as an observer, or show them to someone else. It looked similar to your mirror when made of stone, though often they were made of metal.

It was lucky that I had used one so often before I arrived here; over time I was able to reproduce the runes that powered the spell, and I bartered with the dwarves of Khazad-Dum to create me a device out of mithril. For years I struggled to understand what was missing, and I'd never known the full details of their making. Then Haldir mentioned your mirror and the water within it."

"It is the same as what your people used?" She asked, intrigued.

"I doubt it. I imagine it's better - pensieves could only show you what you already knew, they had no powers of divination, though we did have very dubious methods for that. And seers that we could have done without. No, I must have missed something in the runes or the spells. Your water, I think, has power enough to make up for that."

"May I see it?" Galadriel asked. Harry sensed her interest was academic, and he realised that they could probably have spent many evenings discussing magical theory if he'd allowed. It was the only thing he'd missed of Saruman after he'd obliviated him. Their friendship had built over hundreds of years, filled with learning and debate and a mental stimulation Harry hadn't even known he'd desired. He felt a slight pang, and pushed it away. He'd done everything he could. There was no use regretting it.

Harry realised he hadn't answered and shook his head lightly.

"You may, one day, once this war is ended. It's been a long time since I've brought it anywhere with me. The weight of it… was harder to bear than the metal alone."

She didn't push when he stopped to gather his thoughts. If she had he probably wouldn't have continued, but there was an expectation in the silence that he felt compelled to answer.

"I wanted to make sure I remembered where I came from. Who I was before the Tower, and what came after. One day I couldn't picture the house I grew up in and I realised that all these memories were drifting away from me. That at some point I would become someone who could pass the boy I'd been on the street and think him a stranger.

It was an obsession, creating the pensieve. It was all I did for years. And I still think it was worth it, in the end, to keep a hold on myself. But you were right to worry if there was harm in it. There were long periods of my life when I preferred the world inside it to the one out here. I lost a lot of time, and I have so much of it that I thought it didn't matter.

But it did. The world was moving on without me whilst I just… withered away in my own memories. So I put it away somewhere safe. And that's where it stays, for now."

Galadriel smiled at him, small but sincere.

"A wise choice, I think."

Harry smiled back lightly.

"Yes, one of the few I've made."

"Do you believe you'll ever be free from the temptation? Enough to use it again?"

"I hope so. When the real world has more to offer than the old."

She looked at him knowingly then.

"That, Harry Potter, is within no one's power but yours."

"I know. I'm working on it." He said.

"I am glad," she replied. "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

He looked at her sharply, and if looks could kill… she just smiled serenely, and he just managed to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"I doubt you brought me here to provide life counsel." Harry said tersely.

"No," she agreed, "I brought you here to offer a temptation of a different kind."

"The mirror?"

"Yes. I have looked in it too often of late, and it has little new to offer me. I would know what it shows you. Perhaps you will glean something I do not?"

"Why would I?" He asked, confused.

"The mirror is a mystery even to me, and there are things it hides even from my sight.

I must warn you Harry, it may show you things you do not wish to see. I will have you do this freely, for you must live with the consequences."

He took the time to consider, before nodding.

"I understand. I'll look all the same."

She inclined her head, golden hair glimmering in the moonlight, and used a silver jug to draw water from the nearby river, pouring it into the basin.

"Then look Harry, and tell me what you see."

So he removed his cloak, folding it neatly on the floor. And he stepped up to the mirror.

Golden armour, gleaming. Corpses crushed into the mud. Haldir, eyes wide, vacant. A nazgul, flying. The tangle of wings as they collide. He and Haldir in Isengard, a young forest around them. Harry alone in the black lands, blood covered. An army. Another. Elves, dwarves, men. A grey ship leaving the shore, leaving him behind. Him in armour, black as pitch, Sauron behind him, smiling. Haldir beside him in the sun, watching a coronation. Him alone, and nothing but ash ash ash

He gasped and pushed backwards from the basin, scrambling to keep his footing, eyes wide and searching the forest for danger and ash everywhere so much ash. Galadriel reached for him and he flinched away like a startled hare. He kept trying to breathe sucking in deeper and longer breathes but there was so much smoke in his lungs and

"It was not real Harry, not yet. It is only something that might be, not something that will. It can still be changed."

He looked at her like he'd never seen her before, like she was a demon who'd appeared before him. But eventually he calmed, and when she offered him a glass of wine he took it with shaking hands, downing it quickly.

"Merlin… You were right to offer a warning." His laughter was forced, high pitched and shaky, but she didn't call him on it.

"What did you see?" She asked him gently.

He closed his eyes, trying to remember and forget at the same time.

