Uncharted Waters 3: Harry
Harry broke her flight on the windowsill and hopped down to the floor. Transforming mid-air, her boots landed on the tiles with only a gentle thud. She straightened up and cast her eyes over her new rooms.
And wasn't that a thrilling thought? Happy excitement bubbled up through her mind at the prospect of having rooms to call her own for the first time in years.
She loved travelling, she always had. But before her adventure in Arda, she'd never truly appreciated how vital it was to have a home to return to when one became travel weary. After six years of roaming Middle-earth on the strength of her wings, always sleeping in a different inn, for a few nights at best, or in the wilderness for weeks at worst, she was more than ready to settle down in Dale with no plans of leaving in the immediate future.
Unlike last night, when she'd been first shown inside, her rooms weren't dark and gloomy to her eyes, but basked in the light of the morning sun, if rather shy and tardy this late into autumn. She went to explore the space with excited curiosity.
The compound Bard's family had taken for their home wasn't probably as grand as it would befit the Lord of the City, but it fitted Bard and his modesty perfectly. Still, the chambers that had been given to her last night were truly generous, and with the way Sigrid ran the house, also made cozy and clean, and above all, wonderfully warm even now, with the winter rapidly approaching. She now had a bedroom at her disposal, with a balcony facing the home's courtyard, and another room with a tub, wash-stand and other bits and bobs that constituted a bathroom in this world. No plumbing in Dale still, she noted with a slight grimace.
More importantly though, there was an antechamber, probably intended as a sitting room of a sort, but it was spacious enough to serve as a workshop. She'd have to request changes to the furniture, but it could be a good enough place for her work.
She considered the bed, knowing she'd pay for her sleepless night of scouting later if she soon didn't catch up on her sleep. Still, she was too eager to start her new life in Dale, the excitement making her reckless and chasing away any ideas of a mid-morning snooze. She glanced at her packs, lying in wait by the door where she had dropped them last night. They contained most of her belongings, though packed much less tightly than she preferred when she hauled it all on her own back. The whole trip to the mountain creak with Bard yesterday was a show for her new neighbours; she'd wanted to arrive with convincingly enough luggage as someone settling down into the city would, instead of turning up just with her backpack. A story of her horse going lame in the Hills was easy to fabricate.
She wished to unpack, to lay further claim to the guest quarters with her personal items, but at the same time, the sounds of the busy city beckoned to her from outside the windows. The streets had already been bustling with the usual morning crowd as she'd flown back, and she suddenly felt the urge to join the activity, after days of observing it from up above.
She donned her coat, fastened her second belt that held her dagger and purse, and walked out of her rooms.
She found Jarl in his study next to the entrance to the kitchens. She remembered him as a carpenter from Lake-town and a friend to Bard and his family. He seemed to have stayed the latter, whilst changing professions and earning himself a position as Bard's secretary of sorts. Sigrid had introduced him as such last night, telling Harry to come to him with any requests regarding her accommodation.
"Could a desk be brought to my front room?" she asked after they exchanged quick greetings as the strangers Jarl thought them to be. "And if possible, a workbench?"
His brows rose high at her demand. "We would have to remove the other furniture, my lady─the settee, the-"
"That won't be a problem. Leave only the two armchairs by the fireplace."
He tilted his head with obvious curiosity, in a way that made her long for the unquestioning loyalty and absolute discretion of house-elves. Living in a household with people employed to run it would definitely require a period of adjustment. Actually, whilst she was thinking on the topic-
"And please, let the others know that I don't wish for anyone to enter my chambers unless they have my explicit invitation. A maid can access the bathroom but she's not to go further."
She shocked him properly now. "But my lady- someone needs to clean the hearths, bring in the firewood, change your sheets-"
She raised her hands up, wiggling the open palms in the air. "I have two of these. I can very well do all of that on my own. When I need firewood, I'll leave the basket by the door. When I need fresh sheets, I'll leave the old ones by the door. Would that be a problem?"
