Uncharted Waters 9: Harry
Harry spent the next evening in Dale. She took Tilda to the city's battlements and they watched the first proper snowfall of the season together, the heavy flurries of white industriously blanketing the roofs and streets beneath them.
The preceding day had been a good one. Beorn's men had remained pleasantly easy company, keeping Harry in good spirits even through the tediousness of the horses' pace. She knew the Woodmen were in rush to return home, each of them eager to spend time with their families before duty called them back south again─they had set off early, breaking up the camp with practised efficiency and pushing their mounts into a steady trot throughout the whole day. And yet, to Harry, who was used to crossing great distances on her swift wings, the scenery only crawled past them.
By midmorning, they'd passed another village built on the banks of Anduin. Beorn had procured her a horse, against her objections, which he'd dismissed with a scoff. "I'm borrowing the stud for my herd, you'll be doing me a favour by leading him up north."
Were it someone else, Harry would suspect them of trying to cover their kindness. With Beorn, she'd climb on top of the horse with no further comment.
It was only then, in the dubious comfort of her own saddle, that Harry had managed to switch her onlook of the journey, and had started enjoying the socialising instead of focusing on the aggravating slowness of it. Unlike the day before, Beorn and Harry had no bubble of privacy of a shared ride. Instead, they had joined the group's conversations, and at some point in the day, Harry had noted the hours easily flying past her, the miles of monotonous riding filled with progressively more rambunctious talk the closer the men had gotten home. Only now, when being taken for a man, did she realise how stunted in their speech her last travelling companions, Kíli's and Bain's men, had been on their track through Mirkwood, thinking they'd had a lady among them to curb their tongues around. For a moment there, she'd boiled with delayed annoyance. Maybe she should have picked her disguise the other way around? Have the hero wear a mask of a woman, whilst she enjoyed a private life as the brother? It seemed that in Middle-earth, leading the life of a man was much more conducive to having fun.
She had dismissed that ridiculous thought soon after, becoming better equipped for dealing with this source of frustration with every passing week she spent facing Arda's gender inequality as a woman. She wielded the education, independence and thick skin of a twenty-second century witch. She was perfectly capable of persuing anything she set her mind to, even entertainment; this world's skewed expectations be damned.
When they had stopped to make a camp for the night, she had slipped off into the woods with the excuse of going scouting. She'd transformed and flown across Mirkwood, landing in Dale just after dinner. Knowing that for this trick to work, she should show her face to witnesses outside of Bard's family, she'd taken Tilda for a very slow walk, climbing up the city walls. On top of the walkways, with her face illuminated by the guards' torches, she offered an easy sighting for anyone interested.
"Stop scratching your head so, you'll push the wig askew," Tilda admonished Harry. Sat on a bench, the very pregnant girl was wrapped in so many layers of clothing, all of them quite necessary against the biting cold, that her voice seemed to be coming out of a pile of shawls and cloaks.
Harry snatched her hand away from her head. The wig was Tilda's proud creation; and Harry was grateful for it, even if it itched something horrid. Back home, she would consider it a very cheap attempt, not quite managing the deed, but given the tools and materials Tilda had to work with in Dale, Harry was rather impressed. It was made of the hair she'd cut off three days ago, the long locks sewed to a snug head sock and then covered with a scarf to hide the stitches. It was a rather noticeable change of hairstyle that reminded Harry of the time-tested fashion of Romani crones, but she was ready to challenge anyone who would dare to question a lady's choice of headwear.
"Oh, I think that one might be one of your shadows, isn't he?"
Harry followed Tilda's gaze, finding a Dwarf lighting up his pipe outside Kallen's Inn, a street away from the city walls they sat on. His eyes met Harry's and she nodded her greetings as she recognised him.
"Oh, that's just Lerik, one of Kíli's men. I don't think he's ever been tasked to tail me, but he'll certainly do for an alibi tonight. Come now, our task is done here. Let's get you inside again."