"Lots of things. Not all of which could come true. I saw an army dressed in gold, fallen, Haldir…gone too. More armies, orcs, men, dwarves, elves, different places. I saw me in Mordor, alone. And again, with Sauron. And…"

He tried to find strength somewhere in his surroundings, something to anchor him, but no matter how many times he blinked he was still in a snow globe, white falling all around and turning to black between his fingers.

"I saw myself in a wasteland, everything the eye could see just...ash. Everything gone except me."

He looked at Galadriel properly then, and for the first time he saw her look truly troubled.

"You did not see what caused it?" She queried urgently.

"I didn't need to," Harry said numbly. "I know what it was." I know who it was. And when he opened his hands and stared at them like they were someone else's, she sighed in understanding.

"Power can be a great burden." She said. "And a great responsibility. It often brings more trouble than joy."

"It does," he agreed, "and it has. I never wanted it. It came to me unlooked for, and there was no one to teach me how to control it. Saruman helped for a time, until I realised he was encouraging me to let it grow stronger and more wild. I don't think he understand what could happen if I lost control. I don't think even he wanted that."

Galadriel took his hands in hers and he felt some of the horror drain away, the warmth of her hands comforting.

"It will likely never come to pass Harry. And if it does, I do not imagine that there will be much left for you to destroy that Sauron has not already ruined. I have faith in that. I have faith in you. And if the memory of what you have seen stays your hand when you would lose control then it will have been worth it."

"Yes, you're right." Harry agreed, though without her conviction.

"Come, let us retire somewhere more comfortable, and you can tell me what else you saw."

She led him to the sitting room they'd met in the first time, Celeborn rising to greet them. More wine was poured, and Harry drank steadily as he recalled the details of his vision.

Celeborn listened intently, and he was thoughtful when Harry finished.

"There are dark details indeed. But there is hope to be found there, I think. For you and Haldir to be in Isengard suggests a future where Saruman is defeated. The grey ship…"

"There is a future where Haldir survives this war, and others of our people," Galadriel finished. "I do not think there is any other that you would watch leave this shore, and he would not leave until this war is done."

"The coronation…" Celeborn continued, "Aragorn? Could it be?"

"We have hoped for it," Galadriel said, "It is the future our granddaughter longs for, remote though it may feel to us now."

"He reminded me of Arahael," Harry said wistfully. "Cleaner and far more finely dressed, but the same eyes. Dunedan, no doubt."

"Futures different or intertwined, but proof that all is not lost." Celeborn said.

"The darker visions tell us nothing new, the ones of you aside Harry," Galadriel said. "I can offer you no interpretation of those that you could not discern yourself, and it is for you to decide if you wish to share your own thoughts. The warnings are clear, and they were meant for you.

As for the others, I, too, have seen armies of all the races of Middle Earth. I fear Sauron brings war to all our borders."

"And the golden army?" Harry asked.

"Ours. The combined might of Lothlorien and Rivendell; those we can spare. They will journey to stand against Saruman with the men of Rohan. And they will not return."

"You cannot know that," Harry said gently, but Galadriel smiled sadly as Celeborn reached over to take her hand in his.

"I have looked in the mirror for days and nights on end, but it always says the same. If we do not send them, Rohan will fall. If we do, they will die."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. He'd never liked prophecy, the implication of inevitability. He trusted that Galadriel had exhausted the options it would give her, but he couldn't accept that no matter what choice anyone made, no matter the millions of things that could change, there were only two outcomes. The death of Rohan or the death of the elves. Of Haldir. Haldir, who had not told him he was going to war.

"There must be something we're missing," he said, "something we haven't accounted for, something… something you haven't been able to see."

It dawned on him, the only answer, and when he looked at Galadriel there was a knowing look in her eyes that told him she'd already reached the same conclusion.

"Me. I am the determiner that you can't see."

Galadriel nodded. "I believe so. I cannot know, of course. I have never seen a future where Haldir lives. But you removed your cloak and you saw a future I have not, so it must be you Harry."

Harry nodded, and he felt relieved when resolve flushed out the rest of the fear.

"I would have gone anyway, when Haldir told me. There is no version of this where I would have him go to war without me. I have seen battle, and if I cannot spare him from the sight of it then I will stand beside him instead and hope it is enough.

I cannot promise that I will bring your people home to you. But I can promise I will try."

And Harry was sure he didn't imagine the sheen in Galadriel's eyes when she took his hand again.

"That is more than I ever would have asked of you Harry. It is more than enough."

It spoke of how little sleep elves needed that most were still in the communal area, conversing and singing in turn. They quieted quickly when Harry entered beside Galadriel and Celeborn, a show of unity required if his presence was going to offer hope.

