Uncharted Waters 2: Bard


The next day, Bard dealt with his morning post to the sound of excited chatter, loud enough to carry from the kitchens to his study.

He finished writing instructions for the day to the chirping of what he now knew to be three female voices, and finally got up to join them. Basking in the happiness he could hear in his daughters' tones, he felt only a slight pang of guilt when he stopped by the open door to the kitchens, listening in to the conversation instead of announcing his presence right away.

"-and the skirt? I've never seen a garb such as this before," Sigrid asked.

"It's a cloak, actually. I took it from the Elves to study it at first, but it proved too useful to just leave lying around."

For but a moment, Bard panicked at the thought of the maids overhearing such words. Then, he realised Sigrid would have sent them away for the day, to speak this openly in the first place.

"You stole an elven cloak?" Tilda asked, voice filled with what Bard wearily recognised as excited awe.

"Now you see why I had to refashion the fabric—so others wouldn't easily guess its origin. I wear it similarly to the way some people at home do—interestingly enough though, it's men that wear a plaid like this. I once- hmm, courted a lad who showed me how to plait and wrap it around your waist and belt."

"Men wear skirts in your home?"

"They would stubbornly call them something else, but yes, Tilda, some men do."

Bard walked into the kitchen among the giggling that ensued. The girls greeted him with bright smiles, and he let himself be swept in the joy of the morning, greeting both of his daughters with a peck on their foreheads, and a gentle squeeze of Tilda's palm that rested on her growing belly. When Harry raised her forehead in an offer, too, he went to flick it, as he would if his old friend were still a lad and gave such a cheek.

Grasping her shoulders next, he scrutinised her appearance the way he'd failed to last night in his surprised fluster. Her clothes were travel-weary but of good make, her skin had a healthy glow to it and her hair was freshly washed. Her figure used to be too skinny for a lad, but for a woman, she appeared slender, her arms even toned underneath the sleeves of her tunic. Could it be caused by her flying? Would the muscles translate between her two forms?

"You mentioned you hadn't slept in a bed for weeks prior to last night," he asked out loud. "Had you been eating well on your travels?"

She rolled her eyes at his scrutiny, the gesture teasing rather than petulant, but answered readily enough. "I have. I've still got enough coins to pay for a warm dinner whenever I feel like it."

He looked at the dagger on her hip, noticing the bigger one was missing from her shoulders this morning. "And what of your weapons, did you have to use them often?"

"Luckily, no."

"You still don't know how to wield them, do you?"

"Nope. Still woefully inadequate, I think you'd call me."

"Why carry two, then?"

"I noticed that the more weapons you carry, the less likely you are to get attacked."

Bard nodded, pleased with her caution. "If you allowed it, I would have my guards spar with you. Some of them are true masters of the blade."

She frowned. "If you forced me to practise, I'd rather it be only with you or Bain. The things I need to work on would seem suspicious to others."

Bard was afraid of such an answer, remembering how difficult a student she could be. Still, he nodded, knowing it would prove easy to find an excuse and send Bain Harry's way when the time for lessons came.

"Where is Bain, anyway?" Harry asked before Bard could throw his next concerned question at her.

"He's away for two more months, guarding the south with the Wood-elves. My Finn's there with him," Tilda answered whilst Sigrid pushed a plate in front of Bard. He obediently sat down and started on his breakfast.

With his mouth full, it was Sigrid who went to explain at the behest of Harry's pointedly raised eyebrow. "We have a force permanently stationed south of the lake, guarding the Plains in between the river and the Mountains of Mirkwood. The lads take turns at the camps we built there."

"The lads?"

"The young ones. Bain, and Prince Kíli and the Elvenking's son. The camps are always manned by two of them and their soldiers."

Bard watched as the second eyebrow joined the other and Harry shot him an impressed gaze. "You've done well, keeping the alliance alive."

Bard only shook his head as Tilda and Sigrid across the table grew subdued. "There's very little credit anyone but our enemy can take for forming this alliance. We once again found ourselves facing a common foe and we were strained enough to join forces."

Harry frowned in response to the plummeting mood. "Common foe?"

Bard nodded. "A year ago, a shadow returned to Mirkwood, to preside once again over the old fortress at the very south of the forest. Dol Guldur, Gandalf and the dwarves call the tower, and Nazgûl the wraiths that now hold it. Only this time, they brought Orcs and fallen Men with them. Not an army by any means, but enough to harass the lands south of the Long Lake with swords and dark magic both. Their greedy fingers reach far. They target the Elven settlements in the forest, Mannish farmsteads along the river and Dwarven caravans passing through the Old Forest Road. That's why Thranduil, Dale and Erebor joined forces, to wall off our lands north of the Plains and to respond swiftly when scouts come with a word of a raid down south. The alliance is fragile at best, though. You notice there always needs to be two forces camped together at all times, as there's not enough trust to leave just one ally watching. And every time it is Bain's turn to come home and leave the Dwarves and Elves there alone, I expect them to start a war all on their own."

