Uncharted Waters 7: Harry
The morning after her return from Mirkwood, Bard invited Harry to spar with him.
She knew Bard thought her an infuriating student. She suspected he had always meant to avoid tutoring her personally, scheming to send her Bain's way if she ever asked for lessons.
His son was still in the city, available as a substitute tutor for two more days before he would rejoin his men at the Southern Plains, and yet here Bard stood, in a secluded corner of the courtyard, practice sword raised high and beckoning her to charge him. Something must have changed for him to want to train her personally—progress must have been made.
At least she hoped he'd suggested the spar out of a desire to spend prolonged time with her, and not out of lingering worry for her safety. She accepted his argument that he'd simply had to send men to investigate her assumed kidnapping, for appearance's sake. That was a valid point, though she suspected he hadn't minded organising the rescue mission overly much. He seemed to trust her abilities less than he claimed, and worry for her more.
And no matter how necessary sending some rescue party had been, she still held it against Bard that he'd sent a rather competent one. His trackers had been catching up with Harry's band of kidnappers too swiftly, forcing her to abandon her plans of infiltration lest she'd endanger the dwarves and rangers on her tails. Her hastily put together trick had worked; Confunding the kidnappers towards the Enchanted Spring had preserved her disguise of a magicless lass whilst capturing, or yes, killing, the criminals. However, the days she had spent in their miserable company, pretending to be a meek hostage, had been wasted, with very little progress made. She'd already devised other ways of dealing with the Dol Guldur situation, arguably even more prudent ones, but the problem was, she now had to carry them out at her leisure. She always worked better under pressure.
She returned to the present, feeling a frown growing as such thoughts soured her excitement at the suggestion of a spar, and proceeded to disarm Bard with perhaps a bit more force than strictly necessary for a friendly practice. As his sword got yanked out of his grip and soared towards her outstretched arm, she watched Bard's eyes widen. He was quick to shake off his surprise though, reaching for his dagger with very little hesitation.
Oh good, she mentally nodded in appreciation at his unfazed reaction. He had clearly been prepared to expect any kind of tricks from her. It didn't make much of a difference, but it was nice to see him accepting her strange ways.
She hit him with a weak Impedimenta before he even managed to fully draw the dagger out. She let him stand frozen for an extra second, to drive her point home, before unlocking his muscles again. In the meantime, her Levitation charm picked up his dagger to his throat, letting it hover a safe inch away from his skin.
She levelled a look at him then, her brows raised, knowing he must have noticed she didn't move a single muscle throughout the whole exchange, other than to catch his sword. It was a hefty thing, too, dragging her whole arm down. She let its tip rest against the ground.
Once again, Bard swiftly shook off his bewilderment, and snatched the dagger away from his throat. She let him, breaking her charm's hold on the blade.
"That was very efficient. And yet—would you fight like this were anyone else to see us?"
Harry smiled, recognising that was the point hehad planned to make. "You want me to fight the way I would as Hattie?" she asked, floating Bard's sword back to him. "Alright, then."
And she charged, this time actually crossing the distance between them. She raised her own, much lighter, sword somewhere above her elbow, hoping the attack looked threatening enough. And indeed, Bard lifted his blade to intercept. Just before their steel met, she banished the tip of Bard's sword gently. As it arched away from her under the power of the spell, she followed with her own blade, the edges sliding against each other with a screeching noise.
Bard hadn't expected her strike to carry such power—that much was clear from the way he had to compensate for his stance. Meanwhile, she stepped to his side, reached closer to the scabbard on his hip with her free hand and let his dagger lose with the help of another Levitation Charm. Gripping the hilt, she held it to his throat before he managed to right his balance fully.
Once again, he took in his sudden defeat with nothing but a slight rounding of his eyes.
"You are fast," he said next. "Good. But every swordsman would still grow suspicious—you shouldn't be able to generate that much strength."
"Even though I have these?" she challenged, flexing her arm a bit. Her muscles had grown more defined over the years of intense flying. She didn't like the resulting look that much, to tell the truth; it made her shoulders disproportionately bulky to the rest of her body. Thank Merlin for the voluptuous kilt-skirts, accenting her hips and compensating somewhat.
"Not even Dwalin could generate this much power under the grip you had on your blade. Any experienced swordsman would make a note of it."
She perked up. "Oh, excellent! This is exactly the kind of advice I need. How should I hold the hilt, then?"
He showed her and then patiently parried her strikes as she practiced her pretend sweeps, making them look like they could possibly carry the strength of her Banishing Charm. After several minutes, Bard stopped her, looking quite satisfied with the results, demanding to see a different tactic from her.
"Not quite yet," she said, far from done with the exercise, now that she was convinced of its usefulness. "What if I were to send the charm from this angle, how should I hold the sword then?"
Harry was hardly a meticulous student. She could however be doggedly determined in reaching her goals once she bothered to set them. Safeguarding Hattie's magicless persona was her priority now.
When Bard next called for a break, he seemed rather winded, cheeks red and breaths laboured. Belatedly, Harry realised they'd been going for a good half an hour, with Bard bearing the brunt of her Banishers throughout the whole time without a single complaint, the good man.
"The magic you send out, where does it come from?"
She watched as he wiped the sweat from his brows. "That is a rather hefty question. There's been much research conducted as to what makes a wizard magical, with delightfully varying results, although the latest discoveries in- hm, the understanding of what makes the genetic predispositions- I'm sorry, this is rather difficult to explain without the correct words in Westron. Maybe I should start by translating the concepts first? Science, to start with-"
"I rather meant to ask, do you use a tool to cast the spell? I have seen Gandalf cast magic with his staff, yet you do not carry one."
"Oh. Well, that's a much simpler question to answer. I do carry a tool, as you say." She rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to expose the leather vambrace underneath, which served to hide the holster and her wand within.
She carefully unclasped the extra straps that she had added to the old mechanism, now that the holster lost its magical properties. The wand slipped out, and she handed it to Bard, frowning at the battered wood. She had paid a pretty galleon for that holster; back home, a myriad of charms kept the wand within shiny, so she didn't have to. Out in the winter sun, she now noticed the dirt and sweat stains, gathered from six years of lying against her forearm. Oh, well.