He shook his head, albeit with evident reluctance. "I'll make sure you have everything you need to be self-sufficient inside your rooms."
"Oh, see, I wouldn't have thought of that. Thank you- I truly appreciate the help."
She left him then, knowing she'd just poured fresh oil onto the fires of the rumours, undoubtedly already spreading through the house and probably even beyond. Well, she'd rather be proclaimed an Eastern oddity, even if quite a haughty one, than an evil-worshipping sorceress, should someone snoop through her things. She knew the reputation Easterlings held among the people of the west, and from what she'd seen during her travels to Rhûn and further, she had to sadly conclude that the rumours were mostly founded in truth. She'd do well to distinguish herself from her supposed countrymen in this regard, rather than fuel the prejudice.
She knew Sigrid and Tilda were busy with their own routines, as was undoubtedly Bard. Perfectly happy with being left to her own devices, she headed out into the city on her own; for the first time as a witch, not a bird.
She headed for the guilds' market, remembering the way easily enough. Weighing the purse by her hip, she compiled a list of items that had seemed too exorbitant to haul around whilst travelling, but to which she could treat herself now. A comfy pair of pyjamas? Or whatever people wore here whilst sleeping in a safe home. Maybe even slippers? Bard had mentioned that Dale now traded with Gondor. Would the market have some of their bathing salts? And perhaps she should look for tea leaves, to keep a stash in her rooms? She still had a bag of her favourite Haradrim blend left, the closest flavour to Darjeeling she'd found in all of Arda, but she intended to savour it. The flight to Umbar still presented a bit of a hefty journey, even for the sake of a good cuppa.
She enjoyed a pleasant morning talking to the vendors, spending generously, out in the cold autumn sun and in the plain view of her neighbours. She knew she made for a sight, from her hair to her strange clothes, but she bore their stares with easy confidence. In a similar way she'd once played a dimwitted lad among these people, she now wore a different mask, that of a traveller well-accustomed to stirring curiosity. However, contrary to her last disguise, which had been more of an unwitting result of her inelegant entrance to this world than any sort of design, this new persona had been carefully crafted and suited her much better.
Her simple disguise, the braid covering her scar, the kohl changing the shape of her eyes, and even her clothes, were worn proudly, as the mementos of the cultural identity she refused to fully give up. With her kilt-like skirts, it even rang true—it was the only compromise she was willing to accept, the pleat long enough in the back to resemble skirts and not to offend the sensibilities of the medieval gender divisions, whilst the rolled-up front gave her legs the freedom she was used to.
So yes, if asked, her appearance would be explained by the upbringing among her tribe in the far east, beyond even the Red Mountains where so few travelled that barely any tales were ever told about the people of those lands. She hoped that her other quirks, in character and manners that she no longer meant to hide, would be prescribed to the same origin.
She stopped for lunch at a street-side vendor whose face she remembered from Lake-town, and got herself a stick of fish, a trout as spiced and charred as they'd always been. She hopped up onto a wall of the nearby well, happy to munch on the unexpected treat, reminding her of days long past.
She cast her eyes wide around the square and for the first time met the curious stares of her old-new neighbours. People hastened to avert their gaze, most embarrassed at being caught, others bending heads towards each other in whispers, but some grunting away in obvious disapproval. Oh, so the gossip had already gotten creative.
One didn't need much imagination to guess what was being said about her. She was seen at an inn with Bard, leaving for a private room; and then the next day, riding through the streets by his side. As far as she was aware, and she made herself so, Bard hadn't offered anything beyond pleasantries to any female in his company for years. It was bound to attract a lot of curious attention when he suddenly broke this pattern.
She didn't mind the talk. There wasn't true malice in it; jealousy and disapproval she could deal with.
As she nibbled on her trout, her eyes continued to sweep across the crowd, and over the bold man that had been trailing her for the past hour or so. She wondered whether he was hired by the Dwarves, or if she'd already attracted the attention of other factions in Dale that she was not yet aware of. Would Erebor hire a Man to follow her? There were some Dwarves milling around the market, but she supposed a Dwarf wandering aimlessly through the city was still too conspicuous a sight to trail someone successfully. It was possible Thorin would rather choose a Man to do so.