Harry didn't let the mood be allayed by his lighter tone. "Dark magic?" she repeated, eyebrows still furrowed in a fierce scowl.

"It follows the fell Men and Orcs like a dark cloud and protects their stronghold—that's why we are able to push them back south at best, but never fully engage them."

"Was anyone I know hurt?" Harry asked next.

Bard went to shake his head before hesitating. "One of the dwarves that had stayed at your old house in Lake-town was killed guarding a caravan. Bifur—the one with an axe buried in his head."

Seeing her brows furrow further, either from trying to remember the late dwarf or actually grieving for him, Bard did not know, but he still reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Let's not dwell on such grim tidings this early in the morning. We've talked of a ride. Come, let's get the horses ready."


"How much do the girls know?" Bard asked later in the stables, keeping his voice low so the stable boys wouldn't hear them.

"I've told them Harry and Hattie are the same, but they still think that the East is truly my home and that I'm nothing but an erstwhile adventurer," Harry replied, bowed low from where she was fastening the buckles of her saddle. They picked the smallest mare the city's garrison housed but it still towered over Harry's modest frame.

"What do you think of this Finn?" Harry asked next, surprising Bard with the direction her thoughts had taken.

"He's a good lad," he answered readily. "He had been a good friend to Bain long before he started courting Tilda."

Harry chuckled. "I'd never pinned her for being the first with a kid of her own."

"Truly? I've always thought she was impatient enough to take very few detours."

"Still, she's awfully young to be a mother."

Bard narrowed his eyes at Harry's back over his own mare's saddle. "Are you disapproving?"

As if called by his glare, Harry turned to face him. "She's what, seventeen?"

She was disapproving, Bard realised, feeling himself bristle in response. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to question his choices as a father. "Bain was already born when I was Tilda's age. She and Finn courted long enough for him to prove capable of taking good care of her and their future children. I wouldn't have allowed the marriage otherwise."

He saw Harry's chin twitch back at his brisk tone but Bard stood firmly behind his words. A beat later, she dropped her eyes, albeit reluctantly. "It seems I'm still unused to how things are done here."

They led their horses out of the stables in the ensuing silence. A third mare trotted behind them, her reins bound to the horn of Bard's saddle and the harness on her back empty, to load up with Harry's belongings for their way back.

They had not spoken for the first few minutes of their ride, the silence between them stretching tensely as it never had; and Bard contemplated just what else time and the revealed truths had changed in their easy friendship.

Only when they crossed under the innermost walls did Harry speak. "You've done a great job with the city. I've been here for a couple of days, actually. Observing."

"Well then, let me give you an account of the things you couldn't have noticed from the skies," he offered, voice as calm and soft as the one she used.

He proceeded to tell her of Dale's renewed trade agreements with Dorwinion, Iron Hills and even Gondor in the far south. They already had the half-rebuilt Esgaroth bustling with ships every day, whilst Dwarvish caravans often came with Gondorian goods gathered at the Old Ford over the Anduin. He even told her of the delegation that was now preparing to sail downriver to the sea of Rhûn, with the hope to set up a new trade route. He told her of the farmers that returned to the fertile lands between the Long Lake and the Redwater River, the Northmen rebuilding their abandoned homesteads now that the dragon no longer threatened them with his fire. He told her of Sigrid's finished apprenticeship with Balin, and the great help she was to him every day.

The morning crowd moved out of the horses' way as the riders kept their pace slow, walking on the cobblestones; Bard's neighbours nodding respectfully whilst keeping a curious eye on his companion. By an unspoken agreement, Bard carried on talking of general matters until they reached the outer gates and they allowed their steeds to canter away from the city and its listening ears, the horses jubilant with unspent energy. Once they slowed down though, Bard didn't speak up again, waiting for Harry to start her tale.


"Seven years ago, a good friend of mine approached me with an old study she'd dug up from who knows where. In it, a wizard such as I am, or my friend is, claimed that he could transport others through great distances. Great as- to Valinor and even further, if you'd like, crossing not only continents but worlds and planes of existence. The trouble was, none of his test subjects survived the journey back. With some hefty enchantments, he would put them to sleep, and in their dreams, they would... half-disappear from their bodies, and they would indeed travel away from the world they slept in. However, the only way they seemed to wake up was through their deaths in the dream world, and unfortunately, the death would translate into their sleeping bodies—they would wake up dead."

