Unasked Questions

"Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers."
-Voltaire-

Gandalf the Grey's visit would have been terrific and a brilliant moment for Haven since his visit drew the attention of the gods to it. Heather was too anxious to remember the confrontation, and she was constantly tapping on the edge of her precognition.

The reason? Arda was a world that was relatively young and its gods were still the active sort. Remembering the history of the Numenoreans, it made Heather just a tad bit nervous.

Did she fidget? Oh, not at all. Did she constantly think about the glory and complete simplicity of the wild and longed to high tail and abandon her siblings? Never! And denial wasn't only a river in Egypt.

Hermione did smack her in the head that night. "Stop looking like you want to throw a knife at him," she scolded. "You're making everyone else nervous. Feather, you're making me nervous."

"Bu-but," she stammered. "The valar…"

"Eru Ilúvatar wouldn't have allowed us entry if he didn't like us," Hermione pointed out. "Calm down, will you? Or I'll ask Draco to sedate you while Gandalf is here."

It did take a while to calm herself down and it resulted in Heather not getting any sleep at all. Any other person would have been jumpy. But in Heathers case, with her instincts honed by war and further hammered down by hunting dark creatures, it made her wits sharper.

Giving up on sleep, she went down the stairs and was unsurprised to find Gandalf puffing on his pipe and staring at the fire.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

Heather didn't flinch, but she did blink several times. "It's a lost cause," she answered. "What's so fascinating in the fire?"

He then turned to look at her, bushy brows arched in amusement. "Fire is always fascinating to man, Lady Gryffon. Do I frighten you? You hardly said a word to me."

Gandalf's question made a small well of bitterness rise up. Heather thought she'd dealt with that, but to have most of your life dictated by an accursed prophecy made her slightly wary of dealing with gods and their agents. (Trelawny, anyone?)

Heather's smile was bitter and cynical, bordering on angry. "Frighten is not the word I would use. Anything touched by the gods is something I tend to avoid."

Gandalf looked surprised, as though that wasn't the answer he had expected. Then he turned fully from the fire and sat to face her properly. "The valar are kind, Lady Gryffon. They don't intervene unnecessarily."

"Whatever gods that were in my world were never kind to me," she snapped. Her conscience poked on her on how bleeding selfish that was. It was unbelievable on how like Hermione it sounded. "I beg your pardon. I had forgotten this anger," she whispered.

Gandalf's eyes were kind. "Do you wish to tell me?"

Oh, for the love of Rowena!

Heather looked to the lightening window and tried to get her tears under control. That question hadn't been asked to her since Remus, Sirius and Dumbledore died. They had lived through one war and knew the demons that would plague you afterwards. Hermione was struggling with her own nightmares and couldn't ask and Luna did not know how to ask it.

"Will you walk with me?" Heather eventually asked.

He agreed and left his staff. That degree of trust had Heather trembling. The brisk air of pre-dawn cleared her mind and took away most of her emotional turmoil. It left her feeling strangely empty as she told him haltingly about the thrice-damned prophecy and the accursed war. It was the most she had told anyone, even Aragorn.

When she finished, they had arrived at the statue of the Mighty Wizard. Heather seated them on one of the many stone benches that surrounded it and waited for his verdict.

"Thank you for telling me," he said gravely. "You've been keeping this deep in you for quite a while. But, may I ask? Why have you chosen to tell me?"

In for a knut, in for a galleon.

"Eilys trusts you and I generally trust her opinion on people. And Hodur can see the state of people's souls. Since he hasn't started muttering yet, then that must mean you're trustworthy. The only thing that can get him into proper form is seeing corruption in peoples souls," she said.

Gandalf was astonished. "He can see people's souls? I thought he is blind?"

"Oh no," she assured him. "If he chooses to forego his eyes, then he can see farther. When he uses his eyes, he is usually not using his gift."

The respect on his face increased and Heather wanted to knock sense in him, that these gifts were heavy burdens that did not deserve other people's awe, but Heather knew that he wouldn't understand.

Gandalf's visit lasted for a week and during that time, the four of them introduced to him the beauty and nobility that was Haven. It was a perfectly mutual relationship since Gandalf taught them about Arda and they taught him the small changes they had wrought in Middle-Earth since their arrival.