When Celeborn announced that Harry would accompany the eleven army to Rohan, Harry was relieved at the cheering that followed. He'd been worried they would be unhappy to have a stranger in their midst at such a time, though Galadriel assured him that no elf would turn away the company of a wizard.

He declined any requests to join them in revelry, drained from the evening's events. But he agreed to join them in a celebration tomorrow, never one to turn down a feast, and with a small bow for propriety he said goodnight to Galadriel and Celeborn and took his leave.

He was already under the thin quilt when any hope of sleep was quickly ruined by a knock at the door, and with a huff of annoyance he invited them in. It was Haldir who entered, and Harry was both glad and not; he was always happy to see him, but was far too tired for a fight.

Haldir quickly averted his eyes, stammering out an apology in a deeper tone than usual.

"Forgive me Harry, I did not realise you had already retired to sleep. I will leave you." He turned to go, but Harry shook his head, sitting up.

"It's fine, you're here now, may as well stay." He gestured for Haldir to sit on the bed, and when he did so gingerly, as stiff as Harry had ever seen him, he couldn't help but laugh.

"I still don't understand how elves can live so long and be so prudish."

"We are not prudish," Haldir replied sternly, "It is men who are… frivolous."

"Frivolous?" He mocked. "Really?"

"Yes! They do not take seriously things which are of utmost importance."

"Men take many things seriously," Harry chided, "but their ideas of what are important are different to yours. They have much less time in which to live."

"I understand that. But there are still some things which should be sacred."

This was an old battle, one which had been mostly theoretical before Arahael. They did this a lot, immortals. Going over old ground.

"Things which are sacred are not so easily tarnished." Harry argued intently. "And they are not diminished by being experienced more than once, or with more than one person."

Frankly Harry found the insinuation as insulting as he ever had. He didn't expect Haldir to have the sex positivity of 21st century muggle England. He'd eventually discovered that the concept of sex before marriage did not really exist for elves, and despite the elf's beliefs even men were not known here for promiscuity. But Harry refused to pretend he believed there was anything wrong with his relationship with Arahael. He loved him, and he would have married him if he'd wanted it, but it was not a prerequisite for either of them. Neither of them had been virgins besides, so it wouldn't have changed anything.

Regardless, Harry didn't think it would have made Haldir any happier. The issue wasn't really that the sex was premarital, it was that it was with someone who wasn't him. Not that Haldir wanted to have sex with him of course, since they weren't married either.

Haldir was never particularly fond of that point. Not since Harry had shouted it in frustration, and Haldir had responded, just as loudly, that they should wed and solve the issue once and for all. Harry had vanished for a good fifty years, and they'd avoided repeating the argument for another few hundred.

So really, Harry knew, it was marriage that was the proximate cause of the issue, not the sex. Haldir had never asked again, and they argued about this as a proxy. Except, it seemed, Haldir had already had enough.

"I did not come here to argue with you," Haldir said softly. "There is not time enough to waste on that."

Then he surprised Harry completely by reaching out and grabbing his hand, lacing their fingers together. Harry was too distracted to point out that this forced them closer together, and dropped the quilt to show more skin. He went to speak, confused at the turn, but Haldir put a finger to his lips, stroking his skin softly as he withdrew it.

"No matter what has happened before, and no matter what will happen later, I wanted to thank you Harry. For coming here, for joining us in the battle to come. It offers hope to those who were hopeless. It offers hope to me."

"Why did you volunteer if you thought it was hopeless?" Harry asked, less confused than horrified

"The lady would not have asked if our going would not make a difference." Haldir said resolutely. "There are things which are worth dying for."

"No." Harry said immediately. "No, there aren't. Not for you."

"Harry…" Haldir looked at him kindly, and it somehow made his blood boil. "That is not true. My life is worth no more than any other."

"It is to me!" Harry said, angry. "It is worth more than every other. What use is this world to me if you are not in it?"

"That is a ridiculous statement."

"Why?"

"Because this world is full of wonderful things, things worth saving. You would remember that if you were not so determined to be miserable."

"I am not miserable!"

"As you say," Haldir replied snidely, and Harry was so busy being indignant he was blindsided by Haldir's next statement.

"Regardless, you see so little of me I doubt my absence would matter over much."

This was said so casually that Harry knew it was carefully calculated, a trap of the most sophisticated kind. The statement was true, when talking about time spent together versus time spent apart in their long lives. Harry could not argue it was time enough without proving Haldir's point. The only option was to argue that they should see more of each other, which was exactly what Haldir wanted.

And what Harry wanted, of course. But how was Haldir supposed to know that, when he spent so much time pretending otherwise?

