T.A. 1960, June
"But they were, all of them, deceived… for another ring was made."
Harry fought back a yawn. For the safety of this timeline, the four warlocks had agreed to keep their knowledge of Middle-Earth lore for themselves. That meant that Lady Galadriel was telling them all about Sauron and how dangerous the bugger was. At least her voice was nice, he thought. He glanced to his side and saw that Fleur was wearing a serious expression that hadn't wavered once during the storytelling. Only three other people knew what this expression actually meant; she'd retreated into her mind-palace to think about more interesting things.
Harry looked at the other members of the group. Gandalf was there, smoking away on his presumably cannabis-filled pipe, judging by the fact he always spoke in riddles that for one, didn't make sense and two, only he seemed to find funny. There was hobo-Gandalf, AKA Radagast the Brown, and being him was a very impressive achievement indeed because Gandalf himself was pretty darn close to homelessness.
There was Lord Elrond, who was an impressive dude. He was what a real elf should be like, Harry decided. Ice-cool, intelligent, wise, and no slouch in combat either. He'd seen some real shit, and come off stronger and smarter from it. He also had patience wider than all of Arda. Of course, that didn't stop Harry from annoying him by making innuendos regarding his daughter. Harry briefly wondered what Cirdan the Shipwright was like, who had unfortunately not made it to this meeting.
"In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a master-ring to control all others. And into this ring, he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life… One Ring to rule them all."
Oh, and there was Glorfindel, but he was an afterthought anyway. As if sensing his thoughts, Glorfindel glanced at him with an unreadable expression. Harry smirked at him until he looked away.
"So Sauron poured his soul into this ring?" Harry asked.
Galadriel paused. "Yes."
"So if this ring were to be destroyed…"
"He would find his very soul torn apart before being sent to Mandos' Hall."
"I'm sorry, but what? While he's completely evil with no real reason apparently, he didn't strike me as an idiot. During which point of this process could he have thought, 'hmm, I'll place the most vulnerable aspect of my existence into a little trinket that anyone could theoretically destroy'?"
"If I must guess, I believe it was because he needed to create a link in between the gifted rings and himself, and it is difficult if not impossible to create a sympathetic link between an object and something of non-existence," Gandalf supplied helpfully.
"I already knew that, nerd," Harry dismissed. Gandalf rolled his eyes. "But instead of showing it off, why didn't he just swallow it or something?"
"He is not the type to work from the shadows if he can avoid it," Lord Elrond sighed. "He would prefer to have the glory and attention."
"So yet another villain falls to his own ego," Harry said. "Why can't we have an interesting villain? Don't get me wrong, Sauron seems like a total badass from the way you describe him, being nine foot tall and all dark iron and whatever, but why can't we have a villain that actually makes us think? You know, like Hannibal Lecter?"
"Who?" Glorfindel asked.
"Oh, it was this one bloke who enjoyed eating man-meat," Harry shrugged, and Glorfindel looked horrified. So did everyone else, actually. "What?"
"I am glad I did not come from your world," Gandalf muttered.
"By the way, I completely forgot to ask, but where's Sorryman?" Harry asked.
"Saruman was not enthused at the idea of meeting the creators of the Snowfolk," Galadriel sighed. "So displeased, in fact, that he asked us not to contact him for his advice unless we rejected you both."
"Really," Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Do you think we can get by without his council?"
"Probably," Glorfindel shrugged. Gandalf and Radagast looked mutinous at Glorfindel's comment.
"I can sense that both of you are not… entirely malicious beings," Galadriel said carefully, addressing Harry and Fleur. "And I suspect that both of you are willing to aid our fight against darkness. However, I would like you to confirm it. Harry, Fleur, will you fight with us? For the freedom of the races of Middle-Earth?"
Fleur jolted out of her trance. "Yes, of course," she recovered smoothly. "I'm willing to help out here and there."
Harry shrugged. "Depends. How will I be compensated for my services?"
Everyone stared at him. "You are also part of this world, are you not?" Radagast asked. "Surely you wouldn't demand payment for your own fate?"
Harry gave a shiteating grin. "Sorry, Greenpeace, but Fleur and I are both visitors of this world who are capable of leaving just as easily as we came here in the first place. If I wanted, I could moon the lot of you and leave all of you to your inevitable doom."
Galadriel gave a tired smile to a calm but angry Elrond, who had made to open his mouth to retort. "Calm, my dear Lord Elrond. Harry's jests are… in poor taste, but he will not abandon us without good reason. I can sense his soul."
Harry's head snapped back to the gorgeous elf-GILF. "How are you reading my soul, exactly? My mind is on complete lockdown. A metaphorical tick wouldn't have enough space to squeeze through."
Galadriel only smiled serenely. "Would you like me to prove it to you? I sense that you do. I like the bracelet you're wearing, Lady Fleur."