And since Gandalf knew they were from another world, they eventually introduced him to Kreacher.

It was a rather comical sight, since they had managed to shock Gandalf to gaping like a fish.

"Kreacher is pleased to meet you, Mister Wizard Sir," Kreacher bowed.

Gandalf looked like he wanted to bow back and Heather stomped on his foot. He made a coughing sort of sound. "Arumph! Pleased to meet you as well, Kreacher," he said. He sounded slightly strangled but at least he hadn't bowed back. That would have set Kreacher muttering on how improper Gandalf was as a wizard if he showed submission.

"Can Kreacher do anything for you, Mister Wizard Sir?" he asked.

Gandalf glanced at Heather and had gotten to know her well enough to recognize the spark of mischief in her eyes. He turned back to Kreacher and answered before she could say anything. "You can tell me about yourself. Kreacher, what exactly are you?"

While Heather was slightly disappointed not to have sown chaos, the others sighed in relief as Gandalf had chosen the one topic that would ensure Kreacher's preoccupation.

"Kreacher is a house-elf," Kreacher announced proudly. "Wizards are messy beasties and forget to clean. They are misbehaving too. So magic made house-elves to take care of them and make sure they don't die from the mess."

"Are there any others of your kind in Arda, Kreacher?" Gandalf queried with curiosity.

Kreacher shook his head. "Oh, no. But don't worry, Mister Wizard Sir. Kreacher is tied to Master and Missy's. As they are still alive, so is Kreacher still alive."

When Kreacher had left to do his many duties like taking care of Draco's greenhouses, cleaning Luna's hospital Linens and sweeping up Hermione's dirty library, Gandalf looked to the four of them incredulously.

"A soul bond?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head. She had, after all, done an intensive study on the convoluted bond of master and house-elf. She was the only one who could answer with some measure of technicality.

"No. Kreacher is a house-elf. His magical stability is supposed to depend on his master's mental state. In return for that stability, his masters get a clean house." Hermione winced at how lacking that sounded. "I know its brief, but he's the only house elf to ask. When we passed through the ritual..."

The incredulity did fade from his face the more Hermione talked, and the matter of soul bonds was dropped.

In one of the many talks that Heather and Gandalf had, they eventually touched the topic of the country of Rohan, and of Gandalf's many names.

It was inevitable, with Prince Theodred learning knife fighting in the morning, philosophy with Hermione in the afternoon and memorizing medicinal herbs in the evening. His schedule meant that Gandalf crossed his path several times. It surprised Heather that every time they met, there was a tinge of fear in Prince Theodred's face.

"Is it personal, or may I ask?" Heather eventually said.

Something crossed his face. It could have been amusement but she wasn't sure since he was wearing a beard. People with beards were really hard to read.

"In the East, the people have different names for me. Most notably, Gandalf Stormcrow," he explained.

Ah. Heather could relate since Girl-Who-Lived had easily changed to Deranged Mad-Woman in the blink of an eye.

"But don't you ever visit for social reasons?" Heather had to ask. "If you only visit for warnings and dire times, then Stormcrow could be understandable."

He sighed sadly. "I was sent here to prevent Sauron's rise, and if possible, defeat him for good. I have no time to rest and be social, most of the time I have is spent seeking the One Ring."

Another Dark Lord. Another Horcrux and another Horcrux hunt. She could understand his urgency, but urgency to the point of alienating your allies was stupid and she told him so.

Gandalf's eyes bulged for a moment with surprise and then he laughed. "Thank you for that. I may have to take a break for a year or so."

The topic of the Dunlendings was not touched until the last day of Gandalf's visit. It happened as an accident, when Heather removed her gloves to emphasize a point in one of her lectures. Prince Theodred handed her the oiling cloth and she brushed one of his fingers. It was only for a moment, but it was enough.

There were horses, flashes of swords and dark-haired warriors. She saw orcs and arrows. Lastly, she saw him die.

The class ended early as Heather went to the nearest bathroom to empty her stomach.

At dinner, they were having a sort-of party for Gandalf leaving and she could have easily been overlooked…if the party had been with other people. But while her siblings were picking Gandalf's brain, Felicia and Meiran sat in either side of her and looked at her expectantly.

