AN: I encourage you not to rush through this chapter. It's quite massive, and meant to be digested slowly.
Uncharted Waters 10: Bard
PART ONE
It had taken Harry three long weeks before she returned to Dale from her first trip to the west.
She had warned him before her departure that she would be away for stretching periods of time in the beginning, before she built up a second life in the Westlands, on the other side of the Misty Mountains. And yet, as the days passed without sight of her, Bard's rock-steady confidence in her abilities ebbed away, corroded by his insistent worries.
What was more, he found himself truly missing her company. He marvelled at how quickly he had grown accustomed to it, over the month she had stayed in Dale. Strangely enough, he seemed to feel her absence more acutely than how he remembered feeling when she'd left Dale for the first time, to go exploring the world. Back then, he had doubted he would ever get to see the strange wizarding lad again; and yet, now, when he had all reasons to hope for her speedy return, he found himself more unsettled by the gaping hole she appeared to have left by his side. In just five short weeks, she had managed to claim for herself a permanent spot in his daily routine, in the armchair at his hearth and even in his thoughts.
Eventually, she did return, just when the third week had passed, in good health and in equally good spirits. And tanned.
"It's winter; I really didn't think the sun was so strong," she grumbled. "Though I should have known better, should have remembered the rule of thumb; a Brit gets burnt when she travels to the coast, no matter the season."
"It is not that noticeable," Tilda argued, though sounding little convinced herself. "You could always claim it was unusually sunny when you travelled to the Anduin. Who would know better of the weather there?"
"The road to Beorn leads entirely under the thick canopy of Mirkwood, Tilda," Sigrid pointed out. "That explanation will not stand with the current story."
"Well, then, you can claim it a reaction to some plant you've encountered on your journey through the forest. Your skin is reddish enough for it," Tilda suggested.
Sigrid tilted her head, contemplating that excuse with visibly more approval. "People would believe any tale one tells of Mirkwood, the stranger the better."
"Tell us of your time in the west," Bain interrupted just as Bard was preparing to do the same, before the talk derailed even further from the most pressing news. "Have you chosen a place to settle?"
"I have. I started spreading the word that I dwell at the southern slopes of Ered Luin, close to the Gulf of Lhûn. The Grey Havens lie close by─I plan to weasel my way inside their community."
"Let me see if I understand your plan correctly," Tilda, who had only recently been brought into confidence when it came to Harry's abilities and history, asked. "You intend to carry on living here in Dale, as Hattie, a friend of the lord of the city and an apprentice to the librarian of Erebor. But you also plan to travel to Westlands, on regular trips, and be seen there as Harry, the hero of the Battle of Five Armies. You plan to visit the Grey Havens, pretending you only travel a short distance from your home somewhere in the Ered Luin mountains, whilst you'll be actually flying straight from Dale?"
Harry beamed at her. "Correct, to the last dot. You see how easy it is to find time for two lives, when one doesn't spend weeks in a saddle?"
Upon seeing the proud grin, Bard was instantly thrown back to six years ago, when they sat around the very same table and Harry had tutored the four of them on the principles of criminal law.
Another thought soon returned him to the present, though, and he frowned in confusion. "Forgive me, my knowledge of western geography might be failing me, but isn't it Elves who inhabit Grey Havens?"
Harry grimaced, as if swallowing something particularly sour, and nodded.
"You would willingly stay among them?" Bard asked. "Whilst they know you as Harry, the Easterling Wizard who turned the tide at the Battle of Five Armies?"
"It was bound to happen eventually," she said. "I need more information if I'm to move forward with my project and Elves seem to hold much of the history of this world. Mostly in their memory and songs rather than in public libraries, which suits me just as well; I've never had much patience for endless research in dusty archives. Sadly, it also means I'll have to make friends among them. And of all the Elves I've observed, the ones in Lindon seemed the least meddlesome. They're quite detached from the happenings in the rest of Middle-earth, with one foot always in the sea. If I need to spend time in the Westlands, and be seen doing it, I might as well use it for my research."
"Will the Elves not betray you to Gandalf?"
"Betray me? They would first have to owe me some loyalty for that. No, I fully expect Gandalf, or one of his friends, to soon come to the shores to investigate. I simply plan to avoid them when the time comes. Whoever the Wise send for the chase, I'm sure I'll prove faster."
"And when they go searching for your home in Ered Luin, they won't be able to find anything, for there is nothing to be found," Bard added.
"Quite right. They pride themselves on their tracking abilities; I imagine they'll be searching for quite a while before they give up, the poor souls. But eventually, they will have to assume I bested them."
It was later, after they had finished their dinner, the children had gone to bed and Harry had asked him about his dealings with the Dwarves, that Bard realised it was these conversations that he had missed the most; when Harry had offered him a chance to speak of his worries, and he felt he could share them completely, without shame for his mistakes and shortcomings. Not even with Bain, his son and heir, did Bard feel as unafraid to show his doubts and insecurities. He suddenly came to treasure the moment, no matter how laden with awkwardness it still felt, even months after Harry's brazen proposition.
Speaking of which- he glanced at her, half-way through a description of his last meeting with Thorin, and found her smiling at him with that same gentle smile, understanding and patient, yet still tinged with private amusement that wasn't all entirely kind. It was that narrowing of her eyes, the brazen glint in them, as if always issuing him a challenge, that meant she knew where his thoughts had strayed.
Still, he couldn't quite stop them; and as his eyes accepted her invitation, drinking in the features he had missed for nearly a month, the reins on his mind loosened momentarily. Free to roam, his thoughts swiftly wandered down the forbidden paths of possibilities she had so casually opened with her suggestion, following closely after his eyes, as they drunk in the glowing skin of her cheeks, the short curls caressing the neck behind her ears, or the inviting dimples as her lips curled up in a smile like this.
He faltered in his recount on the recent dealings with Erebor, and he watched as her smile swiftly grew into a beaming grin at his stumble. His thoughts immediately soured, fondness turning into ire, irked at how readily she welcomed the instances when his resolve got tested, even after he had explained his reasons against exploring the option, and they were honest and honourable ones.
"It has gotten late," he said and hastily got up from his armchair. "Let's talk of Erebor tomorrow."
Harry had stayed in Dale for only a fortnight before she was preparing for another journey to the west.
"Tilda will be due soon, and I plan to be here for it. Which means I need to leave now, to make it back in time," she explained.
She did return in time, if only with two days to spare, for Tilda's baby arrived early. And as Bard waited in the antechamber to the birthing room, listening to his daughter's screams of agony, the sound booming even through the closed door, and as the long hours dragged without a change, with both Bain and Finn, Tilda's husband, pacing the room in front of where Bard sat frozen, he realised he'd done what he'd long forbidden himself from ever succumbing to: he began to rely on Harry and the fact she would not let the day end badly. Exactly as she had implored him to never learn, he had grown accustomed to her saving his children; and here he hoped again that she wouldn't let the worst befall Tilda, even if it took all of her miraculous powers.
Finally, after fourteen torturous hours since Inge had been called, the midwife opened the door of the bedroom, the bellows of a baby following her out. Bard baulked at the sight of his daughter's blood on her skirts and sleeves, but the exhausted smile on her face halted his panic. "You have a healthy granddaughter, my lord. She came to the world feet first, but she pulled through. Mother and daughter both did."
Sometime later, when the men had left for the tavern, to drink away the horrid day as much as to toast the newborn, Bard cited old age and tired bones, and instead closed himself off in his study, foregoing the lights. He didn't know how long he had sat there, in the dark, before Harry found him. She lit the lamp and revived the fire, without touching either, and crouched down in front of him, taking his hands in hers. Only now, when anchored in Harry's strong grip, did he notice they'd been shaking.
"The midwife told me your wife died in childbirth."
Bard nodded, confirming the midwife's words as well as Harry's assumption; yes, he had turned a useless wreck today at the memory of it.
Harry released his palms, rising to her feet. Next, he heard her moving around the room. She cracked the windows open, letting fresh air in, uncaring of its frosty bite. A moment later, he recognised the sound of pouring liquid and then a cup was stuck in front of his bent hand, giving off an aroma of a strong spirit. He didn't recognise the smell, he surely didn't keep any such drink in his study, but he swallowed it eagerly anyway. As the potent alcohol travelled through his throat, burning a path in its wake, Bard straightened up somewhat and chanced a glance up at Harry.
She gazed at him with solemn eyes that spoke of empathy, but mercifully, no pity. "We all carry pains that catch up with us at times. I'd be honoured if you trusted me with them."
He was not ready to speak yet, but when she took the empty cup from him and turned to place it on the desk, he reached up, grasping her forearm in a silent answer, for he truly was glad it was her who had seen him like this, and none other. She knew of his greatest shame, the lie of who truly killed Smaug, and he didn't mind that she should know his weakness, too.
She stepped closer and enveloped him in a gentle embrace where he sat, leaning over his shoulders as if to blanket him from the rest of the world. At first, he stiffened, but shortly after, his limbs went eagerly slack, as if his taunt muscles gave up on the strain of the day, and he only too gladly welcomed the comfort she offered.
A thought occurred to him. Even through his grief-stricken mind, he wondered if Harry would exploit the moment and twist it to flirting; she had been cheeky like that lately. But she stood unmoving, solid as a rock in her embrace.
A part of him, his selfish side that always watched her antics with growing fondness instead of the ire he preferred to show, and his vanity that enjoyed the attention of a pretty lass where he should only discourage it, felt rather disappointed at the fact.