She returned to Beorn and his camp of sleeping Woodmen several hours later. Grimgár stood watch; she crept into his line of sight, cancelling her disillusionment and waving her hand to attract his attention. He startled, hand twitching to his hilt, but he recognised her before the thought of sounding an alarm solidified in his head. She gave him a quick nod of greeting and soundlessly climbed into her bedroll.
There was a pine prodding her side in a way that was bound to become annoying in the course of the night, but she fell asleep before she gathered the mind to do something about it.
They passed through Old Fort at noon the next day. They stopped for a hearty lunch in a tavern whose owner obviously knew Beorn and the Woodmen, serving them all, even Harry, such a generous portion of meat that it piled up to above the surface of the stew. The river-shore town was as bustling as it had always seemed from up above, its roads strengthened with rock tiles and timber, many an inn lining them. The port at the river moored no fewer than three merchant vessels and the little square overflowed with market stalls.
Many of the Woodmen left Beorn's company there, but still more than a half carried north. Late that afternoon, they arrived at Carrock, and to the village that now stood where Beorn's lonely homestead had once stuck out of the wilderness. Three log cabins had already joined his farm, with their own assembly of husbandry sheds and stables; and she could see another two homes in construction.
Harry got to meet Beorn's wife, Grimwyn; a woman of truly impressive build, almost as sturdy as the men in her family who Harry had gotten to know in the past three days. Her pregnant belly was already more than just a bit visible, but she still fretted around the returning men. She bustled to prepare another hearty meal for them; and Harry followed their lead when none of the supposedly starving travellers mentioned the feast they'd enjoyed for lunch.
It was a couple of hours later, when Harry sat sprawled in front of the fire, nursing a food baby of the two generous (and man-sized) meals in her belly, that Beorn joined her with a particularly solemn feel to his countenance. She looked behind her back and with some surprise saw the room had cleared out without her noticing; the rest of her dinner companions, Grimwyn with her father and brothers, having had presumably gone to bed.
She turned back to Beorn and accepted the cup of mead he handed her. Was it her third or fourth tonight?
"I have a favour to ask of you."
Busy with sipping her mead, she only quirked a brow at him.
"Grimwyn is sure it is a son she carries, and that he's already a stronger lad than he has any right to be at this point. There is a chance he'll be a shape-shifter, like me."
She nodded. Back home, the Animagus transformation was something one had to labour for to learn, for long months and maybe even years, but that wasn't the case with Beorn, was it? "You once told me you had the ability for as long as you could remember, probably even from birth. If that is indeed the case then yes, it could be an ability you could pass onto your children."
"If that turns out to be the truth, I'd like you to help him─or them, if we're blessed with more bairns."
"Help him?"
"I hope to have many years with my son, to teach him the ways of life and especially the ways of this life; in the manner no one was there to teach me. However, this life is harsh. Were I to die before he grows into a man, I would ask you to step in and be a guide to him."
Harry froze, her cup raised halfway for another sip, before she put the mead down and frowned into the fire.
Though there was no word in Westron for what Beorn had just asked of her, or if there was, Harry didn't know it, she sure knew the English one. Maybe she was projecting too much into his request, but the word still chimed through her mind─godmother─and steered her thoughts to her godchildren back home, reminding her of the strong bonds of responsibility that tied her to them. She couldn't give the same promise in Arda; it would shackle her to this world, leaving her forever torn between the two.
Next to her, Beorn let out a soft grunt, capturing her attention back from her spiraling thoughts. "I can hear you protesting the idea even without uttering a single word. Hear the rest of it out, then- I know you plan to leave at some point; I would ask you to look after my son only as long as some other reason holds you to this world."
She narrowed her eyes at him and then went to slap his shoulder. "Do not get cocky with me, thinking you know my future better than I do. Yes, it would please me greatly if my life in Dale granted me reasons to stay for many more years to come, even so many that I'd watch your children grow into adults; but that's beside the point. This isn't an oath that I could put a time limitation on; either I promise you can rely on me to be here when they need my help; or I won't. Why me, though? You know our shape-shifting works rather differently; I don't have the same instincts or skills you possess when you change back into a Man. I wouldn't know what to teach them."