"What?" she asked.

"So, we heard through the grapevine that you saw Prince Theodred's future," Felicia started.

Oh, bugger. Her standard class was composed of fifteen students. With how Haven gossiped, the entire city would know it by the next day.

"Yep. So what about it?" Heather answered, acting nonchalant.

Meiran gave her a look. "Whoever told you that we're stupid? Come on, let if out," she muttered.

Heather sighed, because no matter how tempting it was, there were really some futures you can't tell to people. "I'm leaving for Rohan," she said instead.

Their reactions amused Heather, because other people would have reacted differently. Their reaction was nearly non-existent since Felicia's only concern was the classes Heather would leave untaught and Meiran's only concern was the herbs to send with her, because Draco didn't trust her alone with potions.

"When are you leaving?" Guiomer asked, having overheard. "Are you bringing the sword?"

Heather sighed again, because her son looked a little frightened. It was only recently she had recovered her shoulder after all. "No, Guiomer. I am not bringing the sword. It wouldn't be prudent. And I have to leave with Gandalf. There is something I have to ask him."

Her siblings nearly reacted the same way, but they had heard about her accident with Prince Theodred and knew she had seen something. So Hermione merely pursed her lips and Draco muttered. Luna only sighed and helped pack her bags.

Heather fumed and seethed while she travelled to Rohan.

What she had heard from Gandalf had reminded her forcibly of the history at home, the one about the Romans and the Scottish. It buggered Heather that the Dunlendings were repeating history.

"Technically," she muttered. "They haven't repeated anything yet."

As her anger slowly shimmered down, Heather started contemplating how she would approach the Dunlendings. From what she'd heard, they were a vicious sort of people and very territorial. Case in point, the constant skirmishes with Rohan.

Her precognition was useless because a certain event hadn't happened yet, like an important decision. So Heather had to rely on instinct and gut-feeling and narrowly avoided the patrol riders from Rohan.

But of course, since she was so intent on avoiding the patrol riders, she landed right into a group of Dunlending scouts. They were as surprised as Heather…for about two seconds. Their recovery time was faster than hers though and within another second, she was bound with hemp ropes and trussed up like a pig on a stick.

Heather tried not to let her imagination lead to that direction while she aimed her deadliest glare to the ones taking away her knives. Though, it was something to watch her captor's faces when they realized how many knives she had on her person. She did, however, fire a mental scowl directed towards her precognition. It was as though the thing was conspiring against her. She really hated being treated like a captive and her gift probably knew that and didn't show her that image.

Bugger. It made her head hurt just thinking about it. Her gift didn't have a mind of its own, thank you. Because that would just be plain creepy.

The leader of the Dunlendings, for that certain tribe anyway, was fierce and brown-skinned. He had several animal skins wrapped around him, with chain-mail peeking under it. He asked Heather a question in their guttural language and when she didn't answer and looked really confused, it made him scowl even more.

He snapped to his warriors and they took her to a wooden prison. It may have been primitive and crudely done, but Heather knew it would take a lot of strength to break. They had used green wood. Banging your head against it would be like running at a tree. Ramming a shoulder would be a sure ticket to a dislocated shoulder and a world of pain.

So Heather settled comfortably in her prison and sighed. At least they didn't have anti-apparition wards. That would have been the cherry on the pie.

"Well," she remarked to herself in English. "I did want to find them and I did want to talk to them."

Heather hadn't realized they would have another language entirely. A small part of her brain, which she had corralled all the comments her siblings would have made, piped up, "This is just like first year, Heather!"

She directed a scowl at it and went to sleep.

Heather didn't know how long the Dunlendings would have kept her prisoner if one of the children hadn't accidentally set fire to their houses.

The thing was made of light materials and they were in a bleeding forest. The fire was fast and deadly. Heather still had nightmares about the Room of Requirement and Fiendfyre. She would have frozen and burned to death, but one of the women screamed. The woman sounded a lot like Hermione that Heather's muscles pumped with adrenalin. She summoned the Elder Wand from the Temporal Pocket she kept it in and shouted, "Aguamenti!"