"-and then Galdor asked to see this darkness powder and I thought, why not? It was a gift I was easily willing to part with─Galdor holds an important position in Lindon's court; heavens know I could find many ways to use the Elf noble's favour. So, on my flight back to Dale just now, I took a detour to the Iron Hills, back to the site of my landing, to fetch a small handful of the powder. I was prepared to gather it grain by single grain if I had to, thinking it must have scattered all across the wreckage. But imagine this─I spent half a day searching through the rubble, sorting through every single pile, turning it upside down and inside out─only to find absolutely nothing. I did discover a stripe of the pouch that I believe once held the powder, but there wasn't a pinch of it left, not even in the bends of the cloth. It's been years, wind and rain could have done away with the grains, but I find it unlikely that it would wipe it all so very perfectly. That led me to thinking─what if it didn't make the journey, at all?"
They sat in Bard's study once again, although this time, it was brightly lit with shy spring sun. Harry's hair had grown by a few inches, and it now brushed against her shoulders as she punctuated her story with excited gestures.
"Of course I'd noticed three certain items missing right after my arrival, but they were rather unique and temperamental even back home, so I subscribed their disappearance to their willful nature. But there's nothing unique about the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder where I come from, though it was always rather pricey. So I started on a proper inventory of what was destroyed during my arrival when the charms on my bag failed, and what went completely missing. Mind you, it's been more than seven years since I packed for this trip, so I don't rightly remember what exactly was in my luggage, but I was able to identify several missing items, all magical in nature. For example, my spare wand─I found the linden splinters of it, crushed from when the Expandable Charms failed, but I didn't see a single trace of the Phoenix feather from its core."
Harry paused just long enough to take a sip of her tea, humming in appreciation at the taste, before she carried on. "So now, I have a list of things breaking and a list of things disappearing. Something happened during my arrival to this world, a process of selectionthat decided which charms will fail, which magical items will lose their properties, and which items will simply not make it through. And you see," she lowered her voice excitedly, and Bain found himself leaning in closer, entranced by her storytelling, "I've begun to think that it was not only my possessions that got affected. What if I've been similarly judged?"
Harry drew to a close, straightening on her chair. "But I've only thought of that during my flight here. It's a whole new direction to study and experiment with, before I reach any conclusions."
"And what of your time among the Elves, how have they welcomed you to their city?" Bard asked in the moment of silence.
She paused and then huffed. "I have gone on a bit of a tangent, haven't I? Forgive me."
He waved her apology away. "Later, I would gladly speak of your research at length, but right now, other worries lie more heavily on my mind. I'd like to know how you fare when you disappear to the west."
Her smile at his show of concern was a beautiful sight to behold, especially dear to him after the two long weeks she'd been gone. "The Lindon Elves are understandably wary of strangers, as there had been none in their city for centuries before I knocked on their gates. But Gandal's inquiries have done me a favour here, queerly enough─I think it was only for his interest in me that the Elves extended their hospitality. But once they did, they've been truly gracious hosts since."
"You enjoy their company then."
Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. "Is this jealousy I hear?"
"Possibly." Bard was man enough to admit as much; especially when his worries did not stem from any attraction he might or might not ever admit he felt for her, but from the limited time granted to them to enjoy their friendship. "You have rather a lot in common with the Elves, and I do fear your fascination will often keep you there and thus longer away from Dale."
"A lot in common?" she repeated, in a rare show of genuine confusion.
He regarded her with his own look of incomprehension. "You are immortal, and so are they," he ventured carefully, unsure if there was something he had overlooked, for this must have been obvious to her.
"Oh," she let out, looking truly startled. "That. Yes, I suppose I understand how you could possibly think that."
"But you see," she carried on, her voice once again steady. "There are several key differences that are already vexing now, and I imagine they will only make the Elves more aggravating as I spend extended time in their company."
Intrigued and eager to hear, he beckoned her to continue.
"Well, first and foremost, the Elves were born immortal and they live through their every moment as immortals, knowing there's no end to their days, be it on this side of the sea or another. I was born a human, knowing my days were limited, and that is how I continue to live my life, even though it's not technically correct at the moment. I might not be able to die properly right now, but I fully intend to rectify that at some point."
Bard tilted his head in confusion but Harry seemed to have gained momentum now, her words coming with greater speed and firm cadency, and he dared not interrupt. "Look at how slow the Elves live their lives! They're able to spend entire weeks doing little else but composing songs and singing laments, admiring the beauty in things that also change very slowly. Like nature; or like the stories of old, that won't change at all. They close themselves off in their communities, with their kin and friends to share the eternity with. Now, look at me."
Bard was already regarding her, the flushed cheeks and the fire in her eyes, as she spoke with a passion she'd rarely let herself show. "When I return home, I'll be one of a kind once again. Yet, I refuse to live this long life alone. Which means that I can't measure time in the mountains rising and falling, but by every new wrinkle that appears on my friends' faces. So no, Bard, you don't have to worry I'll abandon Dale for the company of Elves, for I don't have much to learn from them when it comes to living a... a prolonged life."
As Harry's voice soured and then fell silent, Bard fancied he recognised the bitter tinge in it; was she disappointed by the differences she'd just described? Had she hoped to find true understanding among the Elves? He chose to ask a different question, though.
"I had thought that all wizards of your world are immortal, as it seems the case in Arda. And now you say you stand alone?"
"We haven't talked about this yet? Strange that it hasn't come up earlier," she wondered. She paused then, and Bard watched as she floated another log into the hearth their chairs faced, and gently lowered it onto the flickering embers.
"Apart from few notable exceptions, wizards in my world haven't quite cracked the key to immortality. We can expect to have perhaps twice as long a lifespan as Men here in Arda, especially when it is much rarely cut short by illness or a sword. The same was expected for me, when I was born. Then in my youth, by necessity and blind stupidity in equal measure, I gathered three relics that changed me into what I am today. I spent years trying to dispel their effects, so far without much success, but the thing is, I'm still certain there exists a way to break their hold. Their power originates from the same kind of magic I wield, and although the skills these Hallows were crafted with have been lost, it's only a matter of time before I─or much more likely, another wizard better at spell crafting─will discover a way to break their enchantments. So you see, I might be technically immortal at the moment, but I am certain it's a condition that can be lifted."
And there indeed seemed to be a great deal of conviction in her eyes as she gazed at him, though it occurred to Bard that her chin had a rather stubborn tilt as she did so. How much of her certainty was born out of desperate determination, instead of indisputable facts? "That is why you cling to us mortals, for you decided you're still one of us," he said out loud. "Does it not get too painful, though, when you take so many people for your own, only to watch us wither and die, as you stand watching, unchanged?"
She didn't reply right away. "Would you have still married, had you known you'd only be granted few short years with your wife?" she asked then.
He felt his face freezing at this change of topic, but he answered, striving for the same openness Harry offered. "Yes."
"And would you have still married, knowing you'd spend long decades mourning her?"
"I would." He replied readily, but frowned at the point Harry was trying to make. "And yet, your comparison falls short. For us, it is a risk we choose to take, the risk of the pain of outliving our dear ones. For you, that pain is a certainty."
"I agree. Still, I've found the alternative even worse. The regrets of unfulfilled potential, of wasted opportunities, sting just as much as the pain of loss, and are maybe even more persistent. At least with having loved, you have the good memories to treasure and to soothe the pain with. With a lonely life, you have nothing."
For a moment, Bard stayed silent, and Harry kept patiently quiet, too.
"You said you didn't have a husband waiting for you back home," he finally opened. "But I was wrong to assume you've never had one, was I?"
Harry let out a chuckle at that. It seemed dry, and laden with self-deprecation to Bard's ears. "I've done myself a disservice here, by not talking about this earlier, haven't I? Could have saved both of us some time."
Bard frowned at what she was cheekily implying, as if his capitulation was a foregone conclusion. But he didn't comment, too eager to hear her answer.
"I've been married once," she finally took pity. "Though in your eyes, there was one more man that would count as a husband, as we shared life for many long decades. And in full disclosure, although this will probably hurt your regard of me, there were more men in between, for that is the way some of us search for partners back home: we test, we try to enjoy life together and we move on if we find ourselves incompatible."
Bard had braced himself to hear any sort of answer, so he accepted this one with a nod. "Tell me of your husband, then."
"The first one?" she said, a fond smile quickly growing on her face, albeit it stayed rather small. "A bit of a mistake on my part, as we rushed into it. I met him young, during my training to be an Auror. He was a trainee, too, only a few years ahead. When our plans for a family got halted, by our careers at first, and then hindered completely by me discovering the slight detail of being immortal, we grew apart and decided to divorce─ to separate."
"Separate?"
"We... terminated our marriage. We're still friends to this day─we found a way back to friendship the moment it was possible to laugh about our problems again."
"Your husband still lives?"
"He hasn't been my husband for the past eighty years, Bard."
"And the second man, the one you consider your husband but who never was?"
"Rami," she said softly, and at the wistfulness in her tone Bard's insides twisted, and just like that, he realised this might indeed be a losing battle he was fighting.
Meanwhile, Harry carried on. "He was my rival once, running for the chair of the Supreme Mugwump against me, though we'd been at odds for many years even before we faced each other in that particular battle."
Bard was so deeply engrossed in his maudlin thoughts that it had taken him a while to notice the embers moving under his unfocused gaze. With a confused blink, he realised they'd broken into smaller pieces and shifted, some rising slightly from their bed, some delving deeper into the pile, and all together morphing into what was clearly a bearded face.
"It has been more than a decade since he died," Harry spoke up, drawing Bard's eyes away from the masterfully detailed depiction. "But the only thing I ever regretted was that I spent twenty years despising him, and only fifty loving him."
When the spring floods had taken away most of the melted snow and the River Running was safe to sail, the delegation headed to the Rhun Mountains was finally set to leave. With two days spare to cure hangovers before their departure, Erebor threw them a feast in farewell. Bard and his family were invited, of course, as three of Bard's own men would be sent among the Dwarven ambassadors, to represent Dale in the east. However, out of the city of Men, it was Harry who was the true guest of honour.