"But you would still understand," Beorn insisted. "Better than anyone else ever could. I would still have you by my son's side, my friend, for however short you'll remain in this world."
"My stay could indeed turn rather short, if tensions insist on escalating. I have broken into this world's natural flow of things; I would not have it shaken too much by my interference. Experience tells me that balance compensates; upping the game against those I've helped. Mind you, I have little experience with burgeoning into entirely different worlds, but I've certainly stepped on some toes when lending assistance in matters outside of my jurisdiction before. With my luck, crossing universes won't be that much different from crossing country borders."
Beorn paused. "You speak differently than what you claimed of your non-engagement three days ago."
She nodded. "Back then, we talked of my possible happiness in this world, and in that regard, I intend to stay optimistic. But now you talk of your children and their future; and for their sake, I need to be clear about my worries."
"Is an early departure what you truly see as your future, then? I ask for my old heart's sake now, for where it is true with other friends that they enter and leave your life as nature dictates, I now realise I hold you outside of such rules. You have the option to choose, however strange that is. And if such a choice has been made, I would have you tell me."
"I hold no estimations over my life here," she said. Pushing the guilt for disappointing one of her dearest friends away, she found her resolve in the unshakable fact that she couldn't give promises that would tie her to a second world. Taking in a determined breath, she continued, "and that is the way I shall keep it."
She flew to Dale early the next morning, the brisk winds a welcome remedy to her mead-weary head, and joined Bard for his daily stroll through the streets. He looked haggard, worn out thin from the efforts needed to manage his first military campaign.
"It is one thing to swiftly react when you find an Orc army already at your gates. It is quite a different strain when you have weeks to prepare and plan to the best of your ability," he said.
At least in face of his worries, he quite forgot to be all nervous and awkward around her today. It was a pleasant walk.
She hurried back to Carrock right afterwards, knowing she'd have just enough time to saddle one of Beorn's horses and ride up to meet with the Dwarves. They were to wait for her by the entrance of an Elven path, at the edge of Mirkwood. She planned to arrive ahead of the scheduled time, to give herself a chance to scope out the place and the Dwarven party from up above, before making her appearance.
There was already a saddled horse waiting in front of Beorn's cabin. Harry was about to fly inside to give her thanks at the forethought and say her goodbyes, when something gave her a pause. She landed on a fence pole, staring at the horse for a moment, until she realised what struck her as odd─the horse's fur shone with sweat, its legs and underbelly splashed with mud.
Beorn had a visitor, which shouldn't be such a strange occurrence to make the feathers along her neck prickle up from sudden apprehension. And that was when she heard it─a deep rumbling voice that she'd become rather familiar with.
Taking a moment to straighten her Occlumancy and steel her nerves, she jumped from the fence and swept through the window Beorn always kept open, beating her wings up into the rafters. She settled down on a beam, next to an owl that already rested there.
Below her, lounging by the kitchen's large table, with Beorn sat straight opposite him and Grimwyn busying herself by the firepit, Gandalf munched on a plate full of honey cakes.
Harry caught Beorn's eyes for a fleeting moment, then raised a wing and tucked her head underneath it, pretending to pick on the feathers there. And she listened.
"-would swear your cakes taste even better than your husband's, dear Grinwyn," Gandalf was saying. "Your talents must have improved on his recipe."
"Talents!" Gwinwyn muttered. "Common sense was it, I'd say- the fool wouldn't give the dough even a pinch of salt!"
"Enough of this innate talk. What brings you to my doorstep, Wizard? Are you to aid in the march against Dol Guldur?" Beorn cut in.
"March against Dol Guldur? Wherever have you heard of such plans?"
"The news came from across Mirkwood, from Dale. The Dwarves and the Northmen are to march together, only in a few days from hence."
"Oh, I see," the Wizard said. An uneasiness leaked into his tone that made Harry peer over the edge of her wing. Gandalf fell silent, busying himself with lighting his pipe, the rest of the honey cakes forgotten on his plate.