It would take a thousand years in his pensieve, going through every memory piece by piece, to figure out how exactly he'd brought them to this point.

"Haldir,' he said softly, "If I saw you no more than one day in every one million, the absence of you would still ruin me."

It was uncharacteristically forward for him and Haldir recognised it immediately, staring at him so intently Harry would have squirmed if he was a lesser man.

"You would not let me speak yesterday, and I understand why, but, well we may be running out of time. We both know it. We're tense and short tempered and…I think we're both a little afraid that this may be the end of everything. Things are bad enough without us being on bad terms as well. So…

I'm sorry. I'm sorry for a lot of things, actually, and if we survive this war I'll retire to some remote cabin and write you a list of them, and you can throw them in my face for the next 500 years."

"Only 500?" Haldir interrupted mildly.

"Yes, only 500. That's your limit."

"Seems a little unfair."

"We can negotiate the years later," Harry laughed, glad that Haldir was giving him a slight reprieve. He didn't take advantage of it though, knew it could just as easily be taken away. He gripped Haldir's hand, looked him dead in the eyes.

"I let you down. I broke a promise to you, and I left you waiting, and that is… unforgivable. I have taken you for granted for too long, and you have deserved far better than what I have given you, and if it makes any difference I will spend as many awkward conversations trying to explain to you why that is as you can bear to sit through. I just want you to know that I know that. I know that I've brought us to this point. And I'm sorry for that, Haldir, I really am."

This was half the reason Harry had come here; to make amends, to try and fix things between them, but it still felt like digging at an open wound, tender and itchy and a pain so deep you could never describe where it starts.

He'd never made himself so vulnerable to Haldir before, not willingly anyway; they met once in the deepest years of Harry's grief and he still couldn't bear to think of the things he'd said to him there, had refused to acknowledge any attempt Haldir made to discuss it.

This was the most he'd ever given him, and Haldir was eyeing him thoughtfully, clearly weighing his words, face serious, though his index finger was lightly stroking Harry's hand. Still giving, even now.

"Thank you, Harry." He said finally. "I've been waiting to hear those words from you for a very long time."

Haldir paused briefly, considering further.

"This was not what I came to discuss, but I do not think I can think on anything else. So I will retire to consider your words, and we can talk further on the morrow."

Harry gripped his hand as he went to leave, and he looked more nervous than Haldir had seen him in many a year.

"Do you still want my answer?" Harry asked, strangely shy, and Haldir smiled sadly, kissing his hand lightly before letting it go.

"Always. But not tonight. Think on it a while longer. This will be an answer you cannot take back."

He left.

Harry had arranged to meet Celeborn just after the noon meal, and they walked together through the trees. They talked first of the beauty of the woods, then of the Old Forest that bordered the Shire, but it was talk of Fangorn Forest, Ambarona as the elves called it, that Celeborn was most interested in. It had been many years since Harry had been there himself, but far more for Celeborn, and he delighted in hearing that the Ents endured, Treebeard oldest amongst them still.

Harry still didn't understand how the elves had become so confined to their borders, and Haldir had not been able to explain it whenever he'd asked. He would say the time of the elves was drawing to a close, but what that could mean or how that could be he couldn't explain in words Harry understood.

He wondered if they would stay if the war was won and Sauron banished once and for all. What was the point of all this, if they would just leave anyway? But when he asked Celeborn he didn't have an answer, and Harry realised this may be a point of contention even amongst the elves.

Eventually they reached a great stone forge, fires burning, elves hammering steel. But it was the armour that made his eyes widen, gleaming gold as far as he could see, perfect and indistinguishable from each other.

"You wished to see our armour," Celeborn said lightly, "and here it is. Now come, speak to our blacksmiths and see if they can work your magic."

Harry was introduced to the master blacksmith Dammedir, who understandably looked as overworked as an elf could. The armour was not forged new, stored from the War of the Last Alliance, but it been reworked to something that matched its original splendour, and Harry could well imagine the impact it made on a battlefield.

He ran a hand over it, feeling the cool smoothness of the metal and noting the many interlocking plates. Not ideal for what he wished to do, but it was too late to change now.

He took out a drawing, charcoal scratched on vellum, and to the untrained eye it may have looked like a random assortment of chicken scratches. Luckily, and to Hermione's great astonishment, Harry had discovered an affinity for runes in his 6th year, learning over her shoulder. They were the bedrock of the most ancient of wizarding rituals, integral in buildings and warding. Easier to Harry than conjugating Latin and, most importantly, they relied on far less magic than spells.

"These runes, I need you to get these on as many plates of armour as you can. It doesn't matter how, you can brand them on or hammer them in but they need to be exactly like this in exactly this order."