Bard knew she had made unprecedented progress in gaining Erebor's friendship. It did not matter that it was under false pretences, from both sides; the result was still the same. Harry wished to glean the Dwarves' knowledge of magic, so she helpfully shared all her knowledge of the east with the committee responsible for the delegation. The Dwarves wished to regain the Easterling wizard's good graces, so they pampered his sister and her thirst for their knowledge. Regardless of the ulterior motives, the reciprocated politeness was turning into a very effective partnership that still left Bard, and everyone else watching, rather baffled.
However, in the present moment, Bard thought very little of politics and alliances. Instead, he was rather busy frowning at Harry's beaming smile and rosy cheeks as she danced with Bain to the third song in a row.
He raised his goblet to take another gulp, only to feel a hand snatch it away from his mouth. He turned to glare at Dwalin, who now held Bard's forearm in an iron grasp.
Bard had chosen this particular Dwarf's company when he heard the guard had drawn the short straw and was on duty tonight. Bard knew that would turn Dwalin into a properly sour and grumpily silent companion, which suited Bard's current disposition just right.
He scowled at him now, feeling betrayed, as Dwalin decided to spoil their gloomy solidarity.
"That's quite enough liquid courage, methinks," the Dwarf grunted. "Go and share your thoughts with the lass, before you completely drown them in your cup."
With a tired sigh, Bard placed his goblet back on the table. "Am I truly that obvious?"
"Only for the last many months."
"You and your bloody spies! I should have just banned all Dwarves from entering Dale, to stop you from watching her so."
"Or you can just go talk to her and spare us that awkward dance you've both been stumbling through. She's been obvious, too, you know."
Bard knew. Oh, how well he knew.
But how should one go about admitting the error of their thoughts, without looking like a complete fool?
Bard stood up, hoping he'd find an answer to that question on the short journey to where Harry now stood, winded from the lively beat of the Dwarven tunes but her grin still wide, as she shared a cup with Bain. The lad quickly excused himself when he noticed Bard approaching.
Good son.
Bard slid into a stop in front of her, and dropped into a short bow. Instead of asking for a dance, as had been the plan, he paused when he straightened; and then uttered, rather inadvertently, "I have been a fool."
She understood immediately; a beaming smile slowly brightening her face into something truly beautiful to behold. She gave him a cheeky curtsy in reply, elegant and yet mocking as she'd long mastered the gesture, and accepted the hand he offered.
He led her towards the other dancing couples but halted half-way, as he felt her fingers clasp his palm in a firm grasp. She tugged, indicating the opposite way, towards the open door. He glanced back at her, his eyebrows raised in doubt─it was too early for them to retire, and too conspicuous to do so together.
In answer, Harry pulled more insistently. "Where you've been a fool, I have been too patient. Let's both stop making these silly mistakes, shall we?"
PART TWO
Bard had woken up to the scraping of a quill against parchment, an occurrence that was becoming increasingly familiar to him. His eyes were reluctant to open; his body telling him it was still well before his time to rise. He felt a fond smile tugging at his lips, as his sleep-hindered mind slowly put together the signs─Harry had been working throughout the night again.
He lay motionless, listening to the sound─the writing had a quick tempo, and an agitated rhythm to it, interrupted by pauses and then violent sweeps of the quill.
He opened his eyes only to squint them almost shut again as the light of her lamp assaulted him. Harry sat at her desk, chair tilted on its two hind legs, head thrown back and closed eyes blindly staring into the ceiling. She nibbled on the feather of one quill, whilst another hovered over her notebook, furiously writing under her mental command. Next to her notes, a chopped piece of rope rested, one end dissected into bare threads. Several of them stretched to single pins, but more were tangled together, at places where Harry had obviously tried to weave the threads back into their original pattern.
She hadn't noticed him staring; she must have been truly engrossed in her thoughts. He took advantage for a moment, his eyes drinking in the silhouette of her skin, clearly visible under the thin layer of her shift. He felt his blood stir at such a generous sight, but he halted his mind from travelling further down that vein as his mind finally caught on with the full scene.
Harry was making a breakthrough. At that thought, the remaining haze of sleep left him, chased away by his awaking curiosity.
"What have you found?" he asked softly. His smile widened as she broke away from her concentration with a jerk, and from the sight of things, had to support her chair with a charm, to keep from toppling over.
"Bard!" she breathed.
There was barely any admonition in her tone for startling her such─she must be truly excited. "Your timing couldn't be more fortunate; I need a sounding board."
He sat up in the bed, sliding up to the headboard to rest against the pillows. "I'm awake."
She let both quills drop onto her desk and moved to sit on the bed herself, cross-legged and leaning against the pole opposite Bard. "This isn't at all a fully formed theory, just my jumbled thoughts, so bear with me. Listen to this─what if the rope isn't magical after all?"
He stared at her in silence even as doubts filled his mind─he'd watched Harry's experiments, he'd seen the Elvish rope unravel itself from knots that Bard had failed to disentangle even with tongs and pliers─but now, he quietly waited for her to continue.
"Or, at least it's not magic as I wield it, or the Istari do, and some of the Elves; as in when we impose our will on the world, when we create a tangible effect from a thought. There seems to be a pattern in the way magic is cast in Arda: the wizards pronounce their spells, the Elves sing their songs. Even Dwarves use language to invoke their magic, even if it is runes scraped onto stone. Words seem to bear power in this world; they are the conduit that shapes thoughts and intent into tangible reality. Hell, even the local creation story goes on about a vision of this world being made real by a command and then singing- spoken word."
"You never pronounce your spells, though."
She dismissed his objection with a wave. "Because I know my spells will work even without the incantation. That confidence, plus decades of training my thoughts into precision, is enough to stand for an incantation. I know of wizards at home who still have to pronounce all their spells; at the same time, I have seen Elves perform little magics without uttering a single word. The principle behind casting spells seems similar enough, then; it's only my proficiency in silent casting that separates me from the magic-users of Arda."
"What of the rope, then?" he asked, bringing them back to the topic.
"I first thought it was enchanted, but there seems to be no lingering touch of the caster to it, no charmwork to reverse engineer. I think it wasn't made as a simple rope and then given magical properties; I think it was simply crafted to behave as it does."
He frowned. "What would that mean?"
"It would mean that its seemingly magical properties weren't just invoked intentions of some magic-user who spoke the right words. The rope is a creation of a master, someone who perfected their craft, and laboured over every inch to weave it. And that is why I cannot emulate its effects, because I would have to possess the skills of the weaver. But I'm a spellcaster, not a craftsman; so I cannot."
Her eyes were shining at this point, and he suddenly realised this theory encompassed more than just one piece of rope. "The palantíri, the Lothlorien cloaks-" he wagered, "you think those were crafted, too, with hands and tools rather than just magical words. And because those are skills and lore you have never learnt, you can't emulate their effects?"
"It sounds embarrassingly obvious now, when I see it. Can't believe it took me so many years." She crawled across the length of the bed and climbed into the embrace of his arms he'd readily opened for her.
"What does it all mean, though? For you and for your magic in Arda?" he asked even as he felt a ghost touch of her lips under his jaw.
"Haven't got the faintest," she whispered against his skin, her tone lighthearted. "Let's stop with those pestering questions for now, though."
"Forgive me, my dear, for I seemed to have misunderstood this concept of a sounding board."
She chuckled, the exalted breath against his neck causing him to shiver in anticipation. "I have a new use for you. My mind's been going in circles for the past hour; stop it."
Words indeed held power, Bard thought as her snapped command raced through his veins and left a burning heat in its wake. He only too gladly obeyed.
The summer sun was high in the sky, making Bard sweat in his elaborate clothes where he stood on the steps to Dale's Great Hall, awaiting the arrival of their guests.
"Is the Lady still getting ready?" Jarl asked from his left, soft enough so his words wouldn't reach the rest of the welcoming retinue behind Bard's backs.
"She won't be joining us," Bard answered his secretary.
"Do you mean she's waiting in the shade inside?"
"I mean she left last night on an urgent errand. She'll most likely be away for the entirety of the Elves' visit, if not longer."
There was a stunned silence from where Jarl stood, until the man splattered, "Away? But- the protocol! Hattie was meant to commence the dinner- and what about the seating order? I'll have to rearrange everyone!"
Inwardly, Bard chuckled at how quickly Jarl's deference disappeared in face of his panic. "Sigrid will step into Hattie's role; she has already been told."
Jarl let out only a soft whimper at Bard's commands. Yet, Bard thought he recognised the silence that followed it. "Speak your mind, old friend," Bard encouraged.
"The timing of her departure is rather conspicuous. Won't the Elves take it as a slight against them?"
"They'll most likely marvel at the timing, yes," Bard admitted and fell silent again.
"If you're not overly concerned about the opinion of the Elves, our honourable guests you hope to turn into allies, might I add," Jarl continued, reproach clear in his tone, "what about our people and their minds? This was meant to be her first official appearance by your side, after many years of refusing such a role, at that. And now she flees, the night before? What should your people make of this?"
The delegation from Rivendell passed under the arch of the inner gates and entered the vast square on the opposite end from where Bard waited. Many Dale-men gathered to see the Elves arrive. Bard didn't check, but he knew the crowds lined the whole length of the streets the delegation had walked through, from the outmost city walls to this very square. Over the Men's heads, Bard could now see the Elves riding on their elegant horses, their banners held high and proud. His eyes rowed over their faces.
"Elrond's own sons are part of the delegation," Harry had reported yesterday, after she had returned from scouting the approaching party. "They're twins, you recognised them easily enough. They seem to be of sharp mind and just disposition but I don't think they'll be the ones to lead the talks. That would be Glorfindel, the truly tall chap with golden hair, who also travels with the delegation. He's one of the Wise, a truly mighty Elf and a hero to many of their legends. He's also the reason why I have to make myself scarce before the party arrives─I encountered him in Lindon four years back and I'm afraid the eyes of an Elf Lord won't be so easily fooled with skirts and a wig."