Biting into her food, she wondered at their efficiency. Bard only let out the bit about her being Harry's sister yesterday, to explain her presence to the maids. And yet, it seemed the information had reached Erebor in time to send back a spy this morning.
She was rather tempted to give her tail some sort of acknowledgment, but resisted—the man was good; a normal young girl would hardly register such a shadow.
On the other hand, she'd no longer have to pretend to be a demure lass the way she'd played a dimwitted boy back in Lake-town. She only had to avoid showing her magic, not her backbone.
She turned back to the man, spotting him easily by his shiny head reflecting the midday sun. This time, she stayed her eyes until he met her gaze. She smiled and winked at him, raising her fish in a mock salute.
His eyes widened in surprise before he scowled at her rather fiercely and spun on his heel to disappear in the sea of bodies of the busy market. She supposed he wouldn't stay away for too long, though.
When she got back home—and didn't that sound marvelous?—her front room was almost unrecognizable, with a sturdy oak desk now taking up almost a quarter of the space, and workbenches and shelves lining two of the three remaining walls. The last one, with the fireplace, had two overstuffed chairs facing the dancing flames in the hearth.
This was more like it. She dropped the sack with her purchases on one of the chairs and went to unpack.
A couple of hours later, a soft knock sounded through the room and woke her up. She shook off the sleep with some difficulty; she must have dozed off into a deep sleep at some point. She took in the dark sky behind her windows and stretched her neck, stiff from her slumped position on the chair.
She'd just lit her two lamps with a quick thought and a spark of magic, when a second knock outside of her door reminded her of the first one.
"Yes?" she called cautiously.
"It's Bard."
With a Levitation Charm, she nudged the latch on the door open in an invitation. When the bolt had slid noisily and yet Bard hadn't entered, she nudged them open with a meek Banisher from where she still sat by the fire, sighing at the mess of spilt ink and crunched up parchment she found in her lap. A blotch of ink covered half the sheet, making her notes illegible, but she cared very little—they were just meaningless lines, and scrawled very poorly anyway, as her precision with Levitation Charm was still long weeks of practise away from the neatness of a Dictating Charm.
She remembered now—sometime mid-afternoon, when exhaustion had caught up with her, she'd sat down to practise, knowing the tedious exercise would lull even her restless mind to sleep.
Bard peered inside and she grinned at his momentary look of confusion when he found her on the other side of the room, and not by the moving door. He blinked the bewilderment away, as he always did when he chose not to ask about the latest show of her oddities, and instead stepped inside and closed the door behind his back.
"I've heard that you banned the maids from your chambers."
"And for a good reason." She swept her hand over the room in an invitation, but it wasn't necessary─Bard's sharp eyes were already roaming over the new furniture and her possessions, piled up in disarray over the various surfaces as she'd left it mid-unpacking.
He paused when his gaze landed on the notes on her lap, and the quill she'd levitated from the spilled mess and that now hovered above it.
"May I?" Bard asked after a moment of baffled silence, gesturing to her desk and the notebooks that covered almost its entire surface. She nodded, straightening in her chair to better see what he was doing.
He raised a parchment from the pile, narrowing his eyes as he focused on its contents. "Your handwriting is still rather poor. Have you not told us you pretended to be a scribe during your travels?"
She shrugged. "I would prefer not to pretend an occupation at all, but people here are very suspicious of anyone who travels without a purpose. A wandering scribe seemed like a good fit for a female traveller, for lack of any true options." She looked down at the pitiful scribbles in Westron on her lap, and easily conceded that Bard's observation was spot on. "At least I could justifiably let my customers haggle me down to a pittance."
Bard picked up the sealed vial on top of the scrolls next, bringing it level to his eyes. "Is that blood?"
"Yes. Smaug's, actually."
His eyes snapped from the vial to find hers, widening; with shock or aversion, she did not know.
