DISPLACED
Description: Post-OotP and heavy spoilers for HBP. This may be considered an alternate universe fic of the latter. Hints of slash abound, mostly A/L, and then maybe even some RL/SS.
Synopsis: During the Battle of Helm's Deep, a freak lightning bolt strikes Legolas and Aragorn. They are transported to a realm between worlds, apparently the same timespace-continuum where Sirius Black fell beyond the Veil. Upon encountering one another however, the two Middle Earth guys are unwittingly dragged out of the Veil and into the Harry Potter universe.
Chapter 1
The heroes of a distant land
Sworn enemies of faceless Dark
Shall pass through Destiny's cold hand
Like water struck by thunder's mark
And fey the Powers of the Light
Bade them return to flesh and breath
And both shall earn the gift of life
Whence they restore a man from death
When Legolas woke, he felt something blunt and painful digging into his rib. As his mind settled into consciousness, he realized that it was Aragorn's sword crushed between them that was causing this discomfort. He found his arms still clutching his friend in a very tight embrace. He tried to remedy this, but his small movements only caused his companion to wake up.
"...Legolas?"
"Estel," replied the elf.
Slowly, the two disentangled themselves, until they were lying flat on their backs, shoulder to shoulder. And then it was Aragorn who realized they were both submerged in total darkness.
Legolas bit back his surprise when his friend seized his hand in a rattling grip.
"Tell me, Estel," Legolas whispered, a half-smirk in his voice, "are you afraid of the dark?"
Aragorn's grip softened, though the elf sensed the jest was lost on him. He could just about see the man's face--lips pursed in a frown, eyes closed and breath hitched slightly. For a moment, he thought he felt Aragorn's eyes upon him, in a fierce, spine-tingling stare, but when he shifted to face his friend he only caught the small rattling sigh that escaped his lips.
"Forgive me... " He muttered, and then reached out a hand and said, "Friend, shall we stand and have a better look around?" Aragorn took his hand with a firm grip, and they helped each other up. The man's palm against the elf's cool skin was sweaty and clammy by comparison, but Legolas could feel his friend's pulse calming down, slowing in time to his own. And he felt relief for this, for them both, for not having to wake up alone in this dark place.
It is difficult to explain how one's feet can be disoriented by the ground. But it was something the two certainly experienced, and without further ado, Aragorn started to fall. It was Legolas, with his hand gripping Aragorn's own like a steadfast rock, who reeled the man back to his senses. And his feet found solid footing, not on the floor, but on his trust of his elven friend's own confidence of his bearings.
"It sounds like a hall," Estel remarked, and his words echoed into the dark unknown as if to validate his claim. "Moria..." was all Legolas said, and both unconsciously shuddered at the memories it brought. Although Gandalf had been returned to them, their flight from the Balrog in the darkness of Khazad-dum still drew a sharp pain from the elf's heart.
A bright spot caught the periphery of the man's vision, and all of a sudden it seemed it had been there all along. "Look, Legolas!" he said, pointing out the pinprick of light, seemingly no bigger and no less farther than a star. With his pointing finger, Aragorn traced the faint path that the light had etched in the darkness, all the way back to where they stood.
"This is a road," said the elf, as if to speak it would make the ground under their boots more tangible, more assuredly solid. "And from what I can see, the light is too long-shaped, and too narrow, to be a proper star."
"Then perhaps it is a door?" suggested Aragorn. "Perhaps," replied Legolas, and he shrugged.
In silent mutual agreement, the two headed down the path towards the speck of light in the far distance. Their pace was rather slow, and their footfalls echoed eerily. Although Aragorn had suspected it to be a hall, the place felt rather strange to Legolas. The darkness in Moria was different, and the halls there were swarming with orcs and other foul creatures. Here, there was no palpable evil, only a chilling void that was haunting in its silence. As they walked, he tried to make out the substance of the walls--if one could call solid darkness a wall--but so far he couldn't see anything beyond the black. In fact, if he had only absolute faith in his keen elven vision, he would think that the walls around them were swirling, and not at all as deceptively solid as the darkness made them out to be.
Belatedly, he noticed that Aragorn was about to touch it.