Harry paused in her speech, darting a quick glance his way, before she carried on with her story. "Due to previous experience, Luna—my friend—and I were both rather certain I wouldn't stay dead even if I were to die during the experiment, so we decided to give the enchantments a try, to send me away with her notes and instruments and a library worth of books, so I could try to devise a way to exit the dream from within, a way that would be safe for anyone to use. So, we recreated the spells. It had taken several tries but one night, I finally woke up here, in Arda."

Harry ceased talking then and it took Bard a whole minute of silence to realise she was waiting for him to speak, wrapped up in his confused thoughts as he was. He tried to gather them into a cohesive reply. "You claim that you have… another body lying asleep somewhere else, whilst you're trapped in Middle-earth, looking for a way back?"

"I'm not exactly trapped," she was quick to grunt back. "I could just die and wake up anytime I want to. Most probably. I don't plan to do that anytime soon, though—I'd still like to find a peaceful way to exit."

Once again, Bard took a long time to form his thoughts, let alone questions. "Then we are but a dream to you? And if you were to die here and now, you would wake up in your… world, beside your friend Luna. And- and should you wish it, you could just fall asleep and travel back here?"

"No," Harry said, quickly and decisively. "I decided a long time ago that you're all very much real. As for the option of coming back once I've woken up- I haven't puzzled that out yet."

"Please, explain."

Harry let out a long, shuddering sigh. "If the enchantments always led to the same world, to Middle-earth, it would mean the other wizards had also travelled here. I've been searching for mentions of them, because certainly, they wouldn't have gone unnoticed—they wielded the same powers as I do, and we tend to stick out. But the only wizards in Arda that could possibly fit the description are the Istari. They could fit—maybe they had forgotten their origin? Or maybe they remember my world alright but pretend not to? If so, it would be a bloody great ruse, as the whole world with all the immortal Elves seem to be on it!"

At the end, Harry had raised her voice and spoken so quickly Bard had to strain his ears to discern her words. She paused to take a deep breath then, and when she spoke again, her voice was calmer for it. "But the other explanation of their origin is almost as far-fetched. How am I to accept that the Istari were simply sent to Middle-earth by the same godlike beings that had apparently sung it to existence? Sung to existence, and yet in many ways it is so similar to mine?"

Harry's vehement hiss of the last sentence gave Bard a pause. "You claim that your world has many wizards in it," he reminded her. "Yet you struggle to believe that this one was created by beings of such power?"

"Well, we certainly don't claim to have created our world!" she readily objected. "On the contrary, we have it proven we were created with it, through a slow process of evolution that we have scientifically documented almost step by step."

Bard failed to follow her last explanation and not only because she had partly slipped into her mother tongue. He decided to leave that direction of questioning for later, as it apparently touched upon a tangle of frustration that Harry's views and beliefs seemed to have weaved. He would approach this topic again at a later opportunity. There was something more pressing that confused him. "You claim that the wizards, the previous dream travellers, had all died. Yet, the Istari still live. How can you suspect them to be one and the same?"

She shot him a wide smile, her previous agitation seemingly forgotten. "That's the beauty of this whole thing—Luna, and more importantly, even my other friend, Hermione—is certain that no matter how much time we spend in the other worlds, we wake up as after any other night with normal dreams. I could spend decades here, centuries even, and I'll always wake up the morning after."

By then, they arrived on the slopes of the Lake Hills and Harry took a turn up a narrow path. It didn't allow them to ride two abreast, and Bard fell behind, thus effectively halting the confounding conversation. He took the reprieve gladly, mulling over all the impossibilities Harry had spoken of with such certainty.

Whilst his mind whirled, his eyes observed Harry's seat in the saddle, remembering she had once confessed she couldn't ride. She must have corrected that oversight in her years of travel, for she now controlled the horse with subtle shifts of her lower body, confident the mare would obey.

A while later, long after the horses had started sweating from their steep climb, Harry stopped by a small creek. As she dismounted, Bard cast his eyes around their surroundings for what seemed like the first time since they'd left the city gates. Harry had led them northeast, to the western slopes of the Lake Hills. Bard saw the waters of the Long Lake far in the south, and the waterfall of Ravenhill across the Dale Valley, on another arm of peaks running from the Lonely Mountain. The ground here was no longer barren, free of the dragon's fell influence now, and young larch trees had sprouted up among the shrubbery.

Harry went looking for her hidden belongings whilst Bard waited by the horses. When she returned with the first armful of packs, Bard had his next question ready. "Tell me of your home."