Bard watched the wand in her open palm with wary eyes and didn't reach for it. She prompted him forward with a reassuring smile. "In your hands, it'll seem just a wooden stick. You have nothing to fear from it."
He gingerly took it, bringing it closer to his eyes. "This little thing holds that much power?"
She laughed. "No. The power comes from the wizard. The wand is the conduit, nothing more."
"And yet, I've never seen you use it."
"Of course. What kind of wizard would I be to let Muggles see my wand?"
His brows furrowed in confusion. "You're showing it to me now."
"I meant when casting spells. Before finishing their education, every little wizard learns how to cast without letting the wand be seen, either using disillusionment, or casting only partly drawn, the wand hidden in their palm. Otherwise, what use would it be to cast spells whilst always advertising to the rest of the world you're casting spells?"
"So now, without it, you're powerless?" Bard asked, his brows creasing in thought.
Harry smirked, recognising the lessons already brewing in his eyes at the perceived weakness. Idly, a part of her realised how intrusive his questions were, searching for her blindspots. Normally, she would have turned apprehensive many questions ago. With Bard, she was certain his curiosity stemmed from a place of concern and desire to protect. She paused momentarily, noting the confidence with which she trusted him with the answers, and let the augmented realisation spread like a warm blanket through her mind. Friendships like these ought to be cherished.
In response to his question, she levitated his dagger out of its sheath once again. As it swirled lazily in the air in between them, she said, "No, far from powerless."
"Why have a tool in the first place, then?"
She tilted her head in thought, searching for a comparison he would understand. "For an adult wizard, it's the difference between riding a horse bareback, or with a saddle and reins. You don't need these to mount a steed and control it, but you wouldn't like to ride without a saddle for a whole day, or without reins into a battle. The wand gives you similar ease and precision when casting spells."
Bard's eyes followed the dagger as it danced on invisible strings. "Your spell still seems rather precise to me."
She smiled. "Every skill can be perfected with enough time. You can say I've been riding bareback for a very long time."
Wordlessly, she slipped the dagger back into its sheath at Bard's hip, then reached for her wand, using not a spell but her own hand. Her fingers brushed against Bard's palm as he passed it over.
He went to put away their practice swords and she sat down onto one of the crude stone benches that lined this corner of the gardens. She watched in silence as he donned back his tunic and jacket over the sweaty shirt, and swallowed a few heavy gulps of water, comfortable in letting him pick the next topic.
He joined her by the bench. "In the morning, when you go to the Mountain, I'd ask you to take Bain with you."
She scowled at him but his face stayed determined. "Think of the disguise you've chosen for yourself. The same way we've just practised your pretend grip, you should pretend to need a guard. Were you a true lady, you'd be frightened enough to demand a whole unit of my soldiers for guards whenever you leave the walls of this house, but I find Bain an acceptable compromise."
That was a valid point, one that she should have very well thought of herself right away. Perhaps she was being rather sensitive when it came to her ability to protect herself? She was still sore from the whole of Dale and Erebor thinking she'd been saved by a lucky fluke in Mirkwood and a company of men. Regardless of the fact it was a lie of her own device, one that reinforced her disguise rather splendidly, it still stung her pride as a modern independent witch how easily the story had been accepted.
She was being ridiculous; annoyed with how well her own plans were working out. She needed to tone down these outbursts of defensiveness, and invite critical thinking back in.
She heard Bard let out a tired sigh next to her, and realised she had fallen silent with her inner scoldings; probably looking rather petulant to an observer.
She took a breath to assure him otherwise but then paused when she noticed the sudden change in his body language; he had sat down on the bench next to her with careful hesitancy, eyes quite intent on the herbal patch across the path, certainly away from her. She grew instantly interested in the next argument he was about to present.
"It is also for the protection of my own name that I ask you this," he started, uncertainty entering his voice. "For how would it look were I to send you to Erebor again, without my protection? I-"
He broke off, and Harry leaned back, resting against the wall behind her and watching him battle his sudden awkwardness in no hurry to help him out. She rather suspected what this was about and she intended to enjoy this conversation.
"It has come to my attention that certain rumours are circulating in both Dale and Erebor, concerning you and I. I'm afraid that from the nature of your arrival, my invitation for you to stay in this house and the way we were seen spending time together, people have garnered the idea that- that we are courting."
His eyes darted towards her momentarily, before he carried on speaking to the herbal patch again. "And I must confess, I did not dispel these talks when I first learned of them. I thought they would afford you an added protection from the Dwarves, were they to think you held such a station. You weren't here to consult these plans, though, and you have my apologies for carrying through with them without your permission. You are here now, and we can refute any gossip should you be uncomfortable with such pretense."
Oh, what a sweet, sweet fool. The corners of her mouth had been twitching during his fumbling speech, and Harry now let the smile grow into a full grin. She reached over, grasping his hand gently in hers, and dismissed his apology. "Why would I mind being accused of feelings towards a man I admire anyway?"
She squeezed his palm and then, to dispel any doubts as to her meaning, she bestowed a kiss onto his cheek, light but lingering. She leant back, smiling at the wide-eyed look she found on his face, and left the flabbergasted man to sit in the courtyard with that suggestion alone.
It was rather obvious that Ori had been ordered to humour her.
Not only had the Chief Librarian eagerly rescheduled their meeting to so soon after her return, he was also a very diligent guide throughout her visit to Erebor's library. He answered all of her questions and only some of them, the most daring ones, vaguely.
Still, the meeting accomplished very little of what Harry had hoped for. She couldn't very well ask directly about the knowledge that most interested her—Dwarven runes and magic—and Ori refused her a free pass to the library, to explore on her own. He quoted ancient laws regarding strangers in their halls, and she knew there would be no easy way of convincing him to ignore those. She only spent a couple of hours in the young Dwarf's company, but she easily recognised his type. Ori was still in awe of holding the position of a Chief Librarian, probably the youngest Dwarf to ever hold it in Ereborian history, and he was obviously terrified of stepping out of line even by the tip of his toe. No, there would be no bribing this one. She'd have to be more delicate.