Dammedir looked so flabbergasted that Harry would have laughed if he wasn't so serious. The elf turned to Celeborn, confused and slightly panicked.

"My Lord, this is… there is not the time!"

"As many as you can Dammedir," Celeborn said gently, "That is all we can ask of you. Anyone who has skill with the forge will be asked to assist you."

"We will do our best, of course. But, each plate?" He queried.

"Yes." Harry answered resolutely. "Each plate. If this was one sheet of armour it would be easy but the effect ends at each plate. See, this here is for protection, this one is for strength, this one doesn't really translate that well but you can think of it as luck, and these symbols here, here, here, these join them together into a cohesive effect rather than individual runes with conflicting intents."

"This will offer protection of some kind?" Dammedir asked, mystified.

"Of some kind." Harry agreed. "It would not be my first choice, but I have neither the time nor the power to enspell all this armour myself. More powerful rune configurations would require more magic from either me or the wearer; most elves wouldn't be able to power it and I doubt I'll have it to spare.

If I had a hundred years or so I could design something that worked with this particular metal and style of armour which would be far more efficient, but as I do not this is the best I can offer."

"Any protection will be gratefully received I'm sure," Dammedir said.

"It's best not to mention it too much." Harry said. "People have a tendency to act more reckless when they're warded, which is counterproductive. It's the last line of defence, not the first."

"I understand." Dammedir said, though Harry was not sure that was true. It was difficult to explain his kind of magic to anyone in Middle Earth; there was so little basis for comparison, and most of what there was was ancient now. Spells at least bore some relation to the magic of the Istari. Elven magic, on the other hand, was mostly as baffling to Harry as his was to them. It didn't matter anyway. They didn't have to understand runes to use them, only have enough basic magic to trip them awake.

It would have to do. There was not time enough for anything better. He should have been preparing for years now, but things had turned too quickly, and time slipped through his fingers like sand.

Power and immortality had made him complacent, and he feared he would come to regret it.

He found his way to Galadriel's sitting room without really thinking, but she smiled at his arrival and did not turn him away.

Harry updated her on the progress of the blacksmiths and they talked for some time about the magic of runes and their uses. Galadriel was clearly fascinated, and he performed some minor spells for her amusement; lumos and levitation, spells that no longer required wand or words to work. It was a strangely relaxed afternoon, given the difficult times ahead, but Harry knew her thoughts would turn more serious, though he did not anticipate the topic.

"This magic is common amongst your people is it not?" She asked mildly.

"It depends how you mean." Harry said thoughtfully. "Magic users were rare as part of the overall population, but they mostly lived together in magical communities. Within that community, yes, this level of magic could be performed by almost anyone. More difficult magic could require years of study though, and not everyone was capable."

Harry suddenly realised he wasn't sure where she thought he came from. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd told Haldir millennia ago. He was so reticent to talk about his past that Haldir rarely asked questions, and few other people would have had the opportunity.

"You are capable of such things, I do not doubt." She replied, and Harry nodded cautiously, sensing the conversation taking a turn but unsure where to.

"Is it this power that makes you so long lived, or is that too common among your people?" She asked.

Harry leaned forward slightly, as defensive as he was when first they met.

"Why do you ask?" He queried slowly. He had told no one of the Deathly Hallows, had avoided any explanation of his immorality, had gotten away with it only because there were immortal beings here already. They were a power he could not explain and he had always been afraid of who would come looking if the secret was known.

"Do not fear Harry. I have no interest in your adornments, as you have no interest in mine."

His eyes flickered to the ring on her finger, power clear to him, but in no way enticing.

"Then why do you ask?" He asked quietly.

Galadriel smiled. "All races of Middle Earth differ, in both their qualities and their life spans. Men live short lives by our count and so they live them quickly, ever moving from one choice to the next, all things of utmost importance. In contrast, elves live life more slowly. Though they often marry and have children in their younger years, they have little desire to rush. Our lives are calm and constant, and we watch the passing of the seasons year after year, remembering all that has come before and rarely concerned with what will come later.

I do not claim to know you well Harry Potter, but I have heard enough through the years, have caught glimpses of who you are from Haldir. You live your life like a mortal man, tempestuous and afraid to settle, and yet the years leave no mark on you. I fear you are trapped between these two lives, unable to let go of the life you thought you'd live.

You were mortal, were you not?"

"I was," Harry whispered, "though it is strange to think of it now. My people lived longer than those without magic, but not so long as the Numenoreans."

"They did not find a way to extend their time with magic?" Galadriel asked.

"It… could be done. But it was not advised, and much was lost in the gaining of time. Some magics are best left alone."