He helped her heave the first pack onto the third mare's back, holding it up whilst she fastened it to the harness. It was surprisingly light, especially when he could feel the shape of several books through the oilskin, counting at least four by their spines. Yet the pack weighed barely more than a bundle of clothes.

"My world… is bigger than Arda. And yet, it seems smaller—in the sense that it's easier to reach every corner of it. Imagine being able to speak with the Steward of Gondor down in Minas Tirith anytime you wanted to, with just a few wiggles of your fingers. Or you could spin on your heel and give him a personal visit. We're also rather advanced—our, hm, crafts and skills allow us a much more comfortable life. It also allows to understand the world around us better—for example, we've discovered ways to travel up into the skies. We've built settlements among the stars, Bard."

She mercifully paused then, giving Bard a chance to catch up to all the fantastical images her words kept conjuring. "There are many more people, and very few places left that aren't brimming with them," she continued. "No Dwarves, no Elves—just Men. No Orcs, either, although we certainly have lots of Orcish characters among us."

With one pack safely fastened, he held up the second. "Is it a peaceful world then?"

"No, not for everyone. We try, and there are certainly many people whose lives have never been touched by war. But then, there are some who haven't known anything but. People lead wars for greed, for differences in their beliefs, but lately, even simply for their right to breathe."

"And what of your life in it?"

"Well, which part would you like to hear about first? Because it would be a rather long tale should I tell it all."

Feeling his eyes widen, out of fear of the answer, Bard still rushed to ask, "How long?"

"I'm three times your age, Bard."

Silence reigned by the small creek after her announcement, and this time, Bard didn't have the excuse of a narrow path for it. He struggled with his thoughts until Harry had disappeared again between the high rocks of the slope to gather the rest of her belongings. When she returned, he had a response ready.

"I have not treated you with the respect you deserve. Please, accept my apology."

She was shaking her head even before he finished. "You only treated me according to what I'd let you believe. You owe me no apology."

She picked up her third pack and he obediently held it to the mare's side, still frowning in his embarrassment. She grimaced at the look on his face, hers very close now as she went to secure the straps. "I've always valued the ease of our friendship—I wouldn't have it any other way," she assured him. A grin lightened her features. "Although, I could do with less coddling, now that you know I'm several times your senior."

He wasn't quite ready yet to respond to her teasing. She sighed at his continued silence.

"Actually, it's me who owes you an apology," she said a moment later. "For what I said this morning about Tilda and Finn. I should have known better than to doubt you'd ever choose anything but the best for your children."

Bard found that the offense he felt at her comment that morning had long since dulled. He shook his head. "Your words came only from the care you hold for Tilda. I cannot fault you for it."

Bard picked up the last pack and they once again worked in silence, although of a very different kind. When they mounted and turned the horses around to descend back to the valley, Bard felt as if some normalcy, if skewed and different than before, but still comfortable, settled into their conversation.

"Do you have a family?" he asked in a raised voice, so Harry could hear from her horse up ahead.

"I do. A wonderful one," she answered, turning her head back towards him and trusting her mare to navigate the crumbling path. "But probably not in the sense you're asking. I've never had any children. And I don't have a husband waiting for me, either."

Bard fought the urge to ask why, both tact and caution silencing him. Was it different for wizards of her world? Were they not cut for bringing children into this world? Yet, his hesitant silence must have proved too long, as Harry shot him a knowing grin and volunteered an explanation. "I've had quite different worries when my friends started sprouting kids left and right. Can't say I've dealt with those issues till now, really. But even if I had, it'd be a bit too late for me now to embark on that particular chapter."

"I am sorry."

"You don't have to be; I only very rarely am. More often than not, I'm surrounded with more family than I'd wish to."

Even though Harry's tone stayed calm and bright, Bard chose to change his line of questioning. "Tell me of your life before you entered this dream. What was your occupation?"

"I was retired, actually."

"Retired? But you're still able-bodied."

"Able-bodied maybe, but I was also bone-tired and in need of a break. For several decades, I'd led an organisation that unites the wizards of my world, and I'd just about had enough of it."

"So you were a leader," Bard said, thinking back to all the experience she'd shown when Dale was first reclaimed and when the negotiations with Dwarves had started.

She tilted her head before answering, "I've always thought of myself more as a soldier. And I had been, for the longest part of my life. But when that wasn't enough for what needed to be done, I'd taken up a different path."

That had the tidings of a good story, but Bard chose not to request it now. They were headed back to Dale and he had more urgent questions to ask before they reached its ears.

"Tell me of the years since you left Dale. Did you spend them looking for signs of your fellow wizard travellers? Searching for a safe way home?"