Her second errand for that morning, a visit to Himli and her workshop, turned out similarly disappointing.
Harry had suspected that a washing machine was perhaps rather too ambitious a choice for their first project, and it vexed her to be proven right. Himli got stuck on the question of how to water-seal the rotating drums. Harry, who failed to even explain the concept of rubber, didn't have a first idea on how to go about making it. After a gruesome hour in the workshop that resulted in very little but a pile of ideas too costly to ever make a good solution, and Himli's new heave of frustration at Harry's uselessness, Harry suggested they freeze their first project. She picked a different sketch from her notebook and introduced Himli to the idea of screws and screwdrivers. She saw the Dwarrowdam's eyes flicker with curiosity, though it was dulled somewhat.
"Don't know how much interest these would gather. Dwarves only very rarely build something that is not meant to last. Even if the idea catches, expect very little profit. These will be easy to copy, and as we discussed, you hold no right to the design," and with that, she pointed Harry to the door, though she did eye the sketches somewhat eagerly still.
After such a disappointing morning, Harry was more than ready to accept when Bain suggested they share a pint at a nearby tavern. She barely spared a thought for the time—it was too early even for lunch, but the need for alcohol well surpassed any remains of propriety she still abided by. Also, she heard good things about the Ereborian ale.
Bain led them to an inn not far from Himli's workshop. "This is where I would wait when Father forced me out of the council chambers, after the talk turned to matters too harsh for my young years."
"So you repaid him by getting drunk?"
The place stood several levels above the guilds market, on a gallery overlooking the gigantic hall, the swarm of merchants and craftsmen at its floor and the seemingly bottomless chasms beyond the edges of the market that Harry avoided looking into, lest she got light-headed. Services catering to foreigners centred around the Floors of the Guilds, Harry noted; the Dwarves were meticulous in giving strangers very little excuse to wander the rest of the Mountain.
Harry and Bain sat down with their drinks at a table by the very edge of the platform, with a nice view of the organised chaos below.
"Harry?" Bain started.
"What of my brother?" Harry interrupted him, conscious of their surroundings and the likely listening ears. As Bain paused and then went pink-cheeked, realising his stumble, Harry cast a quick spell, making the distant rumble of the market beneath them rise in volume around their table. Their words would now get distorted in the amplified noise. It was hardly as foolproof as a privacy charm; heck, even the bathroom in her old office boasted better charmwork, but it had proved enough to fool even the sensitive ears of the Elves.
"Don't punish yourself over it, Bain," she said. "You're being a very good friend to me; I'm the one who makes even a simple conversation into a risk."
Bain leaned closer, whispering. "I'd hate for your disguise to fail because I couldn't keep my tongue in control of something as simple as the correct address."
"You've been doing excellently so far, and it will only get easier with practice. Now, I've made it safe to talk. What was it that you wanted to ask?"
He bowed his head, spinning the tankard in his palms and avoiding her eyes. "I barely scraped the courage to speak up before; I feel even more ill-authorised to ask now."
"Nonsense. If you felt it important enough before, it still probably needs saying."
He seemed to take a fortifying breath, though he didn't look up. "Alright, then. Do you truly intend to court my father?"
She paused, feeling a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She wasn't overly surprised by the topic, though she hadn't expected Bain to approach it so directly. She let the smile stretch into a full grin as she asked, "Are you going to object to the idea?"
He grimaced. "So you do. I tried to convince myself I was seeing things that weren't there, especially with the rumours you've let run wild, but you have not been subtle."
"Well, speak your mind then."
He took a big gulp of his ale. When he next spoke, he turned his eyes to the merchants below their balcony, still not meeting her gaze. "Do not think I'd ever dare to object, even though the whole situation brings me very little comfort, but- I have to ask, why him ? He's a great man, I'll never have a cause to claim otherwise, and he's still in his prime, but still, you're young, and he's- not."
Harry inclined her head at the squirming lad. At this moment, he looked more like the teenager she'd left behind six years ago than the full-grown man who had greeted her in the Mountains of Mirkwood few days prior. She decided to be kind and tried to disperse the tension. "Bain- is this jealousy speaking?"
It worked; he choked on his next sip and spluttered out his next words with none of the previous stilted formality. "That is hardly- You turned out to be rather comely looking, as a lass, Harry, but- You saw me taking a piss, for Valar's sake."
"Did I? I don't remember. Couldn't have been that memorable, then."
"See? This is not how a lady talks."
Harry chuckled. "What is your objection to my age, then? I've told you how old I actually am."
"Yes, in the number of years lived, you are Father's senior. But isn't it so that in maturity, as in your looks, your age translates more into that of mine?"
"I'm not from some long-lived line of Men, Bain. My people age almost as quickly as yours. I've lived through a whole lifespan that is usually afforded to us; I have watched my friends grow old, and I have aged with them. It was only for an accident during my youth that my body stayed unchanged throughout."
"An accident?"
She waved his question away, wishing to keep to the topic at hand. "Resulting in this condition I'll rectify at some point, I'm sure. Now, why do you think you should be concerned about my age?"
"You seldom seem or act like an elder; I had thought- I had you truly pegged as closer to a peer of my own, rather than father's; let alone the elders'."
She heaved a sigh at his continued disbelief, but volunteered more explanation. "I have moments when I slip and act the proper dour and sour centenarian, but you are correct, I generally try not to. I've lived a full life, earned my retirement and I have a young body to enjoy it—and that's how I've learnt to cope. There'll come a time when I get all depressed by the immortality problem again, I'm sure; but before the inevitable strikes, I'm determined to chase as much happiness as this strange life allows."
He accepted her words with a short nod, but then straightened in his chair, gaining the determined air of someone who had decided to plow through to the end of their ordeal. "So you are immortal and my worries stand. I know it's hardly my place to voice them, but your own family is too far to caution you, so I dare to step in. You say you chase happiness, but I fear your heart makes you act recklessly, with very little consideration of the grief you also invite into your life."
For a moment, Harry was left staring at Bain in silent amazement. She ought to be insulted, she thought; and a part of her did bristle at his admonition. No matter how many years she had been facing this world's disregard for women, she had not grown fully immune towards it.