Only after two huffs of his pipe did he speak again. "Beorn, my dear friend, I'm afraid you've been led astray. There is to be no attack against the Nazgûl, at least not any time soon. News of such a campaign has been sent out as a hoax. It was not meant to fool you but I am sorry that it has, regardless."
It was only the hard-won calm of many years of practice that had Harry continue preening her feathers, not even a twitch to her routine.
"A hoax? For whom, then?" Beorn asked, voice tellingly low.
"Ah," Gandalf sighed, and, most infuriatingly, didn't answer before puffing on his pipe again. "A tale for someone who proved very hard to find, yet find him we must. An acquaintance of yours, I believe─you once hunted Orcs together across the Lake Hills."
"And now you are spreading lies to drag Harry over here?"
"Most dire warnings, repeated from several sources, have not managed the deed. It was only now, when all other options had been exhausted, that we assented to such tactics, though it certainly pains me that we cannot help you in truth. I have journeyed here through villages along the Valley, I have heard of the Orcs that plague them."
"Why not kill two birds with one stone, then? You obviously know Harry's heart is in the right place; you have just taken advantage of it. Why not take advantage of his strength, too, and truly chase away the Wraiths from Dol Guldur?"
"Harry cannot come close to the servants of the Enemy, nor use his powers against them; that is what Sauron desires. Only a fool would grant him his wish, even if the reward now seems most worth it."
"And yet, fools you are, you and your Dwarfish conspirators. Or do you think Harry will wish to listen to your message and warnings after you've made a fool out of him?"
"I imagine he will be a bit miffed," Gandalf grumbled around the stem of his pipe, "and perhaps justifiably so. However, he has made a fool out of me many more times and yet, here I am, still chasing after his heels, trying to save him from certain doom."
Harry puffed up her feathers and shook them back until they settled. Sparing a quick look to Beorn, one of goodbye, she glided down from the rafters and through the window outside.
The flight across Mirkwood was much longer than what Harry needed to work through her initial wave of annoyance and disappointment. She had plenty of time left to enjoy the heightened clarity of thought that came afterwards, and she put it to good use.
The Dwarves had deemed it necessary to risk their good relations with Dale in order to reach Harry. They must have regarded Harry's safety from Sauron and his henchmen as the highest of priorities, to value it over the favour of their closest, and most important, ally. She couldn't easily dismiss such dedication. Of course she had reservations against their deception, but regarding that, her irritation waned quickly─she wasn't innocent of lies either, afterall. Instead, she pondered the level of investment they showed in guarding her against Sauron's threat. Was there something in the balance of powers of this world that she had missed?
That question unnerved her, true, but it also confirmed that her decision to stay away from local politics was the correct strategy.
She arrived in Dale with a clear head and a plan firmly solidified in her mind.
She found Bard in his study, bent over the ledgers and calculations covering his desk. She landed on the windowsill and knocked on the stained glass with her beak. She kept the sound gentle, yet he still startled, straightening in alarm. He recognised the sound an instant later, and got up to let her in.
She plopped down onto a chair in front of his desk, transforming mid-motion, and went to stretch her arms before they would get stiff from her morning of flying. "You were right about Thorin."
"Hm?" Bard, bless him, poured her a cup of tea from his afternoon pot even without prompting.
"He was pulling my nose."
Bard paused, tilting his head as he puzzled out her expression. "He manipulated you?"
"And you too, actually." She toasted him with her cup in thanks. The tea was lukewarm. "There's to be no campaign against Dol Guldur, at least not now and not with me in it. The whole thing was a ruse, to set me up with a meeting with Gandalf."
Bard glanced down at the parchment on his desk, the pages full of tables and figures. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, and closed the notebook with a definite snap. Then he turned his full focus back to her. "What will you do now?"
"I return to my original plan; the one that didn't rely on any allies, Dwarves or otherwise." Her eyes intent on her cup, she began warping the seemingly unyielding logic behind Incendio. Her mind breezed through the intricacy with the hard-won ease of practice, and she ended up conjuring only the heat of the charm, dismissing its flames. Feeling the earthenware warm up in her palm, she hastily cancelled the charm. "I'll go and get myself spotted far away from here. Probably somewhere in the west─the lands there are well protected still; if Sauron tries to reach me there, he'd be stretched thin. I'll make sure to always appear a tempting target. With any luck, he'll send his forces trailing me and give up his watch over your region."