"Is that how your power works? Do you need to fuel it with such substances?"
"Oh no. I use it as a paperweight."
He scowled at her. "Is that a jest?" he asked, sounding genuinely unsure.
"No, truly," she assured him. "It's there as a reminder—so that I won't forget ever again that I'm in a different world and that even if something breathes fire and flies on scaled wings, it doesn't mean its blood is going to have a single use; let alone twelve."
He sighed. "I do wish you spoke more plainly."
"I'm sorry," she said, and meant it. "It's still a sore spot. You see- in my world, we have a similar beast to your dragons, though we breed them for blood and heartstrings and scales, as they carry great magical potential. I assumed, entirely incorrectly, that Smaug would be the same. The paperweight reminds me to never rely on my knowledge of home again, at least not without checking first."
Bard's eyes flicked back to the full vial in his palm. "How did you get this much of his blood?"
"This much?" she repeated, incredulous. "Bard, I drained him of two full barrels, thinking myself so fortunate. I swam to the bottom of the lake for three mornings straight, freezing my bum off in the ice-cold water, clawing my way to his heart; only to pour everything back into the river when it proved useless. I swore myself an oath back then, standing on the shore utterly frigid and exhausted with nothing to show for it, that I would never assume anything about this world ever again."
Bard's gaze turned unfocused for a moment, spinning the vial with his fingers in contemplation. "There's a legend in Esgaroth that the dragon's body glowed through the waters, for several days after his death."
"Oh. Well, no- that would be my spellwork."
He accepted the explanation with a nod, doing rather admirably with the whole magic thing, really. She'd gotten much worse reactions in the past. There had been a time when she'd worried for Bard and Bain to grow leery of her and her magic, fearing they would show the same medieval mindset as she had seen the common folk here hold towards other strange concepts─like the modern ideas of gender equality, or hygiene. That was before she had read more on the history of this world, though, or seen more of it with her own eyes.
Arda surprised her. As backwards as folks here appeared in several regards, their approach to magic was actually somewhat refreshing. As far as she'd observed—and she'd done a fair bit of observation, given the immediacy of the topic—people here were quite close to accepting magic as a natural force, created as neutral as the rest of the world had been, by the same godlike beings folks believed to have created the whole lot. Magic wasn't viewed as inherently evil, unlike in Harry's world's Middle Ages.
That did not mean they weren't suspicious of it, or justifiably wary─after all, many beings had proven that magic, as any other force, could be used for evil. Her disguise as an Easterling was rather poorly chosen in this regard, for she would always be fighting against the established prejudice that viewed them all as Sauron-worshippers. Still, she remained hopeful that should her powers be discovered by more of her friends, they would give her a chance to prove she meant well before they came to fear her.
Bard placed the vial back on the table, eyes skimming over the scrolls underneath it. "And what is this, then?"
She nearly leapt out of her chair to see what he was pointing at, more than just a little eager to talk about her research. After all, she'd been working on it for more than six years, with no one to discuss her progress with.
"That is a chart of all the spells I can perform in Arda," she answered, seeing him leaf through the thick journal that was still pityingly short in her eyes.
His eyes sparked with fascination and she was glad to see that for once, he didn't try to quash it. Instead, he pointed at a random entry scribbled in English. "Would you share one of your secrets with me?"
She smiled at him, her heart warming at his careful interest. "You're welcome to ask about any of my spells, Bard." She squirted her eyes at the word his finger indicated. "That one reads as Ascendio. It's an Acceleration Charm. I use it before I transform into a bird mid-jump, to help propel me from the ground."
He hummed in understanding and shifted his eyes along the page to the right column where she'd written a question mark. He traced its contours with the tip of his finger. "And what's this sign?"
"It means I have not yet come across the charm's equivalent in Middle-earth. See here," she pointed at the entry above, "this reads Animagus, and means my ability to change into an animal. I described Beorn's shape-shifting in the right column, as it seems to be the equivalent ability in Middle-earth."