Yet even the tiny pang of irritation sizzled out under the wave of her astonishment. It had been many decades since someone had felt the need to give her the talk. She felt most fascinated by the novelty. Unbidden, an image of her youngest god-son, Rosie's Trevor who was now in Bain's years, sprung to her mind; in it, the just-out-of-Hogwarts Auror trainee was trying to give Harriet Potter, the Supreme Mugwump, relationship advice.
She hastily raised her cup, to hide the snort that threatened to burst out at such a scene. She ruthlessly squashed it though, knowing an amused reaction would be misunderstood by Bain and most probably hurt him.
"Your concerns, if precious, are misplaced," she said instead. "I'm not missing out on any opportunities by binding myself to an older man; neither am I blind to the grief your father's eventual departure will bring."
"You are aware of the inevitable heartache, yet you invite it into your heart?"
"Most consciously. For what is the alternative? This life is lonely enough, I don't intend to isolate myself in it even more. And if I'm to mourn my friends anyway, I might as well get the most out of your time with me."
She watched him mull over her words. It occurred to her that it might not have been Bain's own idea to dissuade her from her pursuits, but she dismissed that suspicion right away. Bard might have seemed most frightened by her suggestion yesterday and he had taken to avoiding her, but he was still too noble to send a spokesperson in his stead.
"You do seem to act with full awareness of the situation. That is good, for I can now stay silent on this matter," Bain said at last and looked mighty relieved, too. "It didn't sit right with me in the first place, to speak with you of this."
She chuckled at his awfully quick capitulation. "Good. Even though you are a dear for worrying for me, you can't imagine how unappreciated it would be to talk to a friend like this back home, just because she was a lass."
He looked genuinely confused. She let out a tired sigh, knowing it was pointless to carry on with this conversation. She was no teenage Hermione, she knew the futility of embarking on crusades where none were wanted.
Yet, she gave Bain an explanation anyway, for her sake if not his. "Back home, we happen to be sure that women can be as independent and sure-minded as men. I know that people are brought up differently here, so I don't hold your worries against you. As long as you remember that I'm different. You already know I can snap your neck with just one thought. You better trust I have the mental capabilities to decide when it's not the right moment to do so."
Satisfied with how spooked he looked by the reminder, she returned to her drink, properly savouring the heavy taste of the Dwarvish brew. They seldom did anything halfway.
"We might get some company soon," Bain said, sounding alarmed. When she raised her eyes, face still half-sunk in her cup, and followed his gaze, she saw three Dwarves crossing the market, a purpose to their stride, heads raised towards Harry and Bain where the two sat on the inn's balcony. Two of them wore the garbs of the Mountain's guards, the one walking in front of them was Kíli.
"Hm. I wondered when they would show up," she murmured.
"You know what this is about?"
"I can make an educated guess." She shrugged and sipped at her drink, trying to put the lad at ease. "I suspected it wasn't from the goodness of his heart that Ori was able to reschedule this quickly, nor was he this strangely helpful in the morning just because I asked nicely. I was being buttered up, and now comes the proposition."
"Are you not worried they've seen through your disguise?"
"Nah. They'd be walking much faster."
"-and they would likely have more guards. Unless- what if they are pretending? Showing an unsuspecting front whilst they lead you to a trap?"
She grinned at his fretting. "That's rather unlikely; I'd have to be way off with my readings of them."
"You are awfully good at this pretence."
She tilted her head at him, genuinely unsure whether he meant it as a compliment or a reproof. But then he carried on, a glint of awe clear in his eyes, even as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. A bit of both, then. "I watched you on the way back to Dale; I saw you talk with the Dwarves and our men both, and even with the Elf; and knowing what I do and they don't, I have seen you mislead them all. Yet, you have seldom outright lied."
"This is hardly the first time I'm working in disguise. The trick is to give as little information as possible and let their own expectations fill in the rest." She took another sip. "I would hope you'd never have any use of such lessons, but you're going to inherit your father's seat one day. You already have his noble heart; you can start learning a bit of such craftiness earlier than he did. Being noble is a wonderful virtue, but it's useful only as far as your counterpart reciprocates."
"You said the Dwarves are buttering you up," Bain said, hurrying back to the original topic. "You think they'll ask you to give them Harry."
"What other value am I to them? For Dwarves, they're being awfully nice to me. Gandalf must have instilled a lot of fear in them, to try this hard."
Bain nodded. "Kíli surely did seem rather fascinated by you, on the way back to Dale."
"Did he?"
"Well, he didn't dismiss you, as he would anyone else demanding his attention as you did. Were it not for the conversation we've just had, I would suspect you of making advances on that poor Dwarf."
"Truly? Would a few questions here and there really be considered an advance?"
"Why else would a maiden approach an eligible man, even if a Dwarf?"
"Maiden," Harry repeated with a chuckle. "You heard us talking. You know that at one point, I asked him about the colour of the dunk the Orc raiders were leaving behind."
"That would have been considered rather clumsy flirting, yes, but one might think you were simply hoping such crass talk would impress a Dwarf. Where did you learn this much about Orcs, anyway? I would have never thought to observe their diet, in order to distinguish their origins."
"I've made it a point to learn about their race a lot, after first facing them at Erebor."
The two guards and Kíli disappeared from their sight, presumably climbing the stairs onto their platform. Harry inclined her head at the group of miners drinking through their wages a table away and, for the first time, tried to consider the Dwarves as potential romantic interests. She felt the corner of her mouth twitching at the idea.
When she had met her first Dwarves some six years ago, they had reminded her of goblins; what with their short stature and slight preoccupation with gold. Since then, the Dwarves had convinced her of their many qualities that completely distinguished them from the greedy creatures of her home, and she had long forgotten that first impression. In the context of this conversation though, the simple fact that she had once thought them rather Gringott-like became suddenly significant. "Won't Kíli soon become as hairy and bulky as the rest of them?"
"It should have happened by now, actually, from what I understand of their age of maturity. He bears a lot of scorn for it. There was also the rumour about his fascination with one of the Elvish lasses. An Elf-spawn, they sometimes call him."