Fleur blinked and glanced at her right wrist, which held a bracelet made of ivory beads. "Thank you."
"Ah, yes. It was made of one of the northern tribesmen," Galadriel exclaimed. "I did not think there was anyone living so far north."
"What?" Harry sat up straight, stunned. "How the hell did you know that?"
"You are old and powerful, Harry," Galadriel smiled. "But I am more than twice as old as you are."
"You also use a magic ring," Harry muttered under his breath.
"And you do not use a wand? Or staff?" Galadriel countered.
"Yeah, yeah. I get your point," Harry sighed. Inwardly, he shuddered. He hadn't even felt the lightest touches of legilimency on his mind. He didn't know if this was because Galadriel had a different kind of mind-magic, being and Elf and all, or because she was simply too powerful and too skilled for him to detect. This was unfair! He even had that stupid Riddle horcrux in his noggin for a while, so why shouldn't he have the advantage?
Harry glanced to his right, and Fleur met his eyes. The two of them shared a soul-bond; it wasn't as romantic as people thought it was, it was just another contingency that the two of them had created. It was similar to a horcrux - it took the destruction of both Fleur's and Harry's souls to decidedly end either of their lives once and for all, which was how they'd remained immortal - but while a horcrux was borne out of hatred and egomania, a soul-bond was made of unwavering trust and fraternal love.
One of the little known side-effects of a soul-bond was a limited telepathy channel between the two souls. Words were too human a concept for a soul-conversation, so it turned out more like a smattering of memories and emotions. It worked well enough. In less than an instant, Fleur would receive Harry's concerns that there were enough entities in this world powerful enough to rival them, and even decimate them, that they may not make it out safely. In turn, Harry received Fleur's soft assurances that everything would be okay, and the sensation of contentment, relaxation, and love.
He'd be damned if Galadriel could peek into that conversation.
Galadriel gave no signs of having heard, however, and she continued to explain where they might find the ring. It all amounted to, 'it fell in a river, and we have no idea how far its traveled in like, two thousand years.' Harry was pretty sure he could just use 'Point me, One Ring' and fix everyone's problems in about a week, but that would mean no awesome adventures with Legless and the Once and Future King! Harry quickly banished that thought into the deepest corners of his mind before Galadriel could detect that thought and tried to think of something that would distract from it.
"So, Galadriel, it must be kind of boring when your husband won't, ah, entertain you for hundreds of years at a time," Harry began. "If you're looking for a bit of harmless fun, I'd always be willing to humor you."
Gandalf spluttered like the nerd that he was; why did Katie and Ron bother with him again? Radagast looked like he would dive under the table at the slightest motion. Elrond looked aghast, Glorfindel was groaning and slamming his forehead against the table repeatedly. Fleur grinned toothily.
Galadriel herself was smiling. "Why, I would be joyed to perhaps share a game of chess with you, Master Harry. I must admit my husband and I have not played it in a while. Perhaps I should let him observe?"
"Chess?" Harry scoffed, even as a few members looked amazed that Galadriel hadn't smote down the impudent Man on the spot. "There are better games than that. And I'm not saying that just because Ron beats me every bloody time we play."
Gandalf chuckled. "What would you suggest, then?"
Harry and Fleur looked at each other. "Uno?" Harry suggested, even as Fleur reached her arm into the Wardrobe and plucked out a deck.
"How do we play?" Gandalf seemed enthusiastic, good man. Maybe Ron and Katie had already given him a taste of Earth entertainment?
Fleur quickly explained the rules. Glorfindel blinked, then said he was in. Elrond shrugged and joined. Radagast bowed into peer pressure, because of course he did. Everyone then looked at Galadriel.
She shrugged daintily. Harry hadn't known a woman as regal as her shrugged, ever. "Very well. I shall join."
It was fucking intense. There was no other way to describe it. The first few rounds were done as practice, to acclimate the new players to the rules. Then, Galadriel started reading everyone's minds and taking stock of their cards (Harry only suspected, and Galadriel denied it, and all the Galadriel fanboys in the room claimed that she would never do such a thing, but her smug smile said otherwise), Fleur started using her allure on full blast to distract everyone in the game, to which only Galadriel and Harry were completely immune. Eventually, Harry decided to just wandlessly charm all of his cards into +4 cards and clobber the shit out of Gandalf, who was sitting on his left.
"At least we didn't play Monopoly," Fleur said pleasantly as everyone glared at each other.
T.A. 1960, July
The White Council had been supremely unproductive; they had nine meetings in total, during which the denizens of Middle Earth learned to play: Go Fish, Scrabble (both Harry and Fleur did quite well even compared to people that had been speaking Westron for hundreds of years), Risk (take your knowledge of strategy and shove it up your arse, Elrond!), Monopoly (this ended in a fistfight between Harry and Glorfindel while the others egged them on), and a short-lived game of Twister (in which Fleur tried to get a peek up Galadriel's skirt and got an eyeful up Gandalf's instead), and a session of Mario Kart. They also played a game of Texas Hold'Em, but Fleur wisely insisted they play without stakes because of the resident mind-reader/precognitive that would undoubtedly cheat.