He turned silent for a moment, his eyes glued to her notes on the bear-man's transformation, and glazing over in thought. She was not at all surprised when they widened a moment later, presumably with realisation. Bard was an intelligent one.
"You think your magic is limited only to what's already been possible on Arda," he surmised rather nicely.
"That was my original theory, yes. Then I started compiling this list." She reached for another leather-bound journal and handed the thinner volume over. "These are some of the magics I discovered on my travels through Middle-earth─I know the spells to recreate their effects, and yet, I found myself unable to work them here."
And hadn't that been a shitty day when she'd come upon that particular setback.
She remembered the exciting months that had preceded it. Her research had been going so well—she'd finally noticed a pattern, a similarity between the spells that worked for her in this world and the magic she had seen performed or heard of. For months, her further findings kept confirming this pattern. Whichever new mention of magical feats she'd come upon in Gondor's old scrolls, or she'd identified from the tales circulating amongst its people, all of it seemed an equivalent to one of the spells she was allowed to perform.
She confidently formed her theory then, thinking herself oh so clever for figuring out how magic worked when one crossed into a different world. The rules of the new universe seemed to establish a framework in which her magic could work. Once a spell or its effects fell within that framework, she seemed to be able to perform it with the same ease, magnitude and precision as back home; but she was not allowed to introduce any effects which her host world had not yet seen.
And then, one night in a port tavern at Dol Amroth, a bard had sung a tale of the palantíri. She'd rushed back to the Archives in Minas Tirith, and confirmed that such stones were indeed mentioned in the histories. She'd then flown far west, over the Shire and to the White Towers, to see the one there with her own eyes. She confirmed that there was magic to it, as erratic and unreliable as the rest of the indigenous magical arts she had encountered so far, which nevertheless allowed the stone to see and communicate with faraway places. It would be easy for her to replicate its effect with a few charms, and yet, even after five days of experimenting with different combinations, she found herself unable to work any of them.
With her strongest theory so suddenly disproved, she'd almost come to give up.
It had been the first time she seriously considered pronouncing this journey a failure and ending this test run. It had seemed like the right thing to do, to go back, not only to Luna and Hermione so she could bounce off ideas between them; but more importantly, return to search engines and AIs to make much better work of this research than her out-of-practice fumbling could ever manage.
That day, she had bought three vials of nightshade, which promised a quick if not exactly painless death, placed them on the makeshift table at her campsite and proceeded to stare at the poison for several hours.
It had taken her that long to calm down and see what a foolhardy purchase that had been, driven entirely by her mounting frustration.
Who was she trying to fool here? She had no desire to leave Arda just yet.
Not only was the world still proving delightfully different, her life in it was refreshingly simple. For once in more than a century, she had not been burdened by responsibilities, perceived or real, put on her shoulders by herself or by the expectations of others. This was her true retirement, the otherwise unattainably perfect holiday where she'd managed to leave all her worries behind. Whilst she lounged in Middle-earth, her problems weren't piling up back home, but stood paused. The time would come when homesickness would push her to return home, but she wasn't there yet. Far from it. Arda kept her way too occupied and fascinated to let her wallow in memories of home for long.
Because what a destination for a holiday this was!
Even after six years of exploring, there were wonders still left to discover, new places to visit. The world still excited her, captivated her with its differences. People here adhered to a whole different set of values, with honour at its top, no matter how lawless and inhuman the world otherwise appeared, and that still left her wonderfully wrong-footed at times. She hadn't had enough of the novelty, it seemed. No matter whether her research turned successful or not, no matter whether she'd eventually find a safe way to wake up from this travelling dream, she'd enjoyed this trip and she was in no rush to end it.
There was also the possibility that should she drink the poison, she would wake up in Luna's living room as dead as all the previous dreamers. It was a rather small chance, but a death in Arda might prove to be her final one. She'd loath to make it a suicide, and especially such a stupid one, out of exasperation with her poor research capability.