She winced. "I imagine that's a rather horrible insult for a Dwarf."
Bain nodded. "And even worse for the Crown Prince. From what I've seen, his succession of that title has not been an easy one."
Once again, the familiar guilt clenched her insides. She was not as self-centred as to usurp blame for Fíli's death, but she had been in a position to prevent the fight he'd died in, and she'd chosen not to.
Kíli and his guards appeared in the arched entrance of the pub and headed straight for their table. Harry greeted them with a nod.
Bain was correct, she had often sought Kíli's company during their journey back to Dale. Partly, it was ambitions that made her do it—if the Dwarves were willing to show her a friendly face, even if it was just to trace down the Easterling thief, she was not about to turn their offer down. Afterall, they had something she wanted. She was ready to trade.
However, it wasn't the only reason why she'd found herself wanting to befriend this particular Dwarf. She'd always had a soft spot for youngsters who suddenly found their fate irredeemably bound to some purpose. It grated on her that she was a part, even if miniscule, of the reason why Kíli suddenly found himself bound to the throne, a fate he obviously struggled to accept. She couldn't help but want to help him.
"Good sirs," she greeted cordially once she'd cancelled the warped Sonorus and the three Dwarves had arrived at their table. "Will you join us for a pint?"
"It is us who come with an invitation," Kíli responded. "Would you share lunch with Balin, the King's Counsellor, in his study?"
"The King's Counsellor himself? Well, I don't think that's an invitation one can refuse."
It turned out her lunch companions would be even grander than that. As Kíli opened the doors into Balin's study, it wasn't only the silver-haired Dwarf that waited for her by a round table, but another dwarf she recognised stood in the background and yet immediately commanded attention. Leaning against the hearth's mantle was Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain himself.
She greeted them with a nod that could be called a slight bow if one chose to interpret it as such, and sat down across the table from Balin. "Good morning, good sirs."
Balin sent her a kind smile, but Thorin only continued to watch her, his eyebrows furrowed. Only when Bain and Kíli entered the room behind her and Kíli closed the doors with an audible click, did someone finally speak.
"Thank you for accepting our invitation on such short notice, my lady," Balin opened.
She took in his politely jovial expression, practised to diplomatic perfection. With a weary inward sigh, she decided to make this meeting easier for everyone.
"Short the notice might have been, but not unexpected," she said, hoping to limit the diplomatic dance to a minimum and cut straight to the chase.
"The lunch will be brought in shortly," Balin answered, reciting the lines of a polite conversation, even as his eyes narrowed at her admitted lack of surprise. He continued talking even as he studied her, reassessing, obviously using the protocol to stall and gather his thoughts. "In the meantime, may I introduce the people present to this meeting? This is Thorin, son of Thror, King under the Mountain. You've of course met his nephew, Kíli, son of Dis, Crown Prince of Erebor. My name is Balin, and I have the honour of managing certain affairs of my King."
"Well, an esteemed company for sure. An honour, good sirs."
"You claim you have expected this meeting. How so?"
She sent a genuine smile at the old dwarf, making sure to soften her next words. "I'm not going to do your work for you, dear Balin. You've summoned me here, you present your pitch. Please."
Balin chuckled. "Straight to the point, then." He slit a roll of parchment across the table towards her. "We'd like you to accept this, on behalf of your brother."
She unfurled the scroll and skimmed its content. She felt her brows shoot up at what she saw—the parchment was filled with paragraphs of tiny print, but two sections were clear enough; the large title at the top and Thorin's signature and seal at the bottom.
"A writ of pardon?" she read out loud.
Balin nodded. "For all charges Erebor has ever brought against your brother. We have done our utmost best to ensure we would not be able to prosecute him for any wrongs he has committed against us, but you can of course check at your leisure and make suggestions to the wording in case you find it lacking."
Harry schooled her face into a mask of careful interest. She placed the parchment back onto the table and watched it fall back into a scroll. "And what would you ask for it?"
Balin was quick to shake his head. "We did not invite you here to bargain. The decree has been signed and it is valid and binding no matter what else will be said today."
A Dwarf, offering something for free? Some of her thoughts must have shown on her face, as Thorin was finally spurred to join the conversation—with a displeased grunt. He stepped away from the fireplace, taking a stance behind Balin's shoulders. "Do you doubt my word?"
She tilted her head, silently eyeing him as she considered his question. The dwarf had a code of honour which he studiously lived by, she wouldn't argue that; even though she didn't necessarily agree with the code itself. "No, I do trust your word, King Thorin," she answered truthfully. "Let me ask this then—we both know how valuable this document is, both for my brother and for you; it must have cost you a lot to write. So I wonder—if you truly offer the pardon for free, how are you planning to exploit my gratitude?"
Thorin didn't seem to take offence at her rude assumption. Directness seemed to resonate with Dwarves when negotiating; she'd known that since her first dealings in the Iron Hills, few weeks after her arrival to Arda. Though it was good to have it confirmed that such preferences extended to the court of politics.
The King gave her a sharp nod. "Your brother did wrong us. It is a great sacrifice for a Dwarf to surrender his right for justice; and yet, we have done so. Let this decree be proof of how dire our tidings are. For the dangers your brother faces could be of much graver consequences than a Dwarf slighted, even if he is a king."
His pompous ego did grate on her nerves. She chose to ignore his leading comment, for now, well-aware he was steering the conversation towards Gandalf's fears, and instead raised a point she'd long wanted to argue. Afterall, it was only expected of her to defend her brother.
"Have you ever considered what would have happened had Harry not destroyed your stone? I believe you remember the effects of the curse; you might have still been in the clutches of it now, hadn't it been for Harry's interference."
Thorin frowned at her, conveying clearly he didn't appreciate her deflection. Come to think of it, he probably also didn't appreciate Harry spreading Erebor's dirty secrets, to his sister at least, as it must have now seemed. Well.
The king did answer her, though. "I think of it every day. Would our losses in the battle be less substantial had I been there to lead our forces? Or would they be even greater, had I failed to break through the gold-madness on my own? Yet, it is not the horrors of the would-be's, but the grief of what truly happened that I have to live with. And shame, too. I also carry blame, as surely as your brother does."