"It's a truly esteemed company, Bard," she added as she packed the few of her belongings needed for another trip west, the task a second nature to her by now. "Elrond couldn't have sent more important members of his household, save for riding out himself, which I've been told he only very rarely does. He honours Dale with their presence─the talks should go well."
Bard could now easily spot the long golden hair Harry had described, almost sparkling in the bright sun. "What will people say of Hattie disappearing?" he repeated Jarl's question, mostly to bring his mind back to the conversation, recognising that a long silence had passed whilst he was lost in his thoughts. "Probably that the wild Easterling won't be bound by our rules and protocols."
"If only you'd just marry," Jarl uttered at that. "People would have a much easier time accepting her."
Bard glanced away from the approaching delegation, to clasp Jarl's shoulder in sympathy. "I wish you'd let go of that hope, my friend. It will not come to pass."
"You haven't even asked the lass!"
Bard chuckled at the certainty in Jarl's voice. He had surely never confided in his secretary with such matters; it must have been a closely observed issue for the household's rumour mill.
"And I never will," he declared. Only belatedly realising how such a statement must have sounded, he added in explanation, "I know her too well and love her too dearly to ever wish such a fate upon her."
It was the simple truth; Harry had made it clear, with deeds if not with that many words, that she served Dale. She did so out of the goodness of her heart; he would not be the one to bind her to a role of responsibility instead, souring her willingness into an obligation. He would not erase her freedom and install expectations of others in its place, no matter how fervently his heart and his morality called for him to take her for a wife.
"And is that how the Lady herself sees it?" Jarl asked. "She's strange aplenty, but she's still a lass. Surely she'd like you to make an honest woman out of her!"
Bard fought not to bristle at Jarl's presumption, however incorrect. Only the certainty that Harry cared very little for the local standards of propriety allowed him not to take offense and instead offer Jarl a level response. "Back in her home, it is not a requirement for a couple to be married, to share their love and life with honesty. As much as I'd like to spare her the criticism of our neighbours, I know she's well equipped to bear it, with that truth in her heart. A truth, my old friend, that I have grown to agree with. Remember that, Jarl, for this shall be the last time I'll have to explain myself."
Bain sat patiently across the desk from him as Bard reread his son's report. The windows of the study were wide open, to welcome in the spring breeze and chase away the remaining staleness of winter. In the silence between them, the constant buzz of the city streets filled up the air.
"You propose to cut down the rotation to only twenty men," Bard finally spoke. "Is that truly enough to guard the Plains? We have been making cuts before, but this seems too few, too quickly."
"If the raids continue to be as sparse as they have been for the past year, then it will be more than enough," Bain readily answered. "Do not forget that it isn't only twenty of our guards at any given time, but also as many Elves, or Dwarves."
"You believe Harry's distraction worked; that the Nazgûl are no longer interested in Dale."
Bain nodded. "I believed it many years ago, when she had first created the rumour of settling in the west and the attacks had tempered down. We've been cautious for long enough; the last attempt at her abduction was more than five years ago. Now, a lot of grumbling has started among the men, about the needlessness of their watch. It's time to shorten their shifts, to return them to their families for longer periods, so they'll better keep their vigilance when it is their turn to guard south again."
Bard tilted his head to the side, levelling a gaze at his son. "Are you sure your desire to spend more time with your own family does not cloud your judgement?"
Bain awarded him with a scowl. "You know very well how disheartening it is to leave my children behind, to drive away for long months only to return and see them always several inches taller. Would it bring me joy to end this torment? Yes. But do not blame me when my desires and the soundest strategy align." Bain pointed at the report resting on the desk between them. "The numbers speak clearly. The Orc packs now attack the Old Forest Road mostly, like bandits grasping for measly loot; they almost never assemble the numbers to target the Woodmen's settlements, and it has been long years since they last tried to breach our camps, to venture north."
"Peace, my son- I believe you." Still, Bard was hesitant to give an immediate approval. His eyes landed on Bain's writing again. "Tell me more of this strange creature you wrote about. Its case stands out."
"As does the creature, if the witnesses are to be believed. As far as we know though, it never joined ranks with the Orcs or any other of Sauron's ilk that still roam southern Mirkwood. It was the Wood-elves that tracked it, and some Woodmen too, for it raided their villages for eggs and small animals, and was supposedly caught over a baby cradle once. The matter wouldn't have come to our attention at all, had the Elves not followed its trail all the way to Dale, as well."
Bard glanced at the description Bain provided in his report. Thin and wiry, pale, moves on all four but talks unlike an animal, and thinks unlike an Orc. "What has become of it?"
"The Wood-elves lost its trail, and its raids ceased. Most probably, it left Mirkwood and moved on, to haunt different parts of Middle-earth."
"Hm. Now, tell me more of the Woodmen and their villages along the Old Forest Road. How do they fare?"
It was not long after this that Sigrid walked into the room, a scowl on her face. "The wizard has arrived."
Like the spring floods that came every year from the hills, so did Gandalf descended upon Erebor when the mountain paths became traversable again. He never failed to pay a visit to Dale, too, and forced Harry to spend several days listening in as a peregrine. This time, though, Bard felt a tinge of anticipation beside the usual weariness as he stood to greet the wizard.
Gandalf sat down on the chair Bain had just vacated. They did not talk beyond a polite greeting even after Sigrid and Bain had left. Instead, Gandalf lit his pipe in silence and Bard followed suit.
"It was a pleasant surprise to receive an invitation," Gandalf started once the smell of pipe-weed filled up the study. Gandalf's leaves had a sweeter aroma to them; Bard heard the wizard got his stock from the Halflings. Maybe he should place an order himself, with the next Ered Luin caravan?
"I suspected you were coming regardless, and thought to suggest a time of my convenience," Bard said in reply.
"Well, here I am."
Bard nodded. Next, he reached into the inner pocket of his tunic and took out a thin letter. "I have a message for you."
The wizard's notable eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he eagerly reached for the writ. "From Harry?"
"Indeed."
Gandalf made quick work of the wax seal. Bard watched as the wizard squinted at the writing, reading the short missive. They shuttered close next, and the wizard went completely still for a short moment. Eyes still shut, he appeared to sink deeper into his chair, his body seemingly folding into a much less imposing figure as a long exhale of air left him. An instant later, he was straightening up and raising his pipe again.
"Do you know what this reads?" he asked Bard.
Bard nodded. He'd been there when Harry had written it, two days ago, and it was a truly easy message to remember in its brevity.
I wear no rings, it pointedly said.
He regarded the wizard in front of him, and the calm countenance he now displayed. "You are not as surprised as I thought you might be," Bard assessed.
"I have perhaps made some wrong conclusions in the past," the wizard grumbled around his pipe, "but I have not yet turned a blind fool. I know Harry has been enjoying the hospitality of the Master of Grey Havens, which is a trust not lightly offered. Círdan might prefer to stay distant from the happenings of Middle-earth but I know he has not grown indifferent to her fate. He would have acted had an object of such evil been brought into his home."
Gandalf paused to draw in a puff of smoke. "Though it is still a relief, to have my hopes confirmed. It was from Círdan that Harry had learnt of the Rings of Power, was it not?"
Bard nodded, weighing his next response. He was careful to guard his every word around the wizard, especially his pronouns, for he knew Gandalf would glean much from a single slip. It was why these interactions always left Bard so weary. "Harry would have told you a long time ago that your worries were unfounded, had you just been clearer about them. You could have saved yourself all these years, chasing a false fear."
"Likewise, had Harry granted me a single conversation, we would have quickly cleared this misunderstanding."
In this, Bard quite agreed with Gandalf. That was only for Harry's ears to hear, not Gandalf's, though.
They fell into silence, Bard patiently waiting for Gandalf to decide on the next course for the conversation. He wasn't at all surprised when the wizard turned to curiosity. "If not a Ring, where does his power come from?"
Bard had well noticed the eager gleam that had found its way into the wizard's eyes, and he scowled at its implications. "Do not turn so quickly to scheming again, Gandalf. Rejoice in the fact Harry will not join Sauron's ranks; do not try to entangle him into yours. You know Harry is willing to help the free peoples, he has demonstrated that before. Let him do so to the degree he is comfortable with; do not antagonise him by demanding more of his help."
Gandalf frowned, in confusion or annoyance, Bard did not know. "When have I given such an impression? I have only now learnt that Harry is in no immediate danger to succumb to Sauron's influence. I have not professed any plans to recruit his help, as you put it."
Bard halted, realising belatedly his mistake. He had accused Gandalf of what Harry had often feared him to do, and not of anything the wizard had actually done. Bard chided himself; her worries, often discussed between them, were clouding his own judgement.
"Yet, such power as Harry wields is not given without a purpose," Gandalf said into the resulting silence. "If it does not stem from evil, then it exists to oppose it."
Now, Bard was scolding himself in full; for it seemed he himself had planted such ideas into Gandalf's head; or more likely, opened them for discussion. Remembering Harry was most probably listening through the open windows, he inwardly sighed at the sour disposition that she was bound to greet him with.
"Perhaps," Bard ground through his teeth. "Though there are many ways to do so. The mighty Círdan builds ships; the Lothlórien Lady guards the beauties of her forest realm. So did Harry choose the degree of his involvement, and now provides his aid accordingly. Why do you demand more of him?"
"Demand? No, I do not think I demand anything from your dear friend. As to what I foresee, though- that is the correct question to ask."
Bard remained silent through the wizard's leading pause, knowing Gandalf would feel content to continue even without a prompt from his audience.
And indeed, the wizard did. "After centuries of my guard, the Watchful Peace is now inevitably escalating to its end. And it is at this moment that Harry appears, with a power that rivals any of the Wise, and even exceeds some of us? Bard, my friend, we have already established that I'm no blind fool; and I do not think you are one, either."