"Yes, but nowhere near with as much focus as I once would."

Their path had broadened again, and Bard urged his mare to level up with Harry's.

"I told you I'm retired, though my life had hardly been peaceful. My dearest friends back home—the few I have left—have gotten old, as old as their lifespan will generously allow, I'm afraid." Here, Harry paused to take a shivering breath. "I've been hoarding every single moment they have left, and it made me live in a rush for the past years—always trying to spend as much time with them as possible, always wondering if this is the last time I'll see them. It's a horrible strain, one that's draining your spirit something horrid, yet you hope it'll last as long as possible. But here, in Arda? I was given a sudden pause from all this. With this adventure lasting only one night where my friends wait, all that pressure is gone. I've found myself returning to interests and hobbies I've been neglecting for many decades, or travelling just for the sake of it, or just doing next to nothing for weeks on end. It's been..."

She blew out a breath, long and shuddering, and as all that air left her lungs, Bard understood she did not intend to finish her sentence with words, as the mighty sigh itself was expressive enough.

He nodded with understanding, at least a partial one. "And now in Dale? Do you intend to stay long?"

"I intend to build my life here," she readily corrected him, "for many years to come."

He sent her a smile at such an answer, the prospect of having his friend close, instead of fearing for her as she faced the dangers of this world alone, settling much of his worries.

"I still have a long way to go in figuring out the magic of this world, let alone devising new techniques in it. When I woke up here, I found most of my belongings destroyed, as the charms that kept them safely packed had failed. My research books, Luna's notes, my Pensieve—all gone; and I'm still finding new ways of how useless I am without these tools or a library to turn to. Now in Dale, I'll carry on with my research, though I expect to take a long time with any discoveries. But I also have other plans for this place," she said, bestowing a bright smile at him in return. "For example, I have a few ideas for opening a business."

"A business?"

"Yes. I'll need your help with that one, actually. Do you happen to know a Dwarf who wouldn't shy away from building designs that are perhaps a bit… unconventional? Creating them according to some sketches of mine? He would have to be proficient with carpentry almost as much as in a forge, though. Oh, and whilst we're on the topic, do you think you could get me a pass to Erebor's library? I've seen it once and it looked vast enough—it could prove valuable for my research."

Bard scowled in thought at her questions. "Your second request is easily solved—I'll secure you an audience with Ori, the Chief Librarian. As for your search for a tinkerer… your best bet would probably be Himli, Gloin's wife. She's said to have a more open mind with her projects than others of her guild."

Harry grimaced at his suggestions. "Are all the Dwarves in the Mountain related to the Company who knew me as Harry?"

"Although it sometimes seems like it, no, they are not—but those are the Dwarves I know the best, and trust enough to send you their way. Besides, if you truly believe in your disguise, you shouldn't shy away from putting it to the test."

She inclined her head. "That is true."

"Harry-" he started in a solemn voice once again. "The dwarves of the Company are not the only ones searching for you. I've had a strange audience with Gandalf, urging me most vehemently to send you his way, should you return to Dale."

She didn't look surprised. "Oh. I suppose he sniffed around after I'd left Dale?"

"That he did. Returned to visit the dwarves in the spring after the Battle, asking after you among the Lake-people, as well as in Dale. I'm afraid I displeased him when he realised I knew more and refused to share. He returned twice more, visiting Erebor, yet never failed to seek me out for a troubled word or two. Last time, he left a message for you with me."

She gave a long, exasperated sigh. "Let's hear it then."

"He said to give you the most dire warning. The power you hold—he is certain it will turn against you should you continue to use it."

Harry let out a sigh. "Rather hypocritical of him, isn't it?"

"You know of which he speaks?"

"I can make an educated guess. He and his Elvish friends figured out it was me who turned the trolls against their kin during the Battle six years ago. He doesn't know me, nor my magic, and it's only natural that he worries. It's not the first time I've been chased by someone who fears what he can't understand."

"Well then, wouldn't a conversation appease his concerns? From what you told me today, you also have some questions for the wizards of this world."

"It might," she conceded. "The trouble is, Gandalf seems to want to meet me much more urgently than I need to speak to him. I've learnt to be wary of such a confrontation."


AN: A life that Harry had led on Earth could possibly be inspired, among many other sources, by the one a Harry leads in this excellent one-shot:

Number Games by jbern

It's a great read; clever, mature (for the most part) and always to the point, exactly as I like it.

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(I'd like to give something back to the authors that have directly or indirectly inspired me in my own writing. At the end of my chapters, I'll be mentioning stories that I'm more than happy to recommend for your further reading)