The next day they arose early to the smell of something cooking. Aragorn
had killed something in the night and was roasting it over a fire with
several small bits of bread warming on rocks. Climbing out of the covers,
Harry accepted a leg of ... whatever, and one of the slices of bread. They
ate quickly and quietly, breaking camp before the sun had fully risen over
the mountains.
For several days they traveled, on foot most of the way, Strider scouting ahead of them. The Hobbits told stories a great deal of the time, engaging Harry with their sheer enthusiasm. At times, he almost forgot who else he had been. It only lasted a few moments though before something would remind him just how far from home he was. His feet began to trouble him after a few days. He'd been wearing a rather thin pair of house shoes while he was practicing. Not wishing to slow them down, he said nothing, simply bearing the pain and discomfort.
A week or so after his arrival, they were camping atop a hill. They were settling down for sleep when a noise startled them. Harry's first thought at seeing the attacker that the Dementors had somehow found him. A surge of hope leapt up in him at the thought of something - anything - that was familiar. He soon realized that they hunched, shrouded figure was nothing like the Dementors he was familiar with. Metal clanged in the night as Strider fought him. There was movement to Harry's side and he looked just in time to see a knife coming at him. Another one of the Dementor things had thrown it, hitting his shoulder and throwing him back against the tree.
Some time later, he awoke in a daze. "Ron?" he blinked at the face in front of his.
"No ... it's Merry. Are you awake?" Harry could feel something on his shoulder. His hand heavy, he reached to feel what it was as he seemed unable to move his head.
"Don't touch it, Harry." Strider stayed his hand. "I'm almost done." he tied the bandage and slipped Harry's arm into a length of cloth being used as a sling. "You'll ride from now on."
Harry nodded, wondering why a simple stab wound had affected him so much. He felt himself being lifted up and something was tied loosely around his legs. "Wha?" he tried to tug free.
"Easy Harry," he vaguely recognized Pippin's voice. "Just to keep you from falling off."
Harry groaned softly as he rode, feeling more drained than tired or in pain. He know he passed out a few times, or at least slept. Opening his eyes, he would see the scenery was vastly different and the day much later than when he had shut them.
That night they made camp, the Hobbit's gently laying Harry on his bedrolls. They also fed him when he proved unable to do so himself. Firm, small hands gently lifted him to a sitting position and drew him back against a firm side while another of the Hobbits carefully fed him broth and water. They seemed very concerned and Harry thought he heard them speaking in hushed voices later that night.
Despite his exhaustion and poor condition, Harry did not sleep much that night. He was plagued by memories of home - Summer at the Weasley's, Daigon Alley, visiting Hogmead's with Ron and Hermoine, spending the evenings with Hagrid and he creature of the week. Again he was overcome with an urge to slip the ring onto his finger as a means of getting home. When he tried to put it on, he found his arms were too heavy despite his best efforts to lift them. Finally he gave up, simply enduring the memories, tears rolling down his cheeks.
The next day he awoke astride the horse, the company already on their way. Some ways ahead he could make out a figure with a white body and yellow head. Strider stopped and talked to it for a minute and then it approached Harry. Hands were untying his legs from the horse while the white-yellow thing reached for him. Pulling away, a voice soothed him. "Calm down, little one. I'm going to take you where you can be helped." The voice spoke with an accent that Harry could not place. The gentleness of the words and a feeling of sincerity and safety relaxed him. Blinking, he found himself lifted easily off the pony and draped across the saddle of what he now realized was a horse with rider. Looking up at the rider, he knew at once that it was an elf. Strider hadn't lied about their beauty. Harry's head rolled against the chest as he passed out again.
A thundering below him woke Harry again. The horse was going very, very fast and Harry was amazed he wasn't falling off. The horse leapt and Harry's head sagged backwards. Behind them he glimpsed several black horses behind him. The elf lifted his head back up as soon as he what happened. "Ignore them, Harry. You'll be safe soon."
Suddenly, the horse came to a halt. Turning his head wearily, he could see a river ahead of them. The elf began coaxing the horse across the swiftly rushing water. When they were halfway across, the ones chasing began crossing, having considerable more difficulty with their horses. At the other side, the horse carrying Harry and his elf savior turned around. Harry heard him say something in a language he didn't recognize and suddenly the sound of rushing water stopped, replaced by a sound Harry couldn't place. Lifting his head, he saw what looked like a wall of foam approaching the riders in the river. A supernatural screaming pierced his ears as the wall came crashing down on them, drowning them and their horse. That too died down and the river returned to normal. Harry felt a hand on his head and heard the elf speak again. "Come, little one. You're safe now, and will soon be healed." The horse turned again and Harry slipped into unconsciousness.