"But this was not so for you." A statement, not a query.

"Immortality came to me unlooked for, and would not let me go. It was an accident I could not undo."

"If I could take your everlasting life from you today, would you let me?"

Harry went to say yes, yes, always yes. Take these endless days from me and let me rest. And yet…he thought of the sun setting over weathertop, the years passed under trees with Tom Bombadil, the men and women of Middle Earth who passed through his life and left it brighter. He thought of Haldir, and the life they should have lived together. The life they still could.

In this silence Galadriel began to smile, and Harry was looking forward to leaving this forest and going somewhere where his mind was not a book to be skimmed.

"When you live as long as we do, it can become difficult to change." Galadriel said kindly. "Even sadness can become a habit that comforts us. When the weight of this world becomes too much my people fade, but their souls can find solace again in the lands beyond the sea.

You have found your solace here Harry, and yet you will not take it. Be careful that it is not taken from you instead."

Harry dressed in robes of forest green trimmed with gold, a gift from Lord Celeborn. He looked no less regal than he did in his armour and cloak, but there was a natural quality to the look that softened him in a way he rather liked; less battlemage, more the Lord he would have been if he had not been born under prophecy.

He was not unused to the celebrations of men, though he had not attended one in many a year, but he felt that elven festivities would be altogether different, and was surprised to find he felt a little nervous. When the Lord and Lady arrived to escort him, however, resplendent in white and gold, Harry bowed confidently and walked beside them.

The hall was decked with flowers and vines, understated and yet more splendid than he would have imagined. Elves bowed as they entered, and Harry was so busy taking in his surroundings that he missed the speech given by Celeborn, and was jolted back to himself when the music began.

A cup of wine was pressed into his hand, platters of food offered to him one after the other, and he took small nibbles from each politely, speaking to elves as they came and went.

Dancing began, beautiful and joyful, and perhaps Harry looked like he wished to join because soon he was grabbed by the hand and drawn into the circle, laughing wildly, cup after cup of wine going down smoothly.

There was a magical quality to the evening, a pause of serenity before the darkness returned, and Harry was drawn to add to it. He weaved his hands together in a complicated pattern, sending glittering orbs into the night sky, and as they reached the tallest branches they glowed brighter and brighter as the elves gasped, delighted.

"I believe you may have had enough sweet wine for one night." Haldir said, standing beside him, though his stern voice was betrayed by the clear amusement in his face. Harry smiled a little too widely, proving his point, and took his hand, drawing him forward.

"You may be right, dear Haldir, but will you dance with me nonetheless?"

Haldir laughed deeply, brushing back the hair that had fallen across Harry's eyes.

"A man who dances with elves is likely to find himself out matched." He replied smugly, though he took Harry's other hand in his, pulling him along in time to the music.

"The years I have known you have given me time to get used to such a feeling," Harry replied, "For you have always outmatched me in all ways that matter."

"I do not believe that to be true." Haldir said as they spun together.

"The fact that you do not believe it proves it's truth, for you outdo me in modesty and kindness." Harry grinned.

"You are more charming than usual tonight. Should I be suspicious?" Haldir asked, half serious, eyebrow raised.

"No," Harry said, slowing with the music. "There is no room for suspicion tonight. There is music and dancing, me and you. What else could matter?"

"There are many things that matter."

"Not tonight. Not to me."

And they danced again and again, closer and closer, and not even Orophim's grim stare could dampen their joy.

Haldir was before him, dancing through the trees of Fangorn, laughing freely, hair catching the light. Harry chased him, cloak billowing behind him, trying to catch up yet falling further behind. He apparated to bridge the gap, felt his body dissolve into air, millions of pieces of him, heart and blood and bone all separate and he tried tried tried to pull himself back together but the air was tar, thick and cloying and all the pieces of him were so far apart and yes yes yes his body slotted back together like a puzzle and he looked up to see how far Haldir had run from him and instead he saw a pyre burning.

He stumbled forward, slow step after step, and he did not wish to look but his eyes were fixed on the flame and he knew who he would see there but as he gazed upon Arahael's face, young again and umarred by fire, he blinked and saw a balrog in his place

"Harry!"

He gasped as he woke, clutching at Haldir who was leaning over him, shaking him softly.

"It is okay Harry, you are safe, you must breathe."

Harry nodded, calming himself, focusing on the grey eyes in front of him.

"Sorry," he said, still slightly shaky. "Just a dream."

"More than a dream, I think, to shake you like this." Haldir said, concerned. He was used to Harry waking like that, could still remember watching over him those first tense days in Mordor, but he had not thought such things would bother him in Lothlorien.