It was actually a very fun bonding session for all of them, and Fleur thought it had gone far better than it had any right to. If this council was all about being uppity and Shakespearean and boring like Fleur suspected it would have been if neither her nor her husband were invited, then everyone would have left after having made literally no progress and having wasted time. But with them, though, Fleur was certain everyone left feeling close to each other, and happier too.
Radagast, for example, had finally come out of his shell and had improved his social abilities and his self-confidence, finally able to project his own opinion and not go along with whomever was speaking the most pompously in the room. Both Elrond and Gandalf were really chill guys once you got to know them, and Harry had invited them to a pub crawl in Bree as soon as he decided to visit Rivendell, to which the two of them, shockingly, agreed with enthusiasm.
Glorfindel's bond with both Harry and Fleur came ever closer. Though Fleur constantly made fun of him for being all brawn and no brains, Glorfindel didn't survive so long - well actually, he had died once, but whatever - without being cunning and intelligent. He was a keen student of philosophy, it seemed.
And Galadriel… Fleur enjoyed speaking to Arwen and Tauriel both, but they were immature in their own ways. Fleur sincerely enjoyed speaking to Galadriel as equals, and she suspected Galadriel felt the same way. And if she were ever in need of a mentor, Galadriel would be there to support her. It was a strange sensation; after all, she was one of the most learned people in her own world since two thousand years ago - who was there for her to mentor under?
She and Harry must have made a greater impression on Lady Galadriel, possibly one of the most powerful beings on this world, than they'd imagined, because the latter invited them both to remain in her kingdom so she could keep their companionship for a while longer. The two had agreed; Harry used a projection-casting technique, creating a patronus that mimicked his real body, and sent it to Elvenking Thranduil to thank him for his hospitality. Fleur doubted he'd mind; if someone like Lady Galadriel invited you to stay, socially, you weren't allowed to say no.
Galadriel, being a princess both literally and personality-wise, she turned out to be a terrible cook. Well, that was what you got when you had servants to cater for your every whim - Fleur had been like that for a while too. It had been a shock when Fleur learned Harry could cook (and absolutely amazing Indian foods - he'd practiced this especially because of Vernon's slightly racist tendencies) and clean like a professional housekeeper.
Regardless, that meant when Galadriel and Fleur pulled out their oatmeal raisin cookies out from the transfigured stove, it was smelling a little like charcoal and death. Fleur hesitantly picked up one cookie and took a nibble. She spat it out, and dropped the cookie. The cookie landed on one of the tiles in Galadriel's courtyard and cracked the stone. Galadriel pretended not to notice that.
"Maybe we can try things that don't require special techniques," Fleur suggested. "Techniques like, uh, using an oven."
"Yes," Galadriel agreed with a sardonic smile. "Perhaps we can try making those peanut butter sandwiches you informed me of previously. I believe I may be able to create those."
Fleur gave an awkward grin. "That's the spirit. Think positive."
Galadriel decided her cooking endeavors were done for the day (and thank goodness, Fleur thought in the deepest levels of her heart) and crossed to the other side of the courtyard, where she'd laid out a thin, reed mattress over the tiles. She sat down on one end, gracefully crossing her legs beneath her. Fleur mimicked her motion and sat down opposite her.
Fleur and Galadriel had made a trade of sorts. Fleur would teach Galadriel things she'd learned in her own world, even just telling stories; Galadriel would reciprocate by teaching her advanced mind magics, including telepathy and prescience. Harry decided not to partake in these meetings, instead spending time with Lord Celeborn and Lord Glorfindel to learn skills of a more martial bent, and learn the secrets of elfin smithing.
"Your husband is a frighteningly adept Legilimens, as you call it, both through natural aptitude and much experience," Galadriel had said. "He may even be strong enough to enter my mind and combat me on equal terms. However, legilimency is a more limited form of clairvoyance; after all, you need to be in the vicinity of a target - always a single individual - and individual minds are always limited to their own memories and experiences. Prescience will allow you to glimpse the nature of entire cities, armies, even entire worlds should you gain the power and skill to do so."
"How far into the future can you see?" Fleur had asked curiously.
"I can perhaps reliably see up until later in the day," Galadriel had answered. "If guests arrive at my kingdom's borders, I am able to tell friend or foe before they are spotted by my scouts. Apart from that, I cannot say - it will all depend on how far I try to see, and how massive an event becomes."
"What about distance?"
"If nobody were to interfere, I would be able to see across thousands of miles."