A burst of water came forth and Heather wielded it efficiently to douse the fire. The spectacle had effectively frozen the tribe. So when a branch creaked and broke – which really would have damaged the little girl standing there, Heather summoned the girl with a flick of her wrist and banished the branch with a look.

When the adrenaline faded, Heather sank to the ground shakily as her legs turned to jelly and bit the inside of her cheek to stop from crying.

Deerskin shoes filled her vision and she craned her neck to find the leader looking at her with real concern.

"I'm alright," she reassured him in Westron. "Just… I don't like fire."

His face screwed in concentration as he spoke in broken Westron. "Thanks," he said. "Why you help?"

She huffed. "You needed it." To make a point, she looked around at the burned buildings and wet belongings. "Can I help?"

He agreed reluctantly and stationed one of the younger men to watch over her.

Well, goal accomplished. Now heather just had to understand why they kept attacking Rohan. Firstly, she had to help rebuild…which she did, without using too much magic. They seemed to accept that though. Their perceptions of wizards seemed to have to do with the great magics and rituals. The subtler magic that she used was something they didn't notice, like featherlight charms casted on stone.

It was pretty easy to convince them to switch to stone houses when she pointed to what had previously been their wooden houses. Heather helped in almost everything and was slowly changing their way of life.

When she found out that they had no deep-wells and were still relying on streams and dew drops, Heather made them one and they witnessed another of the fancier magics that involved the precise raising of the earth. Heather then dug runes on the stones and the deep-well for freshness, coolness and preservation of its clean state. Most of all, she ensured that it would only dry in a drought.

Slowly, they became less like tribes and more like clansmen living in a hidden city deep within the woods. Eventually, when they gathered around the fire along with the other tribe leaders, she asked, "Why do you attack Rohan?"

As one unit, they scowled. "Gather food," one answered. "Winter comes. They attack too."

That was really easy to solve. And no one had ever thought to try and do peace treaties with these fellows? What happened to diplomacy?

"I can teach you to deal with winter," she offered. "But you have to stop attacking Rohan. It's really, really not useful."

Though there were mutters, they agreed. So Heather started the food preservation lessons. She mainly directed this to the women. They accepted the duty with great enthusiasm. They learned smoking, salting and drying. When they exclaimed over the taste, she taught them about making stew.

Towards the men, she tasked them to make a storage area. Since it had to be cool, they eventually settled on the caves deep in the mountains.

When winter came and went without the Dunlendings having to attack anybody, they celebrated with a large party.

"I'll deal with Rohan," she told them. "But you have to hold to your promise."

Despite the fact that Heather had heard a lot of the Horse Lords of Rohan, and her city was even housing three of the kings' children-two of them adopted, the only one to have met King Theoden was Draco. So it was with some trepidation that she was led into the Golden Hall. The only comfort she had was apparition since her weapons were stripped from her.

King Theoden had golden hair, though it was liberally streaked with white and his keen eyes were the disarming shade of blue that his son had. They had different coloring but Heather could see where Theodred received his mannerisms.

"My herald said your name is Gryffon," he asked curiously.

Heather removed her cowl and smiled at him. "Yes. I am Gryffon, Lady of Haven. Your son looks a lot like you, your majesty."

The only evidence of his surprise was the slight widening of his eyes. Then he recovered. "My lady, you honor us with your visit."

There was a question in his statement. It made Heather smile even wider, remembering Draco who usually spoke the same way.

"I was passing through and wished to meet you," she answered. That was the code, Draco had told her once, for 'let's talk privately'. She only hoped he knew it.

The glint in his eyes told her that he did. "You will join me for luncheon."

"Your majesty is gracious," she said.

Luncheon was served within an hour. Heather was given thirty minutes to wash from herself the grime of the road. It felt heavenly to remove mud from her braided hair. Then she twined a dark ribbon around it to accent the bright colors.

When the king called for her, she was led to a private room with the tables laden with food and wine. There was also a discreet sentry by the door. Heather knew that it was as private as she could get, under the circumstances.

"You wished to speak with me?" he asked.

Heather sighed. Even if he knew the pureblood subtleties, it seemed the king liked straightforward better. A Gryffindor at heart.

"What do you know of me and my siblings, your majesty?" she asked instead.