Bard continued his silence, puffing on his own pipe with no inconspicuous reply to give at first, his mind preoccupied with the various ways Harry was likely to demonstrate her ire at hearing the wizard's reasoning. For this was one thing she hated even more than expectations of others put onto her shoulders for her previous deeds─what Gandalf talked of were expectations born out of omens and bound in fate- aye, she would be furious. Without having Gandalf to direct her rage at, she'd undoubtedly make Bard bear the brunt of it.
So Bard gathered his wits and imagined what Harry would say to Gandalf's face, were she able to do so, putting his own beliefs aside. "Careful, wizard, not to misplace your hopes the same way you have misplaced your fears. You know very little of the powers Harry wields, or the powers that led him here; do not be confident in your predictions, for how can you predict Harry's future if you know so little of his past?"
Gandalf stilled, sharp eyes now seemingly piercing through Bard. "Then, Lord of Dale, educate me. What is it that I need to know of Harry's power and purpose, to spare Middle-earth from any misplaced hopes?"
"I would have actually told you, methinks, had I not made a promise not to," Bard admitted around a deep sigh. "I believe I'm permitted a warning, though, so let me give it: if Middle-earth truly breaks into this war you so fear, do not rely on Harry to be here for it."
To punctuate the finality of his words, and the closure of this subject, Bard took a mighty inhale of his pipe. He breathed out a cloud of smoke, and with mild regret watched it not quite reach the wizard's contemplative face.
Less than half a year after Gandalf had learned of Harry's ringless state, almost all of Sauron's ilk had marched out of Mirkwood. They did not return north, from whence most of them had originally come, but rather left for the protection of the Mountains of Shadow and the Plains of Mordor. However, that was a concern for another day. Harry had confirmed that only two Nazgûls stayed to guard Dol Guldur; the one she'd dubbed "The Overbearing" had left with the Orc hordes. And thus, the threat of the stronghold was reduced to a sore point on a map, a hill in faraway Mirkwood to avoid.
In answer, the Southern Post had been dismantled and all of Bain's soldiers had come home for good. A feast had been prepared for them tonight, Dale's Hall brimming with hearty dishes for the returned men, and with the best casks of ale for their throats. And when all of that food had been devoured and many of the barrels stood empty, the most steadfast of Bard's friends still lingered about, with some interesting additions thrown into the mix. Their conversations and songs had been echoing off the walls long after midnight, the hall around them seemingly cavernous now that only their small group remained in its belly, until Sigrid kicked them out onto the streets.
"The maids had slaved for two days and two nights to have all of this prepared. It's time for them to find their rest, too, instead of waiting on your hoggish thirst through another night," she snapped at them, facing down the Lord of Dale and the Crown Prince of Erebor with the same degree of respect she awarded her misbehaving nieces and nephews. "If you're truly determined to drink yourself into a stupor, do go bother someone else."
So Bain led their group to a pub, and if anyone along the way tottered on their feet a bit precariously, it had not been remarked upon.
"Here? Truly?" the young Ori, Erebor's Chief Librarian and the still rather bewildered Master to Harry's scribe apprenticeship, asked when they all stumbled inside the inn, his face scrunching in distaste at its decor.
It was a dingy place, of that there was no doubt. From its patched up furniture and planked up windows, to its equally shabby patrons; it screamed the opposite of an esteemed establishment. Perhaps it was not suitable for Bard's present company, yet it was certainly suitable for the occasion, for they were still willing to pour ale. Bard plopped down onto the nearest bench, caring very little for the layer of grease that covered it, and effectively halted any further complaints.
Kíli took the young librarian under his shoulder, tugging him towards the bar. "You'll be singing a different tune in just a moment, Ori, my dear friend, when you find out what's on tap."
Bain and Gimli followed after the pair, whilst the older chaps, Balin and Nori, joined Bard at his table, patient to be served. Harry sat down onto the bench right next to Bard, settling into his side as his arm enveloped her shoulders and dragged her ever closer. She had returned only this morning from the Westlands, and his body still leered from her absence.
"What is the lad talking about?" Balin asked, the usual grandiloquence of the King's Advisor long gone from his tone.
Nori smirked at the question, a knowing glean twinkling in his eyes. He was perhaps deepest into his cup of them all tonight, yet Erebor's spymaster still kept his secrets close. A bit jealous of the easy manner with which the Dwarf held his drinks, Bard reached over the table and flipped Nori's shoulder. "Ha! He doesn't want you to know, Balin; he fears you'll levy him with a fine!"
Nori shot Bard a warning scowl that proved Bard's words correct.
Meanwhile, Harry turned to Balin to explain. "They serve Erebor's ale in this inn. Nori has been smuggling it from the Mountain for as long as I've lived here, as a treat for all the spies he forced to relocate here."
"Treat your minions to small favours, and they won't ask for big ones," Nori slurred sagely.
Balin wasn't so easily distracted, and he turned to the other Dwarf with a disapproving frown. "There's a reason why our ale is banned from distribution elsewhere but the Mountain. Its reputation needs to stay flawless, which can only be guaranteed in our inns. And the ale needs to stay in high demand─so people continue to travel for it to our inns and fill up our markets."
"Oh, like I don't know all of that already," Nori grumbled. "Stop your preaching for one night, you old hag, and be glad you'll finish off the night with a proper brew!"
The innkeeper approached their table then. Bard was glad to see it was a robust, grey-haired man─all the serving wenches seemed to be safely gone from the inn this late into the night.
"Specials for you, sers?" he asked with a low bow and no surprise on his features, apparently well-used to the sight of richly clothed Dwarves in his ragged establishment. He didn't waver even when his eyes landed on Bard and Harry. "And for you, m'lord? M'lady?"
After he marched off with their quick nods, Balin rounded on Nori again. "I thought the ale was served only to Dwarves in our employment."
"These two and their family is the only exception, I assure you; and only very grudgingly granted."
"We found out years ago," Bard explained, "and thought that including us in the deal was a fair price for being spied on."
With all the younger lads lingering at the bar, it was no surprise that the conversation grew quieter, and inevitably, after some time had passed, turned back to the matters of state.
"There must be a traitor among those Gandalf keeps in confidence," Balin had repeated for the tenth time this evening, and maybe for a hundredth if one counted the past weeks. "The timing of the Orcs' departure from Dol Guldur is simply too conspicuous, this close after Gandalf learned that your brother wields no rings of the enemy!"
There were some grunts and nods in support of his claim, but none at the table replied, perhaps in hopes the over-discussed matter would be sooner dropped. Bard didn't care either way; he had one hand wrapped around a good pint, and the other around his woman. As far as he was concerned, they could discuss the dreary sewage system again, and he'd still stay content.
Unfortunately for others, Balin's usually impeccable tact had also been washed away with the night's ale, and the silver-haired Dwarf proved quite capable of sustaining a conversation on his own. "It is a small circle that Gandalf confines in. And as much as one would naturally want to first lay blame onto the pointy-eared friends Gandalf insists on keeping, I'm worried the secret might have been spilled closer to home. Not deliberately, of course─all the Dwarves of Thorin's Company are trustworthy lads. However- not all of them are always careful as to what their tongues are wagging, especially when drinks have been enjoyed."
"What does your brother think of this?" Nori pointedly interrupted, his eyes intent on Harry.
Bard felt her stir where she had been slowly dozing off through the topic. "I'm hardly willing to discuss my brother when sober," she replied, her voice raspy after the long night of many conversations and songs. "What makes you think I would sooner talk now, and waste this delightful buzz on him?"
"You've just returned from another of your visits to Beorn's, which means you went to meet with your brother on the western edge of Mirkwood," Nori said with smug certainty. "What did he have to say about the Orcs leaving the forest?"
"Why couldn't I travel to Beorn's just to see Beorn? He's a dear friend."
"Because I'm neither deaf, nor a halfwit. The Woodmen often talk of the wizard visiting their villages along Anduin. Will he cross Mirkwood now, when the forest is finally safe, and visit Dale at last?"
"It wasn't only for the Orcs of Dol Guldur that my brother avoided the east; but also for the meddling Wizards and demanding Dwarves. I have it on good authority that these still dwell in close vicinity to Dale," Harry said, a small smile playing along her lips. Underneath the table, Bard felt a hand tap his thigh.
Recognizing Harry's cue, he joined in. "And what of Beorn's people, how do they fare?"
Nori, who halted with mouth open and a rebuttal on his lips, shot them a knowing glare. Harry met it with a grin when she readily answered. "They're getting richer with every one of the Dwarven caravans that crosses their ford."
"Good," Balin said before Nori could insist on his questioning, the old Dwarf's tone conciliatory. "It pays off to have prospering neighbours," he continued, raising his cup towards Bard, to include him in the statement. Bard smiled at the acknowledgement.
"And what of the man himself?" Nori asked himself, admitting defeat with the air of someone who hadn't expected much success in the first place. "I've heard he got himself quite the pack."
The murmur of the inn paused as a fiddle started playing. Over at the bar, Bain started bellowing the lyrics to the tune.
"Eight bairns and counting," Harry said, raising her voice through the sudden ruckus. "Though I bet you already knew that."
"I've heard fatherhood suits him, almost as much as chieftening."
She laughed. "He'd argue that assessment, for he is a proud father but only a very reluctant leader. Now, pardon me, gentlemen, but I'm going to join the younger crowd now, before I fall asleep on this very bench. That is a fine tune to dance to."
"Gentlemen?" Nori repeated the foreign word but Harry had already slipped away.
"An address of respect, I believe," Bard explained in her stead; then frowned in drunken suspicion. "Unless she lied and had secretly been calling me a fool for these many years."
"Regardless, our company had apparently been found wanting," Balin lamented. "My lords, we have professedly become too old and boring."