Fleur shook the memory from her mind and entered a meditative trance as Galadriel had instructed her to do. Opposite her, the Lady of the Golden Wood was doing the same, allowing her mind to drift away from the physical world and approach the curious intersection between reality and irreality known as the Void. Fleur's spirit soared in the Void, movement in this realm being a trick she'd learned recently.
The Void was a twisted mirror of the real world, and was a place likely not fit for mortals; it had taken Fleur hours to even get used to the realm. Her eyes and ears and nose were all screaming at her brain, telling her that everything they were seeing/hearing/smelling was corrupt, was abnormal. It wasn't like the Void had inverted colors or lighting or anything, but it somehow wasn't unlike that either. She could now not only feel, but also see the magic. And many other things.
One of the most obvious things - to Fleur, at least - was a golden thread that connected to her semi-avian spirit form (it was more like her shape was flickering between that of a human and a transformed Veela) and leading off elsewhere in the Golden Wood. Her soul-bond with Harry. And while Galadriel could see it - especially since she seemed to share a variant of a soul-bond of her own with Lord Celeborn - she couldn't read anything they sent through the bond. Which was good to know.
Everything else, though, was nowhere near as comforting. In her sprite-like form, Galadriel held domain of the Golden Wood, and while its borders were murky and wisps of shadows clung to it, the insides were rich with Galadriel's magic, and quite safe. Whenever she, under Galadriel's guidance, stepped out of Lothlorien, she could see many more things that made her empty her stomach the first few times she'd seen them. Emotions, namely, and the history of events. Life, death, suffering, and meager amounts of joy in comparison to misery.
Fleur and Galadriel sped through the sky of the Void, which unlike the real world that had a blue-tinted view, was more violet in nature and scattered with gigantic nebulae millions of light-years wide instead of being full of stars. The ground flew past her, but time felt more relative; she might be traveling very slow for all she knew and simply feel fast. The fact that she could sense everything on the ground despite this speed helped to reinforce this feeling.
She spied what appeared to be a cloud of ash, spiraling around the ground. With it came the sensation of hate, pain, but mostly the sensation of inferiority and decay. Those were orcs, as Fleur had learned. Their very existence was suffering; they were once elves, but were twisted into dark creatures, lacking all the glory and martial might of their former selves. Unlike elves, they were no longer immortal, were in constant pain, were disfigured by sunlight. A single true elf was worth at least a hundred orcs. Orcs had been bred to be disposable - and the orcs knew that, having been drilled into their very mind. They were, as much as they were sick and twisted, depressed.
Then, there was the sensation of death. In a pre-industrial world, conflict was hardly the biggest thief of life. Sickness, starvation, and even childbirth - the very act of giving life - could be dangerous in this world. And it showed. Every so often Fleur could smell the rot, decaying flesh, with the metallic aftertaste of blood as they passed places of death, as they passed graves. It didn't linger too long, although some places, it lasted longer than they had any right to.
For example, despite Galadriel's suggestions otherwise, Fleur had asked her to take her to the Dead Marshes. The swampland had seen perhaps the greatest battle to have ever occurred in Middle-Earth - the Battle of Dagorlad, where in S.A. 3434, the Last Alliance of Men and Elves clashed against the forces of Sauron close two thousand years ago. Despite this being so far back in history that it may as well become legend, the marshes smelled of so much death and suffering that Fleur had fallen unconscious and had needed to be dragged back into reality by a concerned Galadriel.
Do not be conspicuous, Galadriel's spirit whispered to Fleur. There are ancient things that lurk here far greater and older than any beast in Middle-Earth.
It was during these moments that Fleur could appreciate just how powerful Galadriel was. Clairvoyance and precognition were difficult, but not unheard of, in her own world. Galadriel's magic, especially reinforced by the Ring of Water, was also very powerful, Fleur was quite certain she, if not her then Harry, could defeat her in direct magical combat. After all, Harry was potentially an entire order of magnitude stronger than she was, although they'd never really tested this due to the fear of destroying each other in the process.
However, the ability to walk within the realm of gods and demons? To walk hidden between titans that would destroy a being of reality as a mere afterthought, and use this power to increase the range of their Sight, was terrifying and impressive. Middle-Earth was dangerous, yes, and the material world had great dragons, giant spiders, creatures wreathed in shadow and flame. All of these could be fought against. The Void, however, contained beings from long before Arda's creation that could destroy her being with a mere thought. Fleur was thankful that she didn't have access to the immaterial world one step beyond the Void; the idea of what might be lurking there terrified her.
Can you fight the things that inhabit this place? Fleur asked her mentor.
I could, perhaps, fight on even terms with one of the lesser evils the Corruptor has birthed. However, one of his greater evils, and any of the evils that have existed before him, I would likely perish in trying.
This place was fucked.
Will I be safe here? Fleur finally asked. Will Harry be safe?