"Well then, if your failings don't warrant prosecution-"
"Neither should your brother's. I agree," he interrupted her. "I now see that he acted in what he believed to be our best interests, even if we can hardly agree with his methods. There is also the matter of your brother saving my nephew's life," Thorin continued, nodding towards Kíli by the door. "It had made the signature on the pardon easier to bestow, and also the correct way to act."
For a moment, she regarded Thorin in baffled silence. He caught her off guard, stealing steam from her arguments by declaring them first. At the same time, a part of her felt vindicated, the part that had respected Thorin despite the lashes he had made against her in his blind grief. There was a nobility to the dwarf, even if it manifested strangely at times. She had been trained to respect cultural differences, afterall.
Now though, in the midst of bargaining, she erased any such sentimental thoughts from her face, and only gave a curt nod. "Agreed. So you see, I have less cause to be grateful for your pardon than you've perhaps hoped for."
"Then it is a good thing we do not intend to exploit your gratefulness, as you accuse us of; we only wish to impress upon you the gravity of the danger your brother faces," Thorin said. "You now know we do not scheme to snare your brother when we send him dire warnings. We share an enemy, and right now, Master Harry is headed into its arms. We respect the power your brother wields, he has shown most effective with it, and very often to our aid. Yet, the Dark Lord is known to have ensnared even greater beings into his command. With enough time, he lures, deceives or breaks anyone he sets his eyes on with this much focus. Your brother won't be able to resist indefinitely. And when he falls and his powers are the Enemy's to wield, we would all bear the grave consequences of his fall."
Harry sat quiet after the king finished his compelling speech. For the first time, perhaps still disarmed by Thorin's benevolent insight, she considered the possibility that their worries could be justified. The Dark Lord of this world had taken notice of her and hunted her as surely as Gandalf did, and her confidence that she'd be able to safely escape him, even if it meant dying and waking up on Luna's couch, relied only on her experience from home.
She thought of the vial of Smaug's blood resting on her desk.
"If I were to acknowledge your fears, what would you have me do?" she asked, making sure to pose it as a genuine inquiry, so the Dwarves wouldn't mistake it for capitulation.
"Tell us where to find your brother," Balin answered. "And we'll send a messenger immediately."
She shook her head. "I cannot do that. But tell me your exact message and I'll give you my word it will get delivered as quickly as possible."
A long silence followed her pronouncement, in which Thorin shared a loaded look with Balin. Only when the Dwarf King nodded, a sharp if reluctant motion of acquiescence, did his counsellor speak again.
"We have interrogated the Men Kíli captured at the spring of the Enchanted River. Their confession only confirmed what had already became clear by your swift abduction, my lady: the campaign that the Enemy leads from Dol Guldur, his raids along the main roads far up north along both the Anduin and Celduin, have an ulterior motive, and that is to find and capture your brother before he finds a way back to Dale. What's more, we know that the Enemy deployed agents elsewhere, even west of the Misty Mountains, for his power reaches far. Your brother will be eventually found and caught unawares. We offer him an escort, and then a sanctuary in Erebor, for as long as it is needed."
She frowned at the suggestion, not hiding how unimpressed she was by the idea. "You have met my brother. Do you think he'd let you lock him inside your Mountain, even were you to somehow convince him it's necessary for his safety?"
Balin took a breath for a swift retort but he was interrupted. "Balin," Thorin intercepted. "Tell her the whole plan."
She raised her eyebrows at the king, before shifting her gaze, expectant, back to the scowling advisor.
"The Nazgûl and their forces are heavily impacting our trade," Balin started slowly. "We are not too strained at the moment, but we will be in a year or two if we let them continue as they have. Erebor is still rebuilding, we have not yet gathered the resources to stand independent of outside realms. The measures we have taken so far, the camps at the Southern Plains, only hinder the Enemy raids, they do not provide a solution. They were always meant as a temporary measure, yet they've been standing there for two years now, requiring more and more effort to sustain."
"We need to take the offensive," Thorin cut into the long-winded explanation.
Balin nodded. "But that is hard to do whilst the Orcs and Fallen Men never venture far from the protection the Shadow of Dol Guldur affords them." Here, he paused, imploring her with a sharp look. "We need to lure them out."
She smiled at his patiently guiding tone, and indulged him with the punch line he so obviously served her. "And you think Harry would prove enough of a bait." She turned to Thorin next. "You are friends with that wizard, Gandalf. Didn't he and his friends chase the Dark Lord himself out of Dol Guldur just few short years back?"
Thorin nodded. "Aye, that they did; but Gandalf doubts they would be willing to do so again. The Nazgûl preside over the fortress, that is true, but they only seldom ride out with their forces. As long as it is mainly Orcs and Men that rain havoc, the White Council has no reason or will to interfere. It is our swords and arrows that will deal with this problem."
"From what I understood, Gandalf and the White Council are not the same, nor are they often of the same mind. Couldn't you simply call him to help you breach the protections around Dol Guldur, and for your swords and arrows to do the rest, as you say?"
Thorin laughed at that. "One does not simply call the wizard to do one's bidding. He comes and leaves as his own feet guide him. I do call him my friend, yet I would never advise anyone to rely on him in a battle strategy, let alone do so myself."
"And you think my brother is more likely to come to your bidding?"
"There was something you said to your captors," Kíli spoke up from his perch by the door. "You said that your brother always cleans his mess."
Harry ought to be annoyed that her words were now being parroted against her, but instead, they made her recall the lanky lad she had shared a horse with through her kidnapping and first told the words to. Frann was the man's name, and she was glad to hear he seemed to be cooperating in his custody.
She'd almost let Bain save another of her supposed kidnappers. When it was his turn at the Enchanted Spring to pick one of the sleeping criminals to take back to safety, Bain had blindly pointed at the bold spy, one of the two instigators of the crime. Harry had decided to interfere and made Bain choose the young Frann instead, thinking he'd shown more potential to redeem himself in his second chance at life. It pleased her to hear now that he so far seemed appreciative of the opportunity.