"Tell me what you dream." Haldir demanded softly, and Harry shook his head, letting go of him to drink deeply of the water beside his bed.

"It doesn't matter. It was just a dream, it didn't mean anything."

"Harry…"

"It just shook me a little, but I'm fine Haldir, really. Drinking always makes me dream of strange things."

"If you insist." Haldir agreed begrudgingly, and Harry smiled at him lightly in thanks.

"To what do I owe this pleasure anyway?" Harry asked. "It's a bit early to be visiting."

"Early?" Haldir exclaimed. "The noon-day meal has been and gone! I have brought you some food. You always wake so ravenous after drinking."

"I do," Harry agreed, already reaching past the elf to grab a slice of cold meat from the plate, dark and gamey. Haldir clearly knew there was no point engaging him in conversation, choosing instead to watch him silently with a look halfway between amusement and disgust. Harry was not perturbed, and he ate like a man starved.

"You don't look like you're suffering any ill effects from the late night." Harry started, envious but not surprised.

"Of course not." Haldir said smugly. "Unlike men and wizards, elves can control themselves."

"I think you're just unfairly hangover resistant." Harry grumbled. "Which I dislike about you, by the way."

"No," Haldir disagreed, "you do not."

"I suppose not," Harry said, laying back with a groan. "Who would bring me food if you were not well?"

"That is an important question." Haldir said softly, and something in his tone made Harry sit up to look at him properly, ignoring the pounding in his head.

"Haldir?" He asked, unsure of the right question.

Haldir sighed, sitting back against the wall, more at ease on the bed than last time.

"There is no guarantee that we will both survive this war, Harry. In fact, I think it is quite unlikely."

"Haldir…"

"If victory were expected the lady would have sent an army. Instead she asked for volunteers, and we shall give our lives with grace if that is what this war demands.

And you are reckless Harry. Less so, perhaps, than in those days when you rode to war to pass the time. But you have ever valued your life far less than I."

Harry had no reply to that. Haldir spoke true on both counts and they both knew it. Look before you leap had never been a phrase that Harry lived by.

"You think I have been angry with you these past years. And I have, it is true, but it is not because you won't stay. I have grown used to loving you from afar, and the existence of you has brought more joy to my life than I can name.

But you do not know what it's like to love you, to watch you leave and not know if you will return. A hundred years between meeting, not knowing if you live or have met your death on some dark road, your bones bleached before I even know you are gone."

His voice was shaky now, and Harry gazed at him horrified, this deep sinking feeling in his chest.

"At least this time you will be beside me." Haldir murmured. "And I will know if you are gone."

And Harry had nothing to say. What was there? Hundreds of years Haldir had wasted wondering if he was dead. Because he had never dared to tell him that even if he died, it never really seemed to stick anyway.

The conversation still played on Harry's mind when he arrived at Galadriel's door later that afternoon, though he and Haldir had moved onto lighter things, wandering through the forest and reminiscing on older times.

He'd resisted the urge to find a quiet corner, call Hermione or Ron for advice. They were dead and he was not, and this was his mistake to rectify. What could he say? That it had not seemed relevant? That it just slipped his mind for thousands of years? Just more lies, and there had already been enough of those by omission.

Galadriel interrupted his thoughts as she came to the door, but rather than invite him in she closed it behind her and beckoned him to follow her down the stairs.

"Are we going somewhere?" He asked curiously.

"Not far." She replied. "I have someone who would like to meet you. You are not the only guest to grace Lothlorien."

They wound their way through the trees and up a different set of stairs, Harry cautious and intrigued. Lorien was not known for visitors. The Fellowship had been through here a couple months before, then Harry himself, and now this other, secreted away and unspoken of.

"When did this guest arrive?" Harry asked, and he was surprised when Galadriel answered "a day or three before you."

"And yet it remains a secret?" He queried.

"He was not well when he arrived at our borders. Celeborn and I thought it best to give him a few days of peace, but he has asked to see you and I did not wish to deny him.

Come Harry, through here, do not tarry."

He entered the room, and the sight of Mithrandir sitting by a window did nothing to relieve the tension that had built in him.

"I thought he'd died…" Harry said, loitering by the doorway.

" He may have died, but he can hear you just fine," The old wizard grumbled. "So you may as well speak to him directly."

"My apologies." Harry replied. "I was… surprised to see you here."

"As I am surprised to be here." Mithrandir responded. "But all things are possible if the Valar will it so."

"Have they considered willing Sauron out of existence? Might save everyone a lot of trouble."

Mithrandir chuckled lightly, though the action seemed to pain him.

"Ah Harry, if only things were so simple we could all live as peaceable as Hobbits. Now please, sit."