She took a careful sip, but the tea was still closer to tepid than truly warm. She repeated her spell and sipped again. Only to hiss in annoyance, as the now scorching hot tea burnt her tongue. "Bugger."
Unlike with the Warming Charm, there was no element to Incendio that would stop the rising temperature at the wizard's, if unconscious, preferences; and she had not yet figured out the right length and strength for reheating, especially with unfamiliar receptacles.
Noticing the silence in the room, she looked up; to find a deep scowl over Bard's features. "Are such lengths indeed necessary?" he asked at last. "Should we not first try to think of a different plan, a plan that would make use of the situation at hand? If Gandalf has already been called over here, and he desires something from you, let us bargain. Perhaps, we'll be able to secure his help in a march against Dol Guldur yet."
She had considered similar ideas when flying over the Elven King Halls. She had dismissed them rather quickly back then, but now, when faced with Bard's worried expression, she gave them a second thought.
"It might seem like I'm overreacting," she allowed around a tired sigh. "Yes, Gandalf and his friends chasing me through Middle-earth do vex me out of my wits at times, and not entirely on their own merits. Back home, I spent several tedious decades being chased by people who feared magic simply for the strangeness of it; I'll be the first to admit that Gandalf does remind me of that part of my tenure something horrid. But this old anger isn't what drives my plans now. The Dwarves are risking their alliance with Dale, deceiving you so with this false campaign, just to reach the wizard who turned the tide at the Battle of the Five Armies. There'll be no negotiating with them, nor with Gandalf, if he drives their fears this far. They must be truly convinced they're doing the right thing, if they're willing to sacrifice such a price."
"I remember this," Bard said, intensely pensive, as he clearly searched for arguments to persuade her with. "You speak of the reveal of wizards to the rest of your world. That was the reason you became the leader of your people, wasn't it?"
She clicked her tongue, hardly approving of the point Bard picked to focus on out of her reasoning, but she obliged him. "Quite. I was made to believe that the situation required no less dire solution."
"You also told me that you abdicated once you felt that your task was done. Your quest was successful then."
She couldn't help the snort that forced its way up her throat at such an observation. At the same time, the degree of Bard's oversimplification demonstrated how lax she'd been at explaining the politics she had left behind, and she guiltily went about correcting that. "We haven't had to resort to open subjugation of Muggles, yet, so I guess, yes, you can call that a success. Only more time will tell whether my strategy was correct. I think you misunderstood my words─I retired because my part of the task was done, not that the task itself was completed. You see, I came into power as a soldier; I represented the tension of the early Reveal, the violent repression of radical groups, the threats and the coercion where compromises failed; and I carried that cloud to every negotiation table I sat down to. It was time for a fresh face to replace mine, for reconciliation to truly begin."
"Even so, you have succeeded in ending separation. Does not your own experience teach you that the only way to overcome someone's fear of the unknown is through seeking understanding?"
He was threading extremely carefully, trying to make her see his point with the forced calmness of a handler leading a spooked filly. She smiled at his efforts in appreciation, no matter how unnecessary they were. "Oh Bard, I'm not avoiding Gandalf because I think it's impossible to reach an understanding with him. I know I'm perfectly capable of it. I simply baulk at the effort that such a strategy would cost."
She continued, resigned to a longer explanation. "Back home, I was one of the loudest advocates of our reveal to Muggles; long before it proved inevitable. Even back then, I'd known it would not be easy and it would change the lives of wizards and witches irrevocably, but I'd stood by my belief that all of that effort would prove worth it. Here though, the situation is different─with my stay in Arda temporary in nature, I find myself siding with the short-sighted arguments of my political rivals. The Statute of Secrecy was upheld for many centuries, to allow wizardry to lead unobstructed lives. Once the Reveal came about, all of that my naysayers had feared proved quite true─in order to overcome the Muggle's fear of us, we needed to be most clear and transparent. In order to overcome their scorn and jealousy, we needed to offer full assistance and get entangled in their affairs. And even so, after decades of hard work and even harder compromises, we haven't earned their full trust, and we probably never will. This is what my experience taught me."