She returned to the present, snatching her hand away from where she'd found it wriggling her wandless left wrist. Searching for a distraction, she cast her eyes back onto the man next to her, and a different sort of frustration took over her thoughts.
On her returning flight to Dale, she'd wondered whether her attraction to Bard had fizzled out over the long years of separation. Upon her return, she'd found Bard aged, with many more wrinkles and grey hairs than what she had left him with, undoubtfully sped up by the new responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. And yet, Bard appeared to belong to the unfairly lucky group of men who became only more attractive for it. Once again, she found her eyes perusing the charcoal beard and couldn't find any fault to it.
Not for the first time, she wondered if it was truly necessary to complicate her life in Dale by acting on the butterflies in her stomach. She treasured the friendship they shared, and no matter how confident she was it would survive Bard's possible rejection, she didn't think it was necessary to test it.
And yet, she wanted to explore the potential here. It had been a while since she'd been attracted to the same person she also greatly admired; and she rather suspected that later, when the time would come to leave Arda, she would regret not adding this little adventure to the otherwise wholesome holiday.
However, right now, Bard still viewed her as the boy he all but adopted. That was a big gap to breach. She vowed to be patient until then, flirting only mildly.
She placed a gentle hand on his arm to turn him around and direct his eyes to the full shelf next to the window. "That's an Elvish rope. I studied its properties—I know the charms to replicate the effects on any piece of string, and yet, I'm not able to perform them here. The stone on the left is from the gates to Gundabad, still pulsing with some residence of Dwarven door crafting. At home, I could weave such a simple enchantment in sleep, and yet, I can't conjure the magic here." She paused momentarily when a thought occurred to her. "I don't suppose the Dwarves of Erebor would be willing to explain their craft to you?"
By his immediate scowl, he doubted her chances about as much as she did. "I don't think there's a price on Arda for which they'd share such a secret with a stranger outside of their race."
Harry's eyes narrowed at the idea his phrasing ignited. Was that Bard's intention? Something to ponder later, maybe.
"I have come to deliver a message from Erebor, actually," Bard said next. "Ori has accepted my request and will receive you in the library ten days from now."
"Ten days?" she repeated, rather annoyed with such a long wait. "Should we be insulted?"
Bard shook his head with a tired sigh. "Ori does not tend to play these games. He can be rigidly well-organised, though. It is more likely he simply named the day when he expects to finish with his current task."
"And what about the tinkerer? Does she have a waiting list, too?"
"As far as I know, you can see Himli at her shop without an appointment. The Gates are kept open every day until dusk, and the Floors of the Guilds are freely accessible to foreign merchants and customers."
She briefly considered waiting those ten days to manage both errands during one visit to the Mountain, but she found herself too impatient to move ahead with at least some of her plans. "Thank you. I think I'll give her a visit in the next few days."
"Let me know when and I'll accompany you."
She considered the offer, fancying the excuse to spend more time together. However, she was unsure of throwing his political weight behind this particular venture. It was enough he'd made the inquiries on her behalf—she'd prefer the Dwarves working with her for the merits of her ideas, instead of feeling pressured into it by the presence of the Lord of Dale at her back.
"Thank you, but I'll be alright on my own. I've dealt with the Dwarves when they thought me a young boy," she said, conveniently forgetting the bit of a clusterfuck that had turned into, "I'm definitely able to deal with them as myself."
A/N:
Gosh, I forgot how exposition-heavy these early-on chapters were. I promise the plot will make a reappearance soon, as early as the next chapter, actually. We'll pick up the tempo, too.
In the meantime, today's rec is: The Service of Hobbits by NiteOwlNest (on ao3)
It's a two-part series, also taking place after Erebor has been reclaimed, featuring an original adventure and a truly strong portrayal of the two protagonists—Thorin and an OC female Hobbit. If you're looking for some novelty away from the usual plotlines, I'd definitely recommend this series—also for its quality of writing, the witty language, engaging plotlines and relatable characters that were a joy to follow.
Definitely one of those hidden gems that would rank on top of the charts if popularity was based on merit.
.
(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)