At least, she could be reasonably sure the lad was cooperating, as this was the sort of detail a prisoner would volunteer during an interrogation, eager to show his trustfulness, not been tortured out of. Furthermore, she had seen the Dwarves disapprove of torture when working their justice after the Battle of Five Armies; she had reasons to hope they hadn't changed their principles in those six years since.
Balin didn't give her time to contemplate young Frann's case further, nodding at Kíli and continuing where the young Dwarf left off. "Strange and inelegant that claim might be, we think we know what you meant by it. Although we are grateful to your brother for his timely intervention during the Battle of Five Armies, it is now clear it is for his actions that our lands are being further targeted. We'd ask him to help us clean up this mess."
"Give them a hand, they'll take the whole arm," she muttered under her breath in English.
She hated when people used this argument, mostly because no matter how ungrateful they were being at it, it still proved effective against her. It was even more impactful now, in Arda. She had excused her decision not to intervene in this world's matters on the fact that it simply wasn't her world; as long as she stood outside the flow of its history, it wasn't her responsibility to shape its future for the better. The Dwarves just took a figurative hammer and started pounding at the already glass-thin justification.
She had made plans of her own on how to deal with the Dol Guldur situation. Her strategy was to simply divert the Nazgûl's attention away from Dale. She planned to make a noise as Harry far away from here, probably at the western shores, to make the Dark Lord spread his forces.
However, she couldn't deny the Dwarves' proposal tempted her. Unlike with her own ideas, an attack with a Dwarven army could result in lots of the Orcs and Sauron's men dead instead of causing damage elsewhere. There were several significant downsides to such a plan, though. First, she'd most certainly attract even more attention her way. Second, and perhaps even more annoying, she'd have to interact with the Erebor Dwarves as Harry again.
She'd stayed silent in her musings for too long, it seemed, because Thorin suddenly barged into her line of sight, his Dwarvish height towering over her, seated as she was.
"Your brother wouldn't have to join the fighting, it would be enough for him to be present. Certainly, he can do this little when so much is at stake."
Thorin's posturing was hardly welcome, but it did help her spot another advantage of the Dwarves' plan: its success wouldn't rely on Harry's magic. She could keep to the sidelines, focusing her best on limiting their losses. She would not have to reveal more of her talents to the enemy.
A knock sounded through the room the next moment, and with it, the door opened to admit more Dwarves, with trays of food in their arms. They quickly arranged it on the table in front of Harry and left the room.
As the company settled for lunch in silence, a decision was solidifying in Harry's mind.
"Father won't like this," Bain repeated yet again some two hours later, as they waited for Bard in his study. "The Dwarves should have approached him with such plans first, before consulting you on their own."
Harry sat on the sill with the windows wide open, basking her face in the rare winter sun. She felt morbidly chilled after the whole morning spent in the halls of the Mountain. "True, though I'd wager the order of things was done very much by their design. They can be reasonably sure Bard will lend his forces to their plan regardless."
"He won't be happy with you either, for agreeing before you'd consult him first," Bain reminded her, sounding remarkably calm about it.
Few short minutes later, Bard arrived, knees wet and arms coated with drying mud all the way to his elbows. Whatever he'd been doing, he'd left it in a rush. "What is the matter?" he asked, features taunt with concern.
"Erebor plans to ride against Dol Guldur," Harry reported. "The Dwarves intend to draw the Orcs and Men out of the protective magic of the stronghold by having Harry, the Wizard of the Battle of Five Armies, in their midst. They'll probably approach you soon with talking battle strategy."
Bard scowled at her quick summary. "Have they seen through your disguise?"
"No, they haven't got the faintest."
"How else did they coerce you into compliance, then?"
"By appealing to my overblown sense of responsibility, those clever gits."
"And you trust them? You might be luring the Nazgûl out of Dol Guldur, but they will be luring Harry out of hiding."
In answer, Harry took out the writ of pardon from her coat and offered it to Bard. He clasped it with the tips of his fingers, where the mud had dried into crust, and crossed the room to read the scroll in the light of the window.
"You can trust a Dwarf on his word, especially a Dwarf such as the King Beneath the Mountain," he said after a moment of silence, handing her the document back. "However, you should never trust yourself to know precisely the meaning of the word he is giving, especially when it is written in so many letters upon a contract."
"You suspect foul play?"
"The dwarves seemed adamant to save you from your kidnappers, insisting there can be no rescue mission by your brother. And now, they are willing to include Harry in a direct campaign against the Nazgûl?"
"They openly admitted that getting Harry into the safety of the Mountain is more important to them than a campaign against the Nazgûl, but also that no one can fault them for trying to achieve both. Such a greedy plan seems to agree with what I know of Dwarven nature?" she half asked, looking to Bard for confirmation.
He gave her a nod, though his pensive frown remained. So she continued. "I do not think they're acting with vengeance in mind. I believe it is Gandalf and his warnings that have them this determined."
"And would you accept their offer of sanctuary?"
"Of course not; I'd disappear once Dol Guldur is dealt with."
His scowl still didn't clear. "You've mentioned you read your captors' minds. Could you gleam into Thorin's, to confirm these plans?"
It was her turn to frown, unimpressed by the suggestion and saddened that it came to Bard's mind so readily. "I could, but I won't." Back home, she had advocated strongly for prosecuting the use of Legilimency in business and other transactions with Muggles. She took a breath to explain the reasoning behind such rules to Bard, before halting. Here, the prevailing cause for such laws, to protect the trustworthiness of wizards and encourage further dealings, didn't exist. She was the only witch here; she had no wizardkind to protect.
And yet, she detested the use of mind magic. "There is a big difference between having allies and having minions," she explained slowly, formulating her thoughts on the spot. "I'd like to surround myself only with the former, even if getting burnt once in a while is the price to pay."
Bard inclined his head at her answers. "Although useless to us right now, that stance is rather encouraging to hear."
"Do you truly distrust Thorin so?"
"Only where my own family's safety is concerned. Have you agreed to these plans, or are the Dwarves waiting for your answer?"
"They're waiting for Harry's answer. I told them it would take some three weeks before his reply reaches us back, and another week for him to arrive. Which gives you all a month to prepare for the attack."
"Weren't they suspicious of such a swift reply and journey?"