"Would the same happen here, though?" Bard argued. "Is it not that the situation is different? You have already revealed your presence and your power. And the people you hide from, the wizards and the Elves, have magic of their own, unlike the Muggles of your world. They fear the strangeness of it, yes, but they would not covet your powers, for they already have theirs."
"They hound me for one show of Imperius, and then maybe some Bluebell flames," she added, remembering Beorn's big mouth. "That's just a mere sliver of what I can do. What would they do if they learnt of the full extent of my powers? I've observed much of what they can do throughout the past six years, and I know my magic is too different from theirs, too efficient, to be discounted as an unimportant asset."
She paused and took a step back in her arguments. "I would have lent my powers to this world openly, same as I have done to Muggles back at home, had I thought that the price and the efforts would be worth the result. But they would not. I rather choose avoidance, the same way wizards back home had for centuries, to spend this adventure in Dale with my friends, doing what I want to do, not what others would expect me to do in order to win their approval, and knowing it a pointless exercise the whole time."
Bard stood still as he considered her words in silence. "It is not too late for such a choice, though?" he said at last. "You now plan to reside in the west, away from Dale. It seems that the measures you have to take in order to protect the life you desire, now prevent you from leading it."
Harry took in his scowl and with a jolt of excitement realised his argument stemmed from disappointment, not only his worries. She let her smile grow in full when she answered. "Who says I'm moving to the west? For this plan to work, I won't need to be away for more than a few days a month."
He threw her a puzzled look.
"It will hardly be the first time I've lived a double life. Don't you remember what I've told you about the Statute?" she reminded him. "The Reveal happened well into my seventies; before that, I spent many decades continuously lying to a good portion of my friends and colleagues. And the Statute was only getting more difficult to uphold as the twenty-first century rolled about; why, I remember in the sixties, the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee counted as many wizards as the whole Auror department! But no matter how restrictive such life was, and how deceitful it made me towards my Muggle friends, it was still easier to find time for simple things and a bit of happiness than after the Reveal happened. Don't ever waste your breath arguing that my life would be simpler without the lengths I go to, to protect my anonymity here in Dale. I've never led such a life before─unbothered by the expectations of others. The last time I felt truly my own person, with only my own claims to my future, was more than a century ago, as a small girl of eleven years. I recognise the gift in this chance and I will guard it for the treasure that it is."
She blinked, realising how far away she had veered from her original point, in an effort to make Bard understand the value of the promise Dale held for her. She lowered her voice, addressing Bard's objection with a bit more levity, hoping to balance her previous outburst.
"The west is rather far, though; it will probably take me half a day of flying to wherever I decide to pose as a target. I've known people who commuted for work even further from their homes, though." She made sure to find his eyes when she added, "and I do intend to make Dale my home, Bard."
"Is there truly nothing to gain from the situation at hand, though, before you embark on a one-man campaign, facing the danger of your pursuers on your own? You were ready to ally yourself with the Dwarves; they have deceived us, true, but is it not now the perfect time to brandish their lies against them and call for a better bargain?"
"Absolutely. You have my full trust that you'll use your indignity to bargain a great deal out of them, and I'll be right beside you, to help as your advisor, as Hattie. But I won't bring the might and threat of the wizard of the Battle of the Five Armies to the negotiation table. I made a promise to myself six years ago, here in the Lake Hills, not to get entangled in this world's conflicts. Thorin managed to lure me away from that decision, tempting me with quick solutions. For the past month, since the first day of my kidnapping, I've been vacillating on the issue, feeling responsible for the danger Dale faces from Dol Guldur and fearing even greater danger in escalation, should I address the problem head-on and engage Sauron's forces. Gandalf's sudden appearance today felt like a kick back onto solid ground."