Galadriel's spirit paused. Perhaps. You are powerful in your own right, and I believe with experience you will be able to navigate the Void well. You would be able to escape any threats from the real world by dipping into the Void, provided they know not how to chase you in there. Your husband, however, I sense is abnormally powerful, capable of bending fate to his very whim if he so wished. I suspect that it is both his cloak of death, and his skill in wielding this power, that allows him to be so potent.
Fleur gave a mental frown. While they had done research on his status as so-called 'Master of Death', they hadn't actually gotten much. After all, any information they found regarding those was simply mythology at best, and folk tales at worst. However, each item was supremely powerful, and they had entertained the possibility that they might be omnidimensional in origin. Galadriel had some surprisingly insightful comments to share about it - but now was the time to learn to navigate the Void, not to discuss Harry's power.
I recognize this place, Fleur suddenly thought. There were tall, snow-covered peaks, although in the Void water looked more like crude oil and snow looked a bit like mud. There were several thousand lights concentrated on two of the many peaks of the mountain range that stretched out before her.
Indeed you would, Galadriel said. We have arrived at the Grey Mountains. I suspect the sprites you see below are the Snowfolk. They burn bright. They have also grown since I last checked on them. They have matured, it seems, gaining wisdom and tenacity.
You've been checking on them?
I check on many things. An entirely new race that could potentially tip the balance of Middle-Earth's struggle between good and evil is something I must monitor closely.
That made sense. Fleur was confident though that the Snowfolk would remain on the side of good, even if mostly pacifistic. The only real firepower they could afford to muster right now was Alduin, who lazed around with the Snowfolk at this time. Although Alduin was admittedly a lot of firepower. Alduin had been engineered as Fleur and Harry's ultimate insurance for any major threats they encountered around the multiverse; she was powerful enough to literally end worlds. Her title of 'World-Eater' was not wholly inaccurate.
Fleur and Galadriel continued to drift around the Void, covering great distances in the spans of minutes. Or perhaps days. Regardless, they stopped in the Shire, a region inhabited by Hobbits and not accessed by many humans or elves at this time. If Fleur could smile, she would have done so - she basked in the warm yellow rays of contentment like it was sunshine.
The Hobbits are quiet folk who prefer to live in peace, Galadriel explained. They have no real ambition as men do, or any special greed for materialistic things like Dwarves. If you exclude food and pipe-weed, of course. As such, the threads of destiny are woven lightly here. It will be easier to see them.
Under Galadriel's instruction, Fleur tried to de-focus her sight. As the unreality warped, she could see Galadriel's avatar flicker from a mere spark, to her true elfin body, to a great and terrible sorceress. Other things flickered in and out of her senses, too, that would immediately disappear from her sight should she try to focus on them. It was like trying to see ghosts.
Hazy images that weren't previously there began to form in the Void; too many dimensions for her to count, the threads of fate that Galadriel must have been talking about. They connected anything and everything all throughout history and the future just like string art, with every single thing that ever occurred in this universe - or perhaps all universes - becoming the pins to which the strings were attached. At Galadriel's level, it was possible to follow the trail of strings to read events in the future or in the past. More distant events were more faded, more difficult to find. Fleur was certain she could only see the most immediate of events.
You can see them, Galadriel hummed happily. Good. Now, without focusing still, reach out and see into the threads. The information is there to be freely offered; do not try to force them to yourself. They will become invisible when you do so.
Fleur did as she was told. She gently floated towards the nearest string and plunged herself in it, all while keeping her mind carefully blank and allowing the information to flood into her mind via osmosis.
Adamanta Patch. A young Hobbit, only twenty-one years old. A teenager equivalent in human terms. Bit of a rebellious phase (though subdued compared to humans). Her little rebellion for today consists of disobeying her mother's instructions to be home before six o'clock sharp. She plans to return exactly five minutes after that. However, the light of the sky darkens a marginal amount that she fails to see a rock placed on the road that she would have otherwise had she gone home five minutes earlier. She trips, falls and-
No! Fleur cried out, but it happened anyway. Adamanta fell, and scraped her knee quite badly, tearing the hem of her dress in the process. She cried out, and Fleur watched sullenly as the cute Hobbit-girl's lips trembled and she visibly struggled to hold back tears. From the cache of information that had seemingly been inserted into Fleur's mind, Fleur knew that Adamanta had just damaged her favorite dress, although her mother would be able to fix it tomorrow.
You have not yet the strength to change fate, Galadriel said softly. You may have been able to stop her if you were capable of telepathy, as I am. You are not as advanced, however - I will teach you once you are capable of adequately navigating the Void and seeing the Threads.
Why didn't you stop her? Fleur asked.
It is a good lesson for her to listen to her mother, Galadriel declared.
Fleur thought for a moment, looking to rebuke, but paused. She had gone so long without a maternal figure, but she vaguely remembered her very first life. She had hated being coddled at the time, but she missed her mother. Her mother, whom she could barely remember the name of, at this point. It… started with the letter A, didn't it? If only she could spend more time with her, for the small price of a scraped knee. If only her mother were there to hold her, to comfort her through the pain, to teach her to repair her broken dress.