"If anyone is to be blamed for that, it'll surely be you first and foremost," Nori grunted.
"I would blame the competition, at least this once," Bard argued, nodding over at the bar, where Harry had joined Bain, Kíli, Ori and Gimli. "It is still a glad sight to see these lads together."
For many years, Bain's presence in Dale had meant that Kíli guarded the Southern Plains, and vice versa; it had been rarely possible to spend time in both their companies and see them interact. Bard was not surprised that Harry now treasured the chance.
"They had become good friends, camped together out there on the Plains," Bard remarked, watching Bain and Kíli. "That is good."
Thinking on how beneficial such solid friendship of the two heirs could prove to the Dale-Erebor alliance, he turned to Balin for the agreement he knew he'd find. Balin, however, was already engaged in a stare with Nori.
"Aye- is it the competition that you fear, Bard?" Nori quipped next.
Bard frowned at the Dwarf in confusion.
"Because─and pardon us for noticing," Nori carried on, "but you're here, sitting with the rest of us elders, in all your grey and wrinkled glory, whilst your lady dances over there, with the able-bodied youngsters, herself as vibrant and fresh as ever."
"Do not mind him, my dear Bard," Balin was quick to interject, "for it is jealousy and not concern that guides Nori's tongue."
Bard chuckled at their antics, for they could hardly instill any doubts in his mind. Such fears had no place to take root in his heart, knowing what he did, and his friends didn't, about the woman he loved.
"Though," Balin spoke again, "one can hardly fail to notice that whilst you've been turning properly respectable with the passing of years, Lady Hattie has not aged much. Is she of a long-lived line, like the Dúnedain of the West?"
"Have you waited for when I'm drunk, to pepper me with these questions?"
"Perhaps," Nori admitted, unashamed. "You're awfully tight-lipped about the lass, even to the point of disloyalty, to your dear friends and their entertainment."
Bard's drunken haze seemed to clear for just a moment, as the last comment reminded him of what Nori's profession was, and that he was still a sneaky bastard no matter how much Bard had come to like him over the years.
"You are quite right," Bard said. He raised his goblet towards Nori. "To loyalty where loyalty should rightly lie."
He finished off the entire cup with several gulps.
Nori, instead of being discouraged, only smirked. "Let us toast to that some more, shall we?"
That morning, Harry might have had to keep him upright with a Levitation Charm as they stumbled their way home through the awaking streets, but he was fairly confident he hadn't spilled any of her secrets to any Dwarves.
"I wish I could take you up there with me," Harry said to him on yet another of their rides through the Lake Hills. "At least once."
She was looking up into the skies, trusting her mare to navigate the path without her directions.
Seeing the futility of such a wish, Bard chose to chuckle. "And spoil these views for me? As far as I know, there are none more beautiful. Do not take that away from me with one flight."
It was her turn to laugh. "Aye, you're right, they're quite beautiful enough," she conceded, letting her eyes rove over the Dale Valley below them.
"Shall we leave the horses to graze?" Bard asked some time later, when they came upon a levelled bit of terrain. They brought blankets, wine and some bites for lunch, and they laid it all out by a small creek.
By now, Bard was smart enough to pick a spot that allowed them to gaze at the valley and the lake, but left Dale hidden behind a bend. Harry didn't tear him from his schedule for these outings because she would particularly enjoy horse riding; quite on the contrary, he knew she found it too boringly slow, no matter how hard they pushed their mounts, and reliably uncomfortable. No, they went for rides to get him out of the city, away from his constant worries and daily demands of his neighbours. It had taken him years to realise her strategy, to her great amusement, but now he knew better than to spoil her efforts, and during their rare moment of peace he avoided staring at the city that normally commanded most of his attention.
Settled on the blanket, he watched as she closed her eyes momentarily, fancying the thought that he felt the tendrils of her power permitting the air as she set up her usual protective charms. More likely, he couldn't actually perceive her magic being at work, but it was still a pleasant notion to know her so well and recognise that she was casting spells only from the miniscule signs she gave.
Speaking of which- "You have made a discovery," he stated. "A significant one, too, for you've been acting distracted since you returned."
She nodded. "I have formulated a new theory and Círdan, for once, agrees with it."
Bard suppressed the pang of irritation that pierced him at her words, for he knew it was perfectly foolish to be jealous of her friendship with the Elf Lord. And yet, irrationality often prevailed when Círdan was mentioned, and Bard was jealous; of the way Harry now discussed her research with the Elf before she described their discoveries to Bard, of how profoundly she respected the Elf's opinion, or how she sought his advice, with urgency she never shared with Bard. It was understandable; Bard was only a Man with short decades of measly experience, whilst the Elf Lord had millennia of wisdom and knowledge to offer. That made Bard's jealousy foolish, but also persistent, because he could never mean the same for Harry as the immortal Elf.
All Bard could ever do was not to show or, heavens forbid, act on his pettiness. "Tell me."
"Funnily enough, it was Gandalf who helped me ask the right question. Inadvertently on his part, of course."
"Gandalf?"
"Yes, him, and his Wise friends. For many years, the lot of them were certain I wore one of the Rings of Power, for they couldn't explain my magic any other way. Certain of it, Bard. I should have paused at their conclusions, should have pondered the implications a long time ago."
"They concluded so because they don't know a person could traverse the boundaries between worlds."
"Yes, yes, they don't know the correct answer. But out of all the wrong ones available to them, why did they pick this explanation, and with such certainty? Of all the sources of magic in Arda they knew of, they concluded mine must stem from wielding a ring─not because I had ever given them any direct evidence of that, but because they thought all the other options less likely. They saw I wasn't an Elf. They didn't recognise me as one of the Istari. I look and feel like a Man to them, yet I didn't reek of sorcery as all the human spellcasters history here remembers. So, if the wisest of this world ruled me out as neither an Elf, Istari, nor a sorcerer of Men; then what am I in Arda?"
"You're a witch from another world; that is the correct answer the Wise aren't aware of," Bard answered readily, borrowing the English word.
"What if that isn't an option, though? What if Arda doesn't allow for that?"
Bard paused. "Have you felt changed since your waking here?"
"Physically? No. Magically? Neither─that is until I try to cast magic that didn't previously exist in Middle-earth. So, no, I don't feel different. But does that really mean I'm still the same witch?"
"Why shouldn't you be?"
"Upon my entrance into this world, my magic changed; somewhat conforming to the rules of Arda. The things I brought with me changed; losing those of their magical properties unfamiliar to Arda, or simply not making it into this world at all, if they were made of materials and creatures that Arda doesn't know."
She paused, seemingly to take a bite of cheese, but Bard recognised the inclination of a bard nearing the crescendo of their tale. For all that she claimed to have very little experience with storytelling before her arrival to Arda, Harry had skillfully adapted all the tricks since. "When I forced my way into this world, my magic and my possessions had to be translated to what was native to Arda. Could the same apply to me?"
"If you feel the same, why does this matter?"
"Bear with me, I'm almost there. And this part is the hardest, for it only works if I accept this world's theory of creation for a fact."
Bard's eyebrows lifted up. "Music of the Ainur? Are you saying you've finally come to believe this world was sung into existence?"
"It is rather hard to stick to your scientific reservations when you have several immortal Elves constantly trying to prove you wrong," Harry grunted. "With personal recollections of the beings that were apparently present to the creation."
"So you now believe in the existence of Ainur, and that of Eru, the One Creator? Well, colour me surprised, then," Bard breathed out, one of Harry's additions to Westron easily slipping onto his tongue. "Though I assume your desire for your theory to work has helped you on your journey to convert."
"Undoubtedly. However, as far as I'm concerned, this world could still be just a pocket reality created by some egoistic wizard from home, who wanted to be worshipped as the One Creator by millions of others. Especially when he was being so unimaginative at it and made Arda so very similar to Earth. But that's beside the point of this discussion. Whatever the whole truth might be, let's just say that this world indeed acts as if it had been sung into existence by the Ainur, beings that this Eru had delegated some of his power of creation. In Arda, all creation comes from him, only he has the power to create new life. And then comes silly little me, forcing my way into his proud creation with Luna's magic. Luna's spells had pushed me into Arda, not asking for permission, but once here, they had to play by this world's rules. Círdan calls it that I, and everything that I brought with me, had to be translated into the song. Some things passed with no difficulty. Some had to be slightly altered to a thing native to Arda. Some disappeared completely. I and my abilities seem to have been similarly judged."
"But you have not been changed."
"I haven't been greatly changed; apparently, I was judged closest to a Man, so that's what my race stayed; not-ageing is a concept native to Arda, so there was no problem with translation there; neither with my animagus abilities. Magic as the wizards of my kind wield at home, allowing instantaneous creation of tangible effects from thought, exists in Arda, too, so I kept that ability. All in all, this translation appeared to be an impartial process, introducing me into this world as close to my true self as possible, even if my existence had to be patched together with features from across three or four different races."
So far, Bard followed the logic, but failed to see the excitement. He said as much. "So, your essence has been translated in order to exist in this world. Why does it matter, though, if you've stayed practically the same?"
"Because I finally understand why my magic has limits and what exactly they are."
"Let's hear it, then."
"Círdan believes that all magic in Arda is an art of creation. As once the whole of Arda was manifested from intangible thought, so is every magic cast a miniature of such an act; performed by those who were delegated the power of creation by Eru himself, or further down the line. Magic seems to have this weirdly fissiparous nature in Arda, coming from Eru at the very top, to, well, a pyramid of magical beings of varying strengths who were granted the power to create from him. And then, there's me."
"A pyramid?"