"They can suspect what they want of Harry. I hate waiting to execute a plan that has already been decided on. A month was a good compromise."
"Then I suppose I should start preparing for a war."
"This is it?" Bain spoke up. "You are going to agree to this so easily?"
"It is a good plan, no matter how much I wish it wouldn't put Harry in danger. But do not worry, Bain- I'll first let the dwarves feel my ire for bypassing me so, before I officially agree to their plans."
"You cannot be surprised they've ambushed us like this," Harry said, not fighting the reproach that now crept into her tone. "Not after you've refused them my help with their delegation to the Sea of Rhûn."
Bard closed his eyes momentarily. "Of course they have approached you with this, as well. I am sorry; I worried they would find a fault in your knowledge of the East."
"You needn't. I've spent months living by the Rhûn, Bard—learning the Easterlings' ways for this very purpose. My cover is solid, and I can be of real help in developing the trade route. You should have consulted me before trying to protect me."
"I should have. And I will, next time. Have you also promised your help in this matter, then?"
She smiled, feeling a wide grin tugging at her lips as she thought of that successful deal. "Yes. I'll be meeting with Balin and the members of the delegation in two days."
"And that fills you with such joy?"
"No, not particularly. But the price I haggled for my consultation services does." She paused dramatically, spreading her arms wide. "You're looking at Ori's brand new apprentice."
Bard's brows shot up. "Why would you want to apprentice under a Dwarf, a librarian at that?"
"To perfect my craft as a scribe, of course."
"And the true reason?"
"The Dwarves have magic that's not familiar to me. I'd like to rectify that."
"They will not part with such secrets with a stranger outside of their race, not even if you're an apprentice to one of them."
"They won't," she agreed, unconcerned. "But even they can't stop bits and pieces of knowledge slipping through the cracks, and those are enough to start with. I plan to make friends out of them, Bard."
"Don't you worry that the more time you spend with them, as Hattie in the library and as Harry marching at Dol Guldur, they will easily realise you're one and the same?"
She tapped the scroll once again tugged into her coat. "If that happens, I have their pardon. I'll leave the Mountain peacefully and search for knowledge elsewhere."
There wasn't much more to discuss that evening. A short while later, when Bain and Harry turned to the door to leave Bard to the tasks waiting on his desk, she had finally noticed him shoot her a fleeting look. Waiting for just such a gesture, she sent Bain ahead.
Bard watched his son leave alone, his eyes narrowing. When she approached his desk, he made sure to quickly avert his gaze to the documents in front of him.
"Perhaps there was something else you wanted to discuss?" she asked, gently.
The grown man, the Lord of the City, fidgeted in his seat before he raised his eyes back to hers. "I would perhaps like to have clarified what exactly you were asking of me, last night after our spar."
She smiled, pleased by his directness. "I believe the only thing I'm asking of you is to consider a possibility."
He took a breath, but whatever immediate answer came to his mind, he resolved not to voice it, and returned to avoiding her eyes instead.
She let out a soft sigh. "Just share your thoughts with me, Bard, the same way I did. We are friends and we'll continue to be friends even after whatever you'll say to my idea."
"It was rather shocking to learn that there even was such a possibility," he finally spoke.
"I imagine so," she allowed. "I have been giving you hints, but I see I wasn't very successful in getting the message across. Well, now that it has been received, is the idea appealing?"
"That is hardly the main thing to consider."
"Is it not?"
"No-" Bard said only to pause, swallow, and start again. "I have thought you no longer wish for or can have children."
She was only momentarily confused by the perceived non-sequitur, her morning conversation with Bain guiding her through Bard's thought process. "Would this really be the only reason a woman would proposition a man in this world?"
Bard grimaces. "No, she could also approach one with a business transaction, but I'm not going to insult you by considering you meant it as such."
Harry snorted. "You thought right."
She let the chuckles whittle down. Pushing her emotional reactions aside for the moment, she embraced her practical side, as it seemed to be needed to waddle through the cultural misunderstandings. "I'm looking for companionship, Bard, not to build a family with you. You know very well what my situation in Arda is—this stay is temporary, even if it could still mean I'll stay for decades. At some point, I will leave. But before that happens, I'd like to spend some years close to you. As a friend, if you aren't interested in anything more. But I ask you to consider the other possibility."
His eyes stayed averted throughout her little speech, and he didn't raise them now either, when she'd fallen silent. She heaved another sigh and added, "I will not turn to a woman scorned. You have my word."
"This is all very strange," Bard spoke, voice pleading; for time, for her understanding, for her to shut up- she didn't know. "I have not known or heard of a woman who would so openly propose a loose relationship, unless she was a-"
Once again, Harry laughed at his scared expression, feeling none of the offence he was so careful not to inflict on her. "Remember what I said—women of my world are as free to act as men, even in matters of love."
She recognised his misdirecting comment for the stalling tactic it was, though, and decided to award him the postponement he clearly fished for.
She got to her feet. "I believe this was as business-like a proposition as it can ever get. Nothing kills romance more readily than practicality," she couldn't help but add with a wry smile, feeling the truth of that statement in her souring mood. Since their spar yesterday, she felt almost giddy with the relief of being able to talk about her feelings openly, strong in her confidence that their friendship would survive any such discussions. Now though, her excitement dimmed, seeing as Bard didn't seem to share that faith.
Oh well, nothing worthwhile was won in a day, or even two.
"You now know my mind. I'll let you ponder on it in peace," she said and left.
A/N:
With more of Harry's attitude revealed in this chapter, it's time to mention the story that I consider my ultimate favourite fanfiction of all times and all fandoms.
Browncoat, Green Eyes by nonjon
It is no coincidence this is already the second nonjon's fic that features in my recommendations. I love that author's writing, for many reasons. And their portrayal of Harry in this Firefly crossover hits my preferences absolutely dead-on. A positive outlook, level head and down-to-earth practically are what I prefer my protagonists to adapt, no matter whether I'm reading or writing them. Probably because I'm an incurable optimist myself.
(This AN previously included a rant I now deleted, because I don't like myself when I slip into rants. Thanks anyone who reacted!)