Harry cautiously made his way into the room and sat across from him, very aware that the last time they'd met he had erased the other wizard's memory of him. And yet here he was, asking to see him, appearing to remember him perfectly fine.

Galadriel sat beside him, taking Mithrandir's hands in hers before nodding approvingly.

"You grow healthier by the day, my old friend." She said, smiling, before turning to Harry.

"When elves or Istari die our souls return to the Valar" she explained "but they can form new vessels for us if we so choose. It can take time to readjust to this, to remember fully who we once were."

"But you return the same?" Harry asked, amazed that he had not known this, not known that he was not the only thing to return from the dead.

"Do you return the same Harry? The times that you have died, would you truly say you returned the same?" Mithrandir asked softly, and for a moment Harry froze, an old panic returning, before he realised. Realised that he was not the only one. That here in this room with two great powers of Middle Earth he was no longer an anomaly.

"No." Harry replied quietly. "Not quite the same."

And when the other wizard nodded, reached out to pat his hand kindly, Harry felt something ease just a little. They did not have to name the feeling to know that they understood it, as few others would.

"If time one day allows it will do you both good, I think, to share your burdens." Galadriel said. "Unfortunately that time is not now. You had me bring Harry here for a reason Olorin, and you bid me not to delay."

"Yes, yes, indeed." Mithrandir muttered, as Harry wondered how many names the other wizard had accumulated over the years.

"His true name," Galadriel answered his unspoken question, "Mithrandir is the name that elves gave to him."

"A good name." Mithrandir said. "And one you may continue to use Harry. The elves are partial to it, and I grow used to answering to it once again."

"And what do you need of me?" Harry asked, clear now that there was some great purpose to his visit, one he likely wouldn't like.

"You know that I fell in Moria, yes?"

"Yes. Haldir was told as such by the fellowship, and told the same tale to me."

"Did they tell of the foe I fought?" Mithrandir asked. And Harry remembered that morning's dream, Arahael's pyre, the balrog in his place, and he nodded without answering, twisting the ring on his finger round and round.

"There are few who have faced a balrog and lived; neither you nor I have managed such a feat. We have both lost our lives in the dark of the mines, but you, Harry, lost something else and it is time you regain it."

"No." Harry replied quickly, voice low.

"The balrog is gone. I defeated it upon the mountaintop before I lost my strength. It is only orc that will greet you now."

"It is better there. It is safer. There are few on Middle Earth who could wield it and none but I know where it is. It has been safe there for hundreds of years."

"Safer for Middle Earth or safer for you?"

"Both!" Harry replied. "Do you have any idea of what I could do with that wand? How my power grew as I lived and died and lived again?"

He turned to Galadriel.

"I looked into your mirror and I saw a world turned to ash, this world that I turned to ash. Every person, every living thing, gone. I don't have that kind of power on my own, but with that wand…"

"You held that wand for a very long time Harry, and Middle Earth still stands." Galadriel replied.

"It stands because I died! Because I died before I could burn everything down! Is that what you want to rely on? Is it worth the risk?" Harry asked angrily.

"Yes." She said, voice steady and sure. "This world is balanced on a knife edge. One wrong move and it will fall. There are few left now who can stand against what's coming, and we will need all the power that they have to have a hope of holding back the dark. We need all the power that you have, Harry, and you are most powerful with that wand. The Valar have made that clear."

"The Valar may be your gods, but they are not mine and they do not control me." Harry spat, standing.

"They do not wish to control you, Harry. They wish to save this world."

"I think they've left it a bit late for that." He said, walking towards the door.

"You would not be here if you believed that." Galadriel stated surely.

"Wouldn't I?" Harry asked, turning around. "Where else would I go? To Mordor, to beg Sauron's forgiveness? For his twisted love to dull my mind for all eternity so I do not have to witness the horrors he will inflict upon this world? Better to stand, to fight, to ensure that the end of one I love comes painlessly if it must come."

"Better, surely, to stop that end coming at all Harry?" Mithrandir said gently. "If it is in your power to do so?"

"You have seen a future where Haldir lives, Harry, you know it is possible."Galadriel said urgently. "But you must make it happen."

"Could you live with yourself, for the rest of your endless life, if you did not even try?" Mithrandir asked.

No one needed him to answer.

A/N I actually wrote this last year and continued on, but as I hadn't made much progress I figured I'd split the chapter so there's at least an update. document feature is shite so apologies if formatting is off. Keeping Harry vaguely recognisable whilst also being ancient is very difficult, and I'm not sure I've managed it. Some elements were included to explain why he retains some semblance of self, but a formal way of speaking is inevitable after this long in Middle Earth.