"Stop!" Legolas cried as he snatched his friend's hand back, not waiting for the man to catch himself before dragging them both to the relative safety of the path. There they stood, a frozen tableau for one dark moment, before Legolas collected his wits and gently pulled himself away from his friend.
His eyes darted to the blackness around them with new suspicion. "I don't believe that was wise, Estel." His voice was rather chiller than the dark, but he didn't notice. Aragorn, wide-eyed and still trying to grasp the fact that he had unwittingly put himself in danger, shook his head and hissed through gritted teeth, "They were calling me. I am sorry. I didn't realize, but they were calling me."
The elf frowned but thought not to push the subject further. He gave the deceptive dark walls his best heated glare, although in his eyes there was the faintest hint of fear also. There was only a mysterious invisible force that kept this shifting, shapeless blackness from swallowing them whole. He knew not what made it so, or if someone, anyone, was protecting them. At the moment, he felt only gratitude and relief that he had stopped his friend in time.
Legolas shivered then.
"Hold fast, Estel, and heed not the voices. The path is not as wide as we thought, so we must stay close."
"Do you know something about this place then, Legolas?" asked Aragorn, as the elf drew up beside him.
"I am not quite sure."
Legolas frowned in thought. There was this story he remembered vaguely, that his father had told him once years and years ago, when he was very very young. "I may have heard of a place. It was a passageway of souls, of dead mortal Men."
Aragorn's grey eyes sharpened at this. "What was it called?"
"This passage between the realm of the living and the dead, I once heard, was called The Hollow Place."
- - - - -
"The Hollow Place," repeated Aragorn, and perhaps Legolas didn't hear it quite right, because the words did not echo through the walls. Rather, it had seemed that the darkness had absorbed it.
"Aye," he said, trying to ignore the dread sinking to the pit of his stomach. "The way inbetween worlds, where the dead pass through."
There was a lengthy breath of quiet, one that grew and stretched sinuously as they walked on, and then-
"Are we..?" burst Aragorn.
"I do not know," replied Legolas, eager to beat back the pernicious silence. "The Firstborn are destined for Valinor. Elves have very little knowledge of what transpires for the other children of Illuvatar. The Dwarves we know to return to the rocks, the Orcs mayhap are reconciled with the Light, but Men…Men pass through the Hall of Mandos, briefly, and then are sent to a place I do not know."
A short pause. "Neither do I," Aragorn said. "But, forgive me friend, for elves--you?"
The elf in question sighed. "This is as much a mystery to me as to you, I'm afraid. If we ever get back, I'll be sure to reconsider my theories on the afterlife."
Aragorn held his smile back, and the journey continued in tense silence.
"Estel, look! The light grows larger and brighter. It is a doorway, I am sure of it now."
Aragorn hadn't realized that his head was drooping, but when he raised his eyes to the bright speck that was their beacon of hope, he found himself surrounded by a different kind of brightness. He looked around him, and oddly, he knew he should not be afraid.
The brightest stars littered a clear night sky, and his boots rested on solid wood, that gently rocked with the waves of the sea. Aragorn was momentarily caught in the strangeness of this phenomenon, standing in dumbstruck awe at the bridge of what appeared to be a boat of elven make. He was fully aware that Legolas was not by his side, but strangely this did not concern him. At the moment, all that mattered was that he felt safe and at peace.
-----
"Young Greenleaf..."
Legolas hadn't realized that his eyes were closed until he opened them, to a forest of light and splendor.
"Young Greenleaf," said a youthful, light-hearted and strangely familiar voice. "Welcome home."
His warm hands rested on smoothened rock. The cool surface of the boulder felt refreshingly comfortable to sit on. There was a small waterfall tinkling merrily nearby, and the water flowed against and through the boulder he sat on. Aragorn was nowhere to be found, and yet he knew that everything was all right. And he was not alone, for there was a boy, a young elfling, sitting beside him.
"Who are..." Legolas started, but then something made him pause. The young elf wore a smile as warm as the sun, and his golden locks, unbraided, fell gracefully from the crown of his head like a glowing halo. His eyes, blue as a night sky, was filled with the brilliance of the oldest stars. "You...you are..." Legolas managed to choke out, his face pale from shock--or was it overwhelming awe--and he was about to turn his eyes away from the vision, when the elfling lad reached out a hand to draw him by his chin and face him once again.