"Oh, sorry. A cone shaped structure, of many layers─largest at the base, narrowing into a single point at the top. Anyway. I might have been translated into this world─or if you want to be poetic about it, I have been translated into the tones the music understands. But I still seem to stand outside the song. Galadriel's mirror can't see me, nor can the Palantíri; Elrond's intuition is blind to my steps. I'm no creation of Eru; I've certainly not been granted the power to follow in his footsteps and create further. So here, the hard rule lies─ I cannot create in this world. I can replicate the magic other beings of power have already thought to try, but I cannot bring new ideas into the world."
"I have seen you perform magics the Istari admitted they could not invoke. Gandalf could hardly turn half an Orcish army against their brethren."
"It was only a few trolls, hardly half an army. But it is as good an example as any. The notion of influencing people's minds with magic had been practised in Arda long before my time; I believe Gandalf himself has some talent in it, though he's certainly poorly practised. What I brought into the equation is my technique. I'm only allowed a handful of spells; you can bet I'll cast them properly."
"Why is it that you are allowed such precision and magnitude, though? You're in Arda now, your magic apparently had to conform to the local rules. Shouldn't your limits, as well?"
"Limits? What limits are those? My imagination? My theoretical knowledge, my understanding of the logic, or lack thereof, behind my spells? Or my confidence and control? Because only concepts such as these define the mettle of a wizard, or a witch. The translation would have to erase a century of experience, my instincts, talents and affinities. It didn't, which confirms my belief that the process truly was an impartial one, leaving me standing in Arda as close to the witch I was in Britain as this world allowed."
"Your limits then lie only in the imagination of the magic-users native to Arda. You have known as much for some time now, though. What have you discovered by learning the why?"
"Much, my dear Bard, oh so very much. Shall I sum it up, then? When I was transported into Arda, I didn't exactly knock or ask for permission to enter, I just pushed my way in, and said hello, here I am, now deal with it. And Arda did deal with it, by translating my existence into concepts this world understands; into the tunes and melodies of the Music of Ainur, you might say if you were a poetically inclined Elf Lord. However, that did not make me a part of the song. Only what was created by Eru and his delegates has the honour, and the hard fact remains that I wasn't. Which means, first and foremost, that I stand outside the course of this world, so Gandalf and his premonitions can go- well, he can put them all to rest. Secondly, it means that I now know of a way home."
As Harry talked, Bard nodded along. At her last claim, though, his heart skipped a beat. "How?"
"I think I've put together all the charms Luna had theorised would wake me up and send me back to my world. So, I should have the spells and the technique down. Now it's only a matter of being allowed to perform them here, in Arda."
If logic wouldn't guide him, Harry's souring expression would easily make him see what she was implying. "You need a local wizard to cast the magic, or at least attempt it first. To pave your way."
"It would be enough to cast magic towards a similar effect. But yes, only then I'll be able to perform these spells myself. However, I still hope I might not need a wizard. Some of the Elves left in Middle-earth might be capable of such magics, too, under my instructions."
"What does Círdan think?"
She grimaced something fierce. "That I should go befriend a wizard."
PART THREE
The sewage system was finished at last. After many years of careful excavations of the rock the city was built on, the whole network now lay connected. On the surface, a cascade of waterways ran through the city streets, as beautiful with its many open waterfalls as it was useful, bringing fresh water to separate households. Groundwater had been pumped up to the reservoir at the top of Dale's Hill, and this morning it was at last released into the waterways, with great fanfare.
With the level of excitement people were now hailing him, Bard suspected this would be the feat he'd be best remembered for; never mind the long decades spent in servitude to the city, and his many other deeds accomplished, he'd be forever known as Bard, the Lord Who Built the Plumbing.
Many Dwarves mingled between the celebrating crowd today, enjoying their share of the praise. Justifiably so, for they had done a marvellous job. Dale's gratitude was all the more profound as the Northmen continued to believe that Erebor had offered the work of hundreds of Dwarven engineers, builders and miners, for free. In truth, they had built the waterways and the canals in reparation for a slight once done to Dale, many decades ago, when they had deceived Bard into preparing for a military campaign they had never actually meant to lead against Dol Guldur.
For the good of their relations, Bard let the public forget that incident and left them to praising Dwarven generosity. Erebor had indeed paid decades' worth of wages to their craftsmen on Dale's behalf; Bard would enjoy the heightened trust between the two nations as much as the waterways they'd built.
However, today, he did not joy the revelry on the square in front of him. He preferred to keep to his table once the ceremonies had been attended to, nursing the one cup throughout the day. For once, he was being left alone, only pitying looks thrown his way before his neighbours averted their eyes again. Bard knew what was going through their heads, and it did not improve his mood any.
Harry had been gone for one long season.
Previously, she had never cared to stay in Grey Havens for longer than a couple of weeks. Now, her absence stretched over three months, with no warning given. The flight from the western shores took less than half a day if the winds were favourable, yet she hadn't made the journey once in all this time, to offer an explanation.
Whilst others speculated on the miseries that could have befallen her on her frequent journeys, of rogue Orcs crossing her path, spiders surprising her during the night, bandits picking her for an easy target, or a startled horse throwing her from a mountain path, Bard's mind was filled with different worries, for he knew such trivial dangers couldn't touch Harry.
No, what he feared with a painful tremble of his old heart, was that Harry no longer existed on Arda.
She'd told him about the excessive experiments she'd been conducting with Círdan. Had one of them been too successful, and she was now back in her own world? Or had one attempt gone wrong and she died? He did not believe she would have deliberately left without saying goodbyes; it must have been an accident.
Either way, she would now be back with her old friends, and he was determined to find happiness for her in that fact. However, no matter what resolve his logic conjured up, his uncertainty wouldn't let him find peace in that thought.
One more month, he would wait for one more month and then send a rider to Grey Havens, before the Mountain passes would snow under again.
In the end, his plans proved unnecessary. A fortnight after the waterways had been first filled, a peregrine falcon flew into his window.
He kept it unhatched and well-oiled at all times, so even a small bird could nudge it open. As was her habit, Harry swept into his bedroom with only the faintest of sounds for a warning, changing back into a witch before her talons could touch the rugs, smoothly righting from her crouch. As always, she didn't have her wig on yet, and only a small pouch rested on her belt; he knew her other packs waited hidden somewhere in the hills, where she would pick them up on the morrow, to enter the town officially as if returning from a long journey.
That was where the familiar routine ended, though. As Bard rose from his blankets and rushed to her side, he'd begun noticing the discrepancies. Her male travelling clothes might have been the same cottons and leathers, but she wore them so differently they seemed an altogether new garb─straightened as they had never been, poised fittingly on her suddenly very rigid shoulders. It was her eyes that commandeered most of Bard's attention, though, for they stared at him with a guarded look he hadn't known from her before.
"What happened?" he asked, as she stepped into his arms and rested her forehead against his chest, her hands grasping his nightshirt into fists at the back. As short as she was, it was easy to fold over her frame, and he listened as she took in her measured breaths. They weren't panicked, but slow and deep, her hot breath tickling him where her nose exhaled.
At long last, she answered. "I have looked into an Elf's mind, and it was too vast and too bright."
He stiffened at the strange lilt to her voice, faint but still startlingly unfamiliar. Then, her words registered.
Over the years, Bard had forgotten much of what Harry had explained about her magic. Regardless of his initial fascination with the topic, there was very little information that he could ever apply in practice; and his knowledge of her spellcasting waned as quickly as the other unattainable concepts she had shared from her world's technology. There were some exceptions, though.
It's a disorienting business, going into someone else's mind, he remembered her saying when he'd failed to understand why she wouldn't use that advantage in the many tiresome dealings and negotiations that had made up their daily workload. You watch their memories unveil as your hosts remember them─through their eyes and other senses, with their emotions colouring the experience. When you read their thoughts, it's as if you have thought them yourself, for all of this happens in your mind and it doesn't know of any other way to perceive. Luckily though, they always seem so startlingly unfamiliar that your mind baulks at their strangeness and distances itself; refusing to acknowledge such notions and emotions for your own. Though there is a limit to it─it's never recommended to stay inside a stranger's head for too long, because then you risk getting accustomed to the strangeness, letting some notions leak through into your own view of the world. Similarly, it's not recommended to use Legilimency extensively, spending so much time in other heads that you forget the feel of your own. I take a shortcut through some minds every once in a while, with the most bothersome of our challengers─or have you forgotten that ruling used to be even more tedious before I came along? However, I've learned the dangers of committing oneself to solving everything with magic.
"You stayed too long," Bard stated.
He felt her head give a minuscule nod against his chest. "There was too much to perceive at once; however, I still tried. I took too long to find my bearings, and by then, I forgot myself and what I was doing."
Bard clutched her slight form, tethering her tightly to his chest. "What can be done?"
"Weeks have passed and I am still distinguishing where I end and Círdan begins. It will take longer still to wash away the tinge of his opinions and notions from the nooks of my identity, if it can ever be fully accomplished."
"Have you heard of this happening before?"
"No. I'm afraid there are no Elf Lords with immortal souls back home, to experiment with Legilimency on."
At last, some of her usual cheek returned to her tone. With a wave of gratitude, he placed a soft kiss into her hair. "Oh, Harry."
She rested her head in the crook of his neck, sneaking her nose under the hem of his shirt. "Three days ago, I almost left. I knew it would be so much easier to recall fully who I was if I left Arda with all her Elves behind, and stayed around friends that never knew it. But I wouldn't forgive myself for leaving without a goodbye. Or for giving up this life for such a foolish mistake."
She stopped talking, her lips now trailing soft kisses along his jaw. It took Bard a moment to realise her intentions and when he did, he felt himself going rigid.
It had been a great account of months, maybe even years, since they had indulged in any such intimacy, as their relationship had steadied into one of fond love and deep compassion where once passion had reigned. That was not to say Bard didn't enjoy the thought of it, feeling his blood immediately stir at the suggestion. But even as the heat flushed through him, he baulked at the age difference that now divided them in their appearance, his body much withered and weakened since they had last turned to physical affections.