As Fleur continued to reminisce, Galadriel silently watched over her, even through the taste and scent of salt radiating from the warlock.
Contrary to what Harry had said weeks earlier, chess was not a bad game. It was clear Lord Harry thought so too, because he was completely absorbed before the chess set before him. Celeborn was at first amazed at what magic could accomplish; the little figurines making up the chess set could speak to him, shouting at him to make certain moves and others. After five minutes, it had gotten exhausting, and he'd had to ask Harry to silence the lot of them.
"Pawn to E5," Harry intoned, and the pale pawn in question raised his sword and struck down the dark knight.
Celeborn examined the table. If he played this right, he may be able to corner Harry into losing his queen. After that, pursuing his king would become trivial. "Bishop to E5," he commanded, and the bishop in question reclaimed the tile he'd held a turn before.
Harry was good at chess, but not as good as the elves he regularly played with. His wife didn't count. She was a genius at the game, but… let's just say that Celeborn believed Harry when he claimed Galadriel had cheated during their games at the White Council. He never had proof, of course, but she could be devious like that. It amused him greatly how so many believed her to be the paragon of all that is good, when she could be so petty as to cheat in cards or chess.
"Checkmate," Celeborn finally announced.
Harry breathed out audibly through his nose. He leaned back in his chair. "I'd offer a good game, but judging by the fact you've beaten me three out of three times now, I suspect I'm not a good enough challenge," Harry said, with a little bit of disappointment in his voice. As he had done twice before, a minuscule twitch of his fingers - which were clamped on the armrest of his chair - had the pieces rearrange themselves into position.
"You were quite good," Celeborn replied. "You are better than most I play against. It was entertaining for me; thank you."
"Well, if you're happy with it," Harry shrugged. Celeborn watched curiously as the chessboard disappeared from this world, and into Harry's personal world. It was incredible to think about. Harry obviously never thought of it as anything more than a convenient place to store things, but logically thinking, an accomplishment like that was on par with Eru creating Arda, was it not? Combined with his ability to create life from snow…
It frightened him, how powerful these strangers might be.
Harry was of course a special case. He was significantly stronger than the other three travelers, only one of whom Celeborn had met so far, with the other two having traveled to an entirely different continent to explore it. Celeborn had to admit that the thought of traveling to another continent that wasn't Valinor hadn't ever crossed his mind. Those two warlocks were apparently practicing botany and zoology there, as well as searching for ancient and chaotic magics. Regardless. While Harry was stronger than all of the other three combined, those other three were still powerful enough to change history in their own right. Easily the strongest of Men, could forge entire nations from ashes if they wanted to.
"Lord Celery?" Harry asked. Celeborn started. The nickname itself was a bit annoying at first, but funnily enough, the act of being given a nickname was refreshing and likable. "What's the strongest entity currently existing on Middle-Earth?"
Celeborn frowned. "I am not certain. Why do you ask?"
"Just wondering what the biggest hazard to my health in this place would be," Harry asked. "And don't say 'Alduin'. I already know all the dragonlord's specs."
"I think that is a question better suited to my wife, who is more up-to-date on the news of this world," Celeborn said. "However, there is a necromancer, it seems, to the south of our forest, in Dol Guldur. While they do not seem aggressive, they have fortified themselves within the ancient fortress and are proving difficult to get rid of."
"Hm." Harry rubbed his chin. "Do you want me to nuke them? I've got a stockpile of nuclear weapons."
Celeborn shivered. He'd seen the effects of this 'nuke' from Harry's memories; the image of thousands of acres of forest burning into ashes in less than a second was not pleasant. "No, thank you," he sighed. Then joked, "but perhaps into Mordor, where there is nothing of note that I would prefer survive."
"I'll think about it," Harry grinned. His grin faded. "If you're not offended, though, I'd like to talk about your wife."
Celeborn's eyes narrowed. He'd heard far too many innuendos (and to his pain to admit, some of them were quite funny) to not be suspicious. "What exactly about my wife?"
"Your wife is incredibly powerful," Harry said bluntly. Celeborn relaxed slightly. "Fleur and I have discussed this. We think, in her current state and our current state, she is strong enough to take on Fleur. She isn't as strong as I am, but with her ring, she will give me a good challenge. Her very existence has made us reconsider if we are safe here. In our own world, we were practically gods - there was no threat that we couldn't handle, not to mention the fact we had hundreds of years of experience in subduing every threat we could imagine. In this world? There are far stronger beings in existence, and we don't have the experience in fighting them. Glorfindel has been a great help in that regard; the Balrog-slayer, as dumb as he can occasionally be, has a lot of insight to share." He took a breath. "I'm not worried for myself. I know pain and I welcome it, and I have always been prepared to die; that's what you get for living three thousand years, I suppose. But I am worried for my friends being hurt, as much as they might find my worries unnecessary."