"Mae govannen, young Thranduillion," he said, and his voice was clearer and cooler than the waterfall. Unexpectedly, he inclined his head forward--a short, informal bow for greeting. "I am Mandos."
-----
"Ho, Aragorn son of Arathorn!"
It was all Aragorn could do not to jump in fright. Someone just clapped him on the back, rather heavily. His breath nearly left his lungs, though he managed to turn to face his would-be assailant. He never expected it to be a bear of a man--no, an elf--who without the slightest hint of a warning engulfed him in the most terrifying hug of his life.
"Careful! You great buffoon! You're going to crush him!"
At once, Aragorn felt the huge arms around him relax, and his boots touched solid ground once more. Without even meaning to, he sighed in relief.
"Mae govannen, Master Estel," a new voice, from behind the great big elf, greeted him with polite cheer. "I apologize in behalf of Master Feanor here, who had the misfortune of being taught manners by the dwarves."
Feanor, the elf right in front of him, threw back his shoulders and head and let out a loud guffaw. "Ha! And who told you that fork-tongued lie?" And then, with a distinct whoosh of air, his body snapped back to the front and for an instant Aragorn thought he was going to be head-butted to his doom. But then, at the last moment, the huge elf's body folded into a regal bow with such unexpected grace that Aragorn, born and raised with proper ettiquette of elves and men, was rendered speechless.
"Well, boy, were you raised by mountain men?"
It took a moment for poor Aragorn to register that Feanor was standing again—looming, in fact—and was staring at him with the most piercing soul-blue eyes.
Fortunately, the future king's manners finally kicked in and he managed a slow and slightly awkward bow. "A great honor to have met the Noldor elf of fame, creator of the Silmarils. I, Aragorn son of Arathorn, am at your humble service."
A great big hand lay gently on his shoulder for a brief moment. When Aragorn looked up, it was to Feanor nodding solemnly in approval. His voice was grave when he declared, "This boy knows his history."
From somewhere behind him, the softest hint of a snigger was carried off by the wind.
"I am at your service as well, son of Arathorn," spoke the pilot of the ship. He stepped out from behind Feanor's bear-sized frame and executed a graceful bow. "I am Earendil, the Mariner."
Things would have been pleasantly smooth had Earendil not tripped on Feanor's toes.
"By Illuvatar! Watch where you put your flat feet!"
To the great confusion of Aragorn, he watched as Earendil turned swiftly to face Feanor, and the two proceeded to pour vitriol in abundance from their mouths.
"Flat feet? Well if YOUR eyes weren't half the time getting crossed by that MY Silmaril, sailor-boy—"
"Why did Manwe have to pick YOU? By the Valar, I swear I'll have Elwin peck on you—"
"Shame on you to bring your wife--"
"Don't be talking to me about shame, or I'll have you overboard--"
"I can THROW you overboard, and gladly! That's your mother's blood talking, you half-elven sea dog!"
For some reason, although it was likely to be an irrational one, Aragorn felt that the two would never come to blows, even though they look and sound like brewing for a fight. Or perhaps it was just this odd soul-weariness he felt that was holding him back, forcing him to withdraw, to stand still and quiet... It was nothing as bad as being in The Hollow Place--the noise was keeping him alert, too--but he found himself, with an unexpected pang, wishing that Legolas was around.
- - - - -
Legolas sat on his rock, quietly munching on a strange fruit and drinking from a cup of what seemed to be some very, very old elven wine. Beside him, Mandos sat quietly, with a pleasant smile on his young and amiable elven face. It was all certainly peaceful, but Legolas couldn't help feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, like something, some miniscule grain essential to the harmony of this moment, was missing.
It didn't occur to the elven prince that he was frowning until Mandos himself pointed it out.
Legolas thought he'd rather get it over with and asked forthright, "My Lord, where is my friend, Estel?"
For the briefest instant, the Valar's eyes glimmered.
"Straight to the point, you always were." His smile was infectious, and Legolas couldn't help but grin, though he had the grace to look embarassed.
"He is in good hands, my son." This caused the elf to sit upright and look attentive. It made Mandos want to laugh, though he managed to cover it with a wry grin.
"He is with Earendil the Mariner, and Master Feanor of the Noldor Elves."