For several days they traveled, on foot most of the way, Strider scouting ahead of them. The Hobbits told stories a great deal of the time, engaging Harry with their sheer enthusiasm. At times, he almost forgot who else he had been. It only lasted a few moments though before something would remind him just how far from home he was. His feet began to trouble him after a few days. He'd been wearing a rather thin pair of house shoes while he was practicing. Not wishing to slow them down, he said nothing, simply bearing the pain and discomfort.
A week or so after his arrival, they were camping atop a hill. They were settling down for sleep when a noise startled them. Harry's first thought at seeing the attacker that the Dementors had somehow found him. A surge of hope leapt up in him at the thought of something - anything - that was familiar. He soon realized that they hunched, shrouded figure was nothing like the Dementors he was familiar with. Metal clanged in the night as Strider fought him. There was movement to Harry's side and he looked just in time to see a knife coming at him. Another one of the Dementor things had thrown it, hitting his shoulder and throwing him back against the tree.
Some time later, he awoke in a daze. "Ron?" he blinked at the face in front of his.
"No ... it's Merry. Are you awake?" Harry could feel something on his shoulder. His hand heavy, he reached to feel what it was as he seemed unable to move his head.
"Don't touch it, Harry." Strider stayed his hand. "I'm almost done." he tied the bandage and slipped Harry's arm into a length of cloth being used as a sling. "You'll ride from now on."
Harry nodded, wondering why a simple stab wound had affected him so much. He felt himself being lifted up and something was tied loosely around his legs. "Wha?" he tried to tug free.
"Easy Harry," he vaguely recognized Pippin's voice. "Just to keep you from falling off."
Harry groaned softly as he rode, feeling more drained than tired or in pain. He know he passed out a few times, or at least slept. Opening his eyes, he would see the scenery was vastly different and the day much later than when he had shut them.
That night they made camp, the Hobbit's gently laying Harry on his bedrolls. They also fed him when he proved unable to do so himself. Firm, small hands gently lifted him to a sitting position and drew him back against a firm side while another of the Hobbits carefully fed him broth and water. They seemed very concerned and Harry thought he heard them speaking in hushed voices later that night.
Despite his exhaustion and poor condition, Harry did not sleep much that night. He was plagued by memories of home - Summer at the Weasley's, Daigon Alley, visiting Hogmead's with Ron and Hermoine, spending the evenings with Hagrid and he creature of the week. Again he was overcome with an urge to slip the ring onto his finger as a means of getting home. When he tried to put it on, he found his arms were too heavy despite his best efforts to lift them. Finally he gave up, simply enduring the memories, tears rolling down his cheeks.
The next day he awoke astride the horse, the company already on their way. Some ways ahead he could make out a figure with a white body and yellow head. Strider stopped and talked to it for a minute and then it approached Harry. Hands were untying his legs from the horse while the white-yellow thing reached for him. Pulling away, a voice soothed him. "Calm down, little one. I'm going to take you where you can be helped." The voice spoke with an accent that Harry could not place. The gentleness of the words and a feeling of sincerity and safety relaxed him. Blinking, he found himself lifted easily off the pony and draped across the saddle of what he now realized was a horse with rider. Looking up at the rider, he knew at once that it was an elf. Strider hadn't lied about their beauty. Harry's head rolled against the chest as he passed out again.
A thundering below him woke Harry again. The horse was going very, very fast and Harry was amazed he wasn't falling off. The horse leapt and Harry's head sagged backwards. Behind them he glimpsed several black horses behind him. The elf lifted his head back up as soon as he what happened. "Ignore them, Harry. You'll be safe soon."
Suddenly, the horse came to a halt. Turning his head wearily, he could see a river ahead of them. The elf began coaxing the horse across the swiftly rushing water. When they were halfway across, the ones chasing began crossing, having considerable more difficulty with their horses. At the other side, the horse carrying Harry and his elf savior turned around. Harry heard him say something in a language he didn't recognize and suddenly the sound of rushing water stopped, replaced by a sound Harry couldn't place. Lifting his head, he saw what looked like a wall of foam approaching the riders in the river. A supernatural screaming pierced his ears as the wall came crashing down on them, drowning them and their horse. That too died down and the river returned to normal. Harry felt a hand on his head and heard the elf speak again. "Come, little one. You're safe now, and will soon be healed." The horse turned again and Harry slipped into unconsciousness.