"Harry-" he cautioned.
She saw right through his insecurities.
She reached up and placed her palms on his cheeks, making him meet her eyes. "It is not only familiarity and comfort that I seek, my dear, dear Bard. It is your wrinkles that I want to cherish tonight." She stood up to her toes to place a gentle kiss on his temple. "It's the grey in your hair that I long to caress. For time is not passing you by, it leaves its mark on you. I wish to remind myself that I age with you, and that I should treasure every moment I have been granted."
Grey and wrinkled indeed, Bard was still a man. He did not protest further.
Later, when they had taken their bath and Harry lay in his embrace, Bard finally asked for details.
"What possessed you to try this foolishness in the first place?"
Her sheared hair brushed against his chest as she shrugged. "My frustration and Círdan's curiosity. Or was it the other way around? Probably a bit of both for each of us."
"Did he warn you of the danger?" Bard asked, trying to keep the accusation from his voice, yet not quite succeeding.
"How could he when he himself hadn't been aware of it? Mind reading is a rare ability amongst Elves, but not unheard of─he had been subjected to it before, with no such hiccups occurring. It was me who should have been more wary, for I knew how invested in the perceived thoughts Legillimency makes you."
"Yet, you couldn't have known about the inner workings of an Elf's mind or that you'd be trapped in it for too long."
"Trapped? I wasn't trapped; I could have left at any moment. It was my own stubbornness that kept me trying for too long."
"What caused this frustration, then?"
"Oh, the same old failings."
Bard scowled. She had shared much of her attempts to tutor Círdan in the techniques of her home, and the obstacles she'd encountered thus far. She despaired so frequently over the last years, he felt he could recite her complaints without a fail. How come he still claims it cannot be done when he sees me perform the conjuration over and over again?
"Has the time come to approach one of the wizards, then?" he offered his standard reply, though a new hope leaked into his usual exasperation. "Surely this last incident tells us you have reached the limits of what can be accomplished in the Grey Havens."
Harry shook her head. "I am sure it is not Círdan's personal shortcomings that prevent him from learning my spells. The same precognitive notions seem to bind the imagination of all other magic users in Arda; that their magic is somehow constrained to natural rules of this land, laid down in the Ainulindalë. They adhere to such norms even when I prove them wrong, when I push their spells to limits they had previously deemed impossible. In front of their very eyes; repeatedly."
She sighed, the exhaled air ruffling the hair behind Bard's ear. "However, I believe it is a condition of the mind that can be lifted."
"Forgive me the doubts, my love, but you've been trying for many years with very little success. What makes you confident in that theory?"
"The simple fact that I am allowed to cast such magic. Remember when we talked of the process that translated my existence and magic into the concepts native to Arda? My technique of casting stayed unchanged, which means that it is possible to attain such precision and magnitude in Middle-earth."
"The magic users of this world had walked it for thousands of years; shouldn't they have perfected their spellcasting by now if it had been possible?"
"An abundance of time seldom proves enough to drive new discoveries; not when it stands alone, without proper motivation. At least, that is my prevailing theory for why the locals have seemingly settled for such vagueness of results for their spells. I have more theories to offer, enough to bore you long into the morning and beyond. But if I am allowed to explain only one, it would be this difference between the magical users here in Arda and back home. The magical population here is so very small, and by a great part matches the beings that created this world according to their own designs. They've been on top of the food chain throughout its whole existence; a stagnant elite, indeed, even if fractured at times. Furthermore, they had been given a task by their almighty creator and the competence to act only within the boundaries of their jurisdictions. Now, look at us wizards from back home. We are born humans, facing a life of challenges the same way as Muggles. We're constantly pushed to make living easier on us, as humankind and its factions struggle to prevail."
She halted as Bard interrupted with a yawn, unable to restrain it any longer. He apologised, but she waved his concerns away. "The night grew late several hours past. Let me conclude that I am aware it will take a long time to convince the local magic users to misbehave, and reeducate them on the possibilities of magic. And I'd rather spend that time with my kind friend Círdan, than the Gandalfs of this world."
When the last great-grandchild said her goodbyes, the main door clicked shut and the house turned quiet at last, Bard closed his eyes to cherish the sudden silence. There were evenings when he felt rejuvenated by the revelry and chaos of their family dinners, but tonight had not been one of them. Sobering reports from today's councils lay too heavily on his mind, and hadn't dissolved even among the company of his dear ones.
He heard the door of his study open. Harry, he easily deduced by the sound of her light steps and the faint scent of crispy mountain air that followed her like a perfume, no matter how much time passed since her last flight. He kept his eyes closed, head resting back against his cushioned chair, and listened to the creaks of its old counterpart, as Harry settled down in it. There was a rustling of pages as she opened a book and then silence reigned again.
He enjoyed the peace for several more minutes before he broke it.
"You are planning to leave Arda after I pass."
Eyes still shut, he listened to her utter a soft sigh, and then, "What gave me away?"
"Perhaps I have noticed you preparing; more likely, I know you too well not to reach this conclusion. You fear you are becoming too invested in this host world; you cannot afford missing this opportunity to pronounce this adventure finished."
She chuckled. "You do know me well."
She fell silent, but he heard her closing her book, and waited patiently till she gathered her thoughts. "I'll always be able to find a reason to stay," she said then. "But there won't be that many to leave. And if I missed this first occasion, I'd set up a dangerous precedent─and I would only make it harder and harder for myself to say goodbye."
He gave a small nod. "Instead, you gave yourself a deadline."
"Precisely. You see, there's no external pressure that would force me to rush back home, quite the opposite─my friends wait patiently, unchanging, where I left them. In a convoluted way, I keep them alive, at least for myself, by staying in Arda; it's very tempting to carry on, keeping our eventual reunion as a warm promise, to happen in some faraway future. However, there's more than one way to lose a friendship."
Bard nodded again, understanding coming easily to him, for this wasn't the first time he had thought on the matter himself. "You are afraid you've grown a stranger to them. The greater the count of years that separates you, the harder it would be to return to your old life once you wake at Luna's couch. I agree with your caution."
Then, he bent in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his palms, as he struggled to keep the objections, the pleas, inside.
"Bard?"
"I have given an oath," he whispered, forcing the words out through gritted teeth, as others threatened to slip by, "to you and to myself, that I would never ask of you more than the help you had willingly offered. And I will not break that promise, not even now."
He heard her shuffle in her seat, and then felt her arm embrace his slumped shoulders. "You worry for your son, for leaving him tasks you will no longer be able to help him with," she said, her tone gentle. "That is only natural."
"You heard what the Gondorians merchants had to say today," Bard said. "A great evil continues to grow in the south; all our efforts, all your clever politicking, have done very little to slow its progress. It is only a matter of time before it spills out of Mordor. A war will break out, maybe not in Bain's time, but certainly in Brand's."
"You've done a wonderful job with your son and grandson. If there is a way to succeed, they will find it. Look back at the struggles you have faced and once thought insurmountable; and then prevailed against."
"I've always had you by my side, though, and they won't," Bard whispered, and here it was, he lost the battle, and pleading had snuck into his tone.
He finally looked up, to face the deserved rebuttal, and met Harry's intent gaze. "It was not me who won your battles," she said to him, her voice firm in place of the gentleness of before. "I mitigated the consequences, prevented unnecessary casualties or perhaps provided efficiency. We are a good team, there's no doubt about that; but it has ultimately been you who have led your people to prosperity. And so will your heirs."
He nodded. "Forgive me, it is this sudden panic that made me foolish for a moment. I do not hold any resentment for you leaving, I truly don't."
"Oh, Bard, of course you do. I'm choosing to leave where you'd do anything to stay longer and help, if only you could. I believe you are allowed some bitterness. But for that reason or another, life continues, and the young ones ought to be given their chance at the reins. We can only take comfort in the fact that we've done our best to prepare them for the task. The rest is up to them."
"Will you sing to me?" Bard asked. "One of your old songs."
Harry had once shared she spent the long hours of her flights reciting the songs of her home in her head, so as not to forget them and her mother tongue. He always enjoyed listening to them, liking the strangeness of their snap melodies, even though she only rarely bothered to translate the lyrics.
"Any special wishes?"
She didn't glance at him when she spoke, her back facing his bed and her hands still tinkering with the vials and herbs on the desk.
"None whatsoever."
"If that's the case, I've recently translated this very old classic, preceding even my youth; and I'm counted among the positively ancient."
He watched as she lifted an ampule to her eyes, carefully measuring several drops of whichever vile medicine was stored in the flask in her other hand. Her singing voice filled their bedroom, bright and cheerful, though she still kept it soft as not to rouse the rest of the house.
"...you're the one that I long to kiss; you're the one that I really miss. You're the one that I'm dreaming of; you're the one that I love."
He grunted, the quick rhythm and bright tones clashing with his mood. "Something slower, perhaps?"
"Ha- it seems you have preferences after all." She finally turned to him and he obediently emptied the cup she handed him. "Alright then, my old chap."
She sat on the bed, leaning against the pillow next to his head. The song she picked next was in English and illegible for him, but Bard cared very little, for its tones were soothing. Harry dipped her head towards him, singing softly just above his ear, and Bard listened to her voice, too brazen even in a song to ever be called truly pretty, but oh so beautifully familiar. He closed his heavy lids and let the singing lure him to sleep.
AN: Life is rather fleeting, isn't it?
Here you have it, I gave Harry her happily-ever-after in the middle of the story arch. This fic really doesn't follow the established steps of your standard storyline, does it? Well, at least I keep you on your toes as to what comes next.
According to canon, Bard died in TA 2977. I fancied the idea Harry would medicate several more years out of him but not too many. This chapter spanned across thirty years, then. I anchor us in the timeline properly in the next chapter. No recs this time, I'm all written out. Penny for your thoughts?