Harry steered her gaze towards the window and Bard's view of Erebor's gates. "The Dwarves showed their hand today─apparently, dealing with Dol Guldur's raids stands second to Gandalf's plans. That allows me to put my independence first, too. Even at the price of a slower dissolution of Dol Guldur's forces."
"It still worries me that such a plan leaves you standing alone against your pursuers," Bard said, his gentle tone dragging her attention from the Lonely Mountain.
"Oh, but my plans don't include ever standing against them. I'm still confident I'd prevail even then, from what I've seen of the Nazgûls' powers, but you have my word I don't intend to test that theory."
She felt the satisfaction, the assurance of a final decision being made, settling in her stomach. She would keep Sauron busy, leading him on a wild chase through Middle-earth if he'd so wish, and then, when the time came for her to leave, she would disappear from these lands without ever giving him what he wanted. That had to be a good enough service to this world that wasn't truly hers.
She gave herself a private, determined nod, before she spoke again, moving on to the next order of business. "Now, let's talk about what reparations you should ask of Erebor. Your arrangements for the march must have been costly."
He nodded, slow as if busy with his own thoughts. "They will probably claim there was no march only because you─Harry─had never joined them."
"I don't intend to provide them with that excuse," she said. "We'll make sure they know I was here and that I left again only when I learned of Gandalf and their deception. Let's talk about that first, then. I believe we'll have to involve Beorn, though I suspect he won't like finding himself in the middle of a political spat."
"You will probably have to let the Dwarves see you," Bard carefully suggested, "at least from afar."
She heaved a sigh, knowing Bard was right. "Well, I've already cut my hair. At least it wasn't for nothing."
AN:
This was originally a part of the previous chapter, but then it would be rather massive. Take this update as an in-breath before the next chapter comes (soon); the longest one yet.
Some of you voiced issues with Harry's continued disguise. Let me offer a comparison, as explicit as I can never make it in the story itself: Hattie, a friend of the Lord of Dale = Clark Kent. Harry, the wizard of the Battle of Five Armies = Superman. Harry wants to live a peaceful life in Dale; why on earth would she admit to the world that she's also Superman?
Such exposé might make a more satisfying read, but I aim slightly away from instant gratification. I'm enjoying the overarching plot, building enough solid ground to support the whole story. Besides, I'm trying to stay true to the characters' abilities as I promised them. Harry wants to lead a private life; she has the means and capabilities to ensure herself a private life; Harry will not easily fail at leading a private life.
I'm excited to finally have this roadblock of a character's development behind us, moving onto different challenges in the next chapter. Now, for this update's recommendation:
I'd be surprised if you haven't read this fic before, but at the same time, it'd be horribly remiss of me not to mention it at all. I'm talking, of course, about Steelbadger's The Shadow of Angmar.
It's a HP/LoTR crossover, too, but that's where the similarities end. In my story, the Harry I've transported into ME has more than a century of experience with magic and Wizarding World politics. She's headstrong and set so confidently in her ways that she's more likely to impose her will onto her surroundings, than the other way around. Looking at Arda through her eyes, the world inevitably loses some of its epicness, and instead, we're often left with the grittiness of the ordinary, even in this extraordinary place. I wrote an entire scene about taxes, for heavens' sake. But that's exactly the angle I enjoy exploring. (That's not to say there won't be more epic moments! This is still a fantasy adventure.)
Steelbadger, on the other hand, took a young Harry and gave him centuries to assimilate into ME. He takes us on a proper high fantasy tale and he does it magnificently, staying loyal to the style and spirit of the original LoTR world.
However, to raise the probability that you leave here with a new story for your to-read list, I'd recommend two other of Steelbadger's stories that I read and greatly enjoyed. They follow an adult Harry, an Auror, in a DC Superheroes crossover. I have very shallow knowledge of this fandom (in full disclosure, I had to google Clark Kent's name), but I didn't mind because it was still a great read for any HP fan! Oh, the stories are: Kicking Gotham and its sequel, Toppling Heroes.