Celeborn nodded. "I understand how you feel. I am always worried for my child whenever she makes her biennial trip to Lothlorien, worried that her presence might draw the gaze of orcs or other unsavory things, even if I do not fear the same dangers for myself when I am in the same position. That is why you wish to know about the threats of this world."
"Precisely," Harry said.
"In that case, it may interest you to discover the history of Arda. In the early histories, we have seen some evils of truly monstrous proportions. Ungoliant, a great spider as large as mountains, was one of the single greatest threats to existence that we have ever encountered, a threat so great that even the Corruptor was afraid. While she eventually devoured herself in her bottomless hunger, she did leave monstrous offspring, some of which survive to this day. Then, there are the beasts that drove Ungoliant back - the Balrogs. Glorfindel would have much to say on this topic, I am certain, but the short of it is that they are fallen Maiar, beings of great power even before they were twisted. The most terrifying part is that the number of remaining Balrogs remain unaccounted for."
"I see," Harry murmured softly. "And what of the Corruptor himself?"
Celeborn made a face. "Surely you are not thinking of fighting him? He has killed hundreds of thousands of his own, and his army millions."
"I'm not that stupid," Harry snorted. "If I ever have to fight him, I'll hide and throw a lot of painful curses at him. We'll see how pretty his face is after I transfigure his red blood cells into caesium."
"What would that do?"
"...would you like to find out?"
Celeborn quickly shook his head sideways. Harry mock-pouted, but didn't seem particularly upset. "It's definitely not pretty. I did that once… I had to move houses because the blood stains just wouldn't come out of the walls and carpet."
Celeborn sighed. Why was his newest friend such a destructive person?
T.A. 1965, Feburary
Queen Gabrielle of the Snowfolk rubbed at her temples. Being a Queen was a curse as much as it was a blessing. For one, she had to do a lot of administrative work; currency was quickly being introduced as miners found silver underneath the second mountain they inhabited, the 'Matterhorn' (Queen Mother Fleur had demanded it be named that, for some reason), especially because Men from the Dale were coming to trade occasionally. Although the Snowfolk didn't have much to trade, since they were still quite new.
Atop her throne, which was literally the highest point on Mont Blanc (another insistence by the Queen Mother), she stared at the rather bedraggled, rough-looking company of Dwarves that were awkwardly standing before the dais. Did she mention that there were Dwarves now in the Grey Mountains? And did she mention that sending miners - nobility, sure, but still miners - as diplomats was a terribly bad idea?
They had bumbled into just about every social faux-pas Gabrielle could think of, and she couldn't even blame them because they were Dwarves, and Dwarves were commonly agreed upon by every other race of Middle-Earth as being thick-headed as they were. Gabrielle realized that Galadriel was probably somewhat biased, but she had still been a wonderful telepathic help the past few years. It also helped that Mother had learned the techniques of voice-throwing from the elfin princess, and would also help her.
"So, lass," the lead dwarf said gruffly (was he really addressing a Queen of a foreign nation like that?). "What have you decided?"
The proposition was that the dwarves would get mining rights in Matterhorn for a percentage of the profits made from the sale of dwarven metalcraft produced with the metal. The dwarves did indeed have better metalcraft than the Snowfolk did, especially combined with the fact they had centuries of experience at it. Of course, the fact that Gabrielle had been addressed as 'lass', and that they'd patronized her in just about every other word they blurted had lost them any goodwill they'd gained by being cute little dwarves.
Gabrielle pondered how to deal with them. She did not want to part with them on bad terms; a war with dwarves was something she hardly needed, and while the dwarves had yet to establish their power here, they were still far more numerous than the Snowfolk. With Alduin's help, they would win any war given to them, but the use of dragon-fire would probably ruin any goodwill they had with the dwarves in general, and probably all the free peoples of Middle-Earth.
But she wanted to show them up. Oh, how she wanted to.
"I am interested in the proposition that you present," she said slowly. "I believe, should I meet with your leader, we would be able to produce a more concrete arrangement, more satisfactory for the both of our people."
The dwarf grunted. "Prince Thrain is too busy to meet with the leader of a village."
That did it. Gabrielle slowly stood from her throne, utilizing her six-foot height to tower over the furry midgets, glowering down at the suddenly nervous dwarves from atop her dais. She stepped forward to the Sword in the Stone, a mystic object Father had created to keep the realm prosperous. She gripped the handle, which could fit three of her hands, and slowly drew it out. The dwarves clutched at their axes and swords as ice silently slid from the stone. The sword was almost as long as her leg, made entirely of ice, and in her grip, the blade hummed with great power. In reality, it was a magic focus, much like her father's wand.