The news amazed Legolas, though outwardly he appeared contented to hear of Aragorn's safety.
"Now that I have answered your question, will you answer one of mine?"
Mandos' voice snapped Legolas out of his reverie. His host's sudden talkativeness puzzled him.
"Ah…did you find the food and drink to your liking?"
The question genuinely surprised the elf, though he quickly answered, "Yes, my lord. You are a most generous host."
Mandos nodded. "I'm not quite sure about the fruit…I may have to ask Yavanna about its name again. But I believe the wine is a fine vintage…"
Legolas couldn't really understand what the Valar he was talking about. Mandos may have noticed his baffled expression, because he stopped his mumbling and gave another radiant smile.
"They were necessary for you, in order to survive the hollow realms. This fruit brings you to life, and the drink makes you regain your senses. Only the living can pass through the doorway, you see."
Legolas brightened up at hearing this, and he eagerly asked, "Will we be able to return to our world, if we pass through this door?"
Mandos' smile grew wider, but his eyes glimmered strangely.
Legolas thought that the Valar was feeling sad, but Mandos took hold of his shoulder and uttered, "Fair thee well, young prince Legolas. I shan't forget you, nor your dearest friend, Estel. We shall meet again, in due time." And then the Valar's eyes sparkled, and the world turned white.
- - - - -
It took a long, long while before Feanor finally settled down. Well, actually, Earendil had just stopped talking after a few harsh expletives were thrown his way, and then Feanor had had to deal with a stone wall. The sailor proved to be imperturbable, when he wished to be left alone; Aragorn thought that the sea had probably taught him that.
When finally Feanor gave up on grumbling, he turned to where Aragorn was standing, leaning quietly to the side of the ship, and walked resolutely to him with a bright smile. For a moment, Aragorn thought of leaping overboard. The elf's eyes were still sharp and fiery from the earlier exchange with Earendil.
Don't bother yet, Aragorn. We have to push you overboard later, anyway.
These words confused the man, but he was sufficiently startled by Feanor's presence in his mind that he was nevertheless safely rooted to the spot. He desperately willed the words away, so he wouldn't have to appear so embarassedly confused when he came face to face with the elf.
When Feanor got to him, the elf's smile was as bright as ever. "Neat trick, eh? A little gift from Manwe, call it a bonus for this small service."
Aragorn didn't know what to say to that, so he kept quiet. He saw Feanor pull out something from his pocket.
"Here," he said. "Manwe orders you to drink this," Feanor handed him a small wine flask, "and eat this," and then he gave him some brown lump that looked like a strange fruit, "so you can go home."
Without a thought, Aragorn hastily unscrewed the flask and took long gulps of what apparently tasted like wine, and then he gingerly bit into the fruit and found it had a sharp, tangy sweetness.
"I don't know what it's called. I'll have to ask Yavanna about it," Feanor offered, with a shrug.
Aragorn was a bit taken aback by his sudden hunger and thirst. "Thank you," he said, then bit into more of the fruit. And then a thought struck him. "Wait! You said I should be able to go home after this. How about my friend, Legolas? Do you know where he is?"
Feanor smiled, "Legolas Greenleaf of Greenwood, you say? He should be with—" and then Feanor looked up to the night sky, as if consulting something in the stars, then continued, "Mandos, no doubt. Lucky catch, that one!" He exclaimed, patting Aragorn heartily on the shoulder. This puzzled the man. The greatest of the Noldor was one very strange elf.
When Aragorn finished his fruit and wine, Feanor gamely took the flask from him and gave him a ball of cloth. Aragorn thanked him, and began to wipe his hands, when Feanor said, "That's from me, by the way. A little parting gift."
The elf winked, and to Aragorn's great surprise Feanor stepped towards him and shoved him overboard. The man fell with a mighty splash.
"Take very good care of your friend, oh King of Men! Elbereth is quite fond of him!" The elf called out as Aragorn struggled to swim. The swell of the water was dragging at his feet, and his clothes were weighing him down as well. He barely caught Feanor's last words.
"Trust your heart, friend, and don't turn love away!"
And then the water swallowed him.
Disclaimer: The characters Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter belong to their respective owner. I'm just a poor soul who has a critical writing condition.