A frown crossed his features. "You learned from the elves and wished to pass it to other people. So you created Haven. There is also a rumor that you are descended from them, evidenced by your unchanging appearance."

Really? she longed to ask. She was incredulous for a moment, before she pushed it away. Though it irritated her a bit not to give proper credit to her true teachers, the Dunedain, she kept that quiet because she needed to tell him more important than her history.

"Haven City is for everyone, King Theoden," she clarified. "But I will not speak of Haven now. My family has an enchanted sword that only accepts certain characteristics from its wielder. Our bloodline has certain properties and through an accident, something awoke in us. For me, I could see the future."

Disbelief was in his face but he did not say anything. He was a kind listener and did not interrupt.

"My family had gifts, but what I received was something none of us had ever received," she continued. "And it frightened me. I nearly died with my fear. Elrond of Rivendell saved my life and taught me how to use it."

It was the matter-of-fact way she said it that convinced King Theoden, and the fact that her eyes were open in expressing her pain.

"A few months ago," she said. "I touched Prince Theodred's hand and I saw him die."

The king tensed and watched her with frightening intensity.

Heather plowed on, her voice steady and not betraying how scary she found his complete attention. "I came to Rohan to prevent that and have only managed to solve one-half of the problem. The other half is you."

Here, the king finally interrupted. "You are saying that I will lead to the death of my son." He sounded calm. Heather quelled the urge to apparate because his eyes betrayed his anger.

"Oh no," she said, trying to channel Luna. "Your son will die, killed by Uruk-hai. The only way to keep him from that death was for you to befriend the Dunlendings."

He was shocked. Heather wanted to go boneless with relief because that was better than his anger.

"What?" he asked in a rough voice. "That is difficult to do. They attack us and steal from our villagers."

A well of annoyance bubbled in her at the callous words. "And you never wondered why? The Dunlendings are warriors. Of course, they don't know how to survive for winter! So they had to steal from people. Mostly your people! Nobody ever taught them how to survive. The mountains your ancestors drove them into are practically inhabitable," she ranted, forgetting her caution and the fact that he was a king. "I had to teach them to preserve food, for Godric's sake!"

Did he smile? Heather couldn't tell. He was another one of those that wore a beard.

"I will do as you say, Lady Gryffon," he finally said, sounding mirthful.

Oh Merlin! He really was laughing. Men!

But that solved Prince Theodreds death. Well, decreased his chances of dying. His future still loomed, bleak, but wasn't shadowed with an Uruk-hai carrying a double-bladed axe.

With that, Heather packed her bags and apparated to haven just as spring was starting in the East.

She arrived in Haven and was greeted by Guiomer with his arms around a woman.

Heather felt her eyes narrow and Guiomer smiled nervously, a hand twitching towards the sword by his hips.

"Welcome home, Mater," he greeted in Latin.

"Anything you want to tell me, my son?" she asked.

He gulped.

Omake:

When Felicia met heather and Draco

"She's…small," Draco said, struggling for a polite way to state the girls height.

"I'm small but not deaf," Felicia said firmly. "Pleased to meet you, Lady Gryffon, Lord Hodur."

Heather cringed when she realized how rude Draco had been.

"Pardon him," Heather apologized. "He's actually being nice."

The girls' eyes turned wide with surprise. "He can be worse? I didn't know that was possible."

Bugger! Heather choked on her laughter. Felicia was good, if she knew how to deal with Draco.

Sorry for the delay, though I made it extra long for some sort of reparation.

The person who suggested counting by seasons is a genius, by the way. I am feeling ridiculous for not having thought of that, but then again, my country only has summer days and rainy days. None of the four seasons stuff you lot have to go through.

As for Heather's colorful hair…would it really be shocking to admit that the hair was a sort of ambition? When I was younger, I wanted to write a story where there was a person with bright eyes and a person with colorful hair. It doesn't make sense, but it's the only thing in this entire story that I indulge myself with.

By the way, Gandalf doesn't remember Luna and Heather. He was in a lot of hurry during the Hobbit, remember? I know in the book that they did eat properly, but I am snatching some bits from the movie, and I hardly saw Gandalf sit down and eat. (Is he surviving on adrenalin? I always wonder)

Any other questions can be answered by PMing me. I'm always available.

~Hallen