"This it the Blade of Niflheim, the Sword in the Stone," Gabrielle explained to the now-quiet audience. "My Father created this in hope that only the worthy would succeed the throne of this kingdom. There is an inscription on the side. Do you know what it says?" She cleared her throat and held the blade parallel to the ground. "'Whomsoever holds this sword, if they be worthy, shall possess the power of Snow'." She looked at the dwarves. "Well? You step into my realm, treat me like a girl, insult me and my home every step of the way. You forget, however, that my realm is Snow."
The dwarves glanced at each other, then at the straight, simple blade. Gabrielle glared at them and willed the cold to enter the room. The throne room darkened, and the dwarves' heavy breaths became visible as steam. They huddled closer to each other subconsciously, from cold, and possibly from a small measure of fear.
"Return to your prince. Kindly ask of him that I either meet him in person, or I receive more polite emissaries next time."
The lead dwarf, the gruff one, grunted in assent. The others weren't as stubborn, and one clumsily bowed at him before they departed. Gabrielle gave a gentle smile to the one that did, and he blushed. Such cute creatures when they weren't being so annoying. Like teddy bears, if they cleaned out their beards of remnants of food and drink.
Thrain, son of Nain, first of his name and Prince of Khazad-dum, was examining the massive chamber in the Lonely Mountain. He didn't know of any dwarves that had claimed this mountain for their own, and so he had received permission from Father and come here to forge a realm of his own. It turned out that someone had already been here, as they found a small, but well-made tunnel leading from the side of the mountain into its belly.
The tunnels had been small and unassuming, and the side-room they did find was nothing of note. Cozy was perhaps the best way to describe it - a small room with a small, empty wardrobe, and two Man-sized beds that had the most comfortable mattresses Thrain had ever slept on. But the real surprise had been what was now called the Great Hall by his men.
A chamber wide and deep enough to match the Hall of Stone in Khazad-dum in its dimensions, with a ceiling high enough that Thrain wondered if the entire mountain was hollow. At the far end of the chamber was a giant statue that had at first panicked his men into firing crossbow bolts at it. It had only been after three waves of bolts had clattered harmlessly against the stone statues that they'd realized they weren't living.
Thrain took yet another step forward, approaching the artwork. A set of words in a strange language, yet somehow bewitched for him to be able to understand, had been carved into the floor just behind the armored figure fighting the colossal monster. The greatest tinker of Men, Iron Man, stands against the beast Leviathan.
Now, Men were not known for excellent weapons and armor. Or even metalwork in general. Even their kitchen knives were of such poor quality that it may as well be made of stone. But this? The pieces that made up Iron Man's armor was incredibly precise, and he was quite certain that some pieces were too small for eyes to be seen. They did eventually pry the armor off, gently, of the stone statue of Iron Man's true face. A handsome man, his face twisted by exhaustion and pain but still determined to fight.
The metal was unlike anything they had ever seen, but whomever had left the statue and armor had helpfully left a sample of the armor used in the metal, apparently a 'titanium-gold alloy', and samples of their parent metals, titanium and gold. Now gold, the dwarves were intimate with already, but titanium was a curious piece. Lighter than steel, much lighter, but with the right carbon mixtures and right handling, it could be nearly as tough as steel. Which meant thicker slabs of titanium could be used for the same weight as thinner steel plate.
The knowledge of producing this alloy, or even extracting titanium, was not explained, so unfortunately Thrain would not be able to produce this alloy and equip his men with it at this time. The dwarves had gotten off well enough with good steel and dwarven smithing, anyway. But it was an interesting thing. Showed good properties. Even more interesting was the armor itself. It was refined, precise, and had some sort of glowing metal embedded in its chest. It was ridiculously heavy - a dwarf could barely move it, so a Man would not be able to. Iron Man had evidently discovered some sorcery that would allow him to carry more armor than his body should allow.
And then, finally, there was Leviathan. Thrain knew that history and especially art often had a habit of exaggerating, but even considering the exaggeration, Leviathan must have been a might beast indeed. A foe larger than dragons and controlling water as easily as a trained dwarf might control his axe, using water as a weapon with which to drown cities and hammer foes into the ground. Entire seas bending to its whim…
He shuddered. He hadn't heard stories about Leviathan or Iron Man, ever, which must mean that their great battle had taken place far away, long ago. And he was thankful for that. Leviathan was a monster of legend and myth, something like a Balrog, that had no right existing on Middle-Earth. No army would be able to defeat such a creature.
But this was a statue, so it was fine. And he rather liked it - it was detailed, beautiful, and suitably heroic. The hall on its own was magnificent, and though Thrain couldn't take credit of the art, it was something to brag about to outsiders. Father had told him he was being a fool, trying to establish his forces in the Grey Mountains, but it had never been a mistake. Someone, perhaps Iron Man himself, had already built his home here. Thrain would keep it safe and clean until they came back.