Delusional
Raven'd Fleet
Chapter Three
"It is well to see you awake, Harry..."
Green eyes opened slowly to the blur of the world. He reached out, attempting to find his glasses, though he didn't remember taking them off. He didn't remember much of anything though, besides the purring content of blackness and a whispered voice of strength.
Something wiry and cold pressed against his face, poking his ear and head as they slid awkwardly upon his nose. Looking up, he saw Strider smiling slightly, blue eyes kind, and he remembered; Hermione and Ginny, Butterbur and Bob, Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo...
"Frodo!" he shouted, only to wince at the sound and pain.
"Be still child," muttered Strider, his face disapproving. "Do you wish to undo all the work Lord Elrond has done? I thought not. Your friends are all fine. Frodo has yet to awaken, but he is well all the same. Most likely due to your own foolish stunt."
Harry blushed and looked down sheepishly. He'd only been trying to help.
"Truly, Aragorn, there is no reason to be so harsh." The green eyed youth looked up, confused at the new voice in the doorway, only to find a tall man older than any Harry had ever seen. His face, aged and wrinkled, seemed to hold a timeless quality, the white hair of his beard spreading wildly over his chest as though windblown and stormy. He wore gray robes, voluminous and light, while his pointed hat fell sideways, wrinkling its tattered cloth and falling behind his ear. "After all, if not for him, Frodo well may not have made it to the saftey of the Ford."
Harry recognized the man instantly despite having never met him.
"Gandalf..."
"Ah, yes, my boy. I am indeed Gandalf the Gray. I understand you have asked for me?"
"Then I will excuse myself," stated Strider, standing suddenly with startling speed. Harry wanted to call to him to wait, to ask him to stay, to beg him not to leave. If he were perhaps braver, he may have, but he didn't ask for things he would not get. No one said anything as Strider moved away, passing them both without pause and leaving without another word.
Harry turned towards the wizard then, opening his mouth to ask in a vexed tone what the hell he wanted, when the young wizard noticed a strained look upon the man's wizened features. Something akin to pain, or perhaps fear. It looked foreign and exotic, passing on with a sense of dreadful anticipation. The look unnerved him.
"Mr. Gandalf?" Harry asked, breaking the man from his stupor. Blue eyes turned to him, and Harry could see the wisdom and compassion in them. "Er- I... um..."
The wizard smiled slightly. "You wish my help in returning home?" Harry frowned. How had he known that? He'd told no one, not even Butterbur or Frodo, though he'd been tempted to many times. "Don't look so stunned, you and Frodo both talk in your sleep so I have already discovered much of your journey. I would have asked the tale of you earlier, when we first met in Bree, though you were unconscious and probably do not remember; you talked then as well, mumbling beneath your breath of 'Riddle. Riddle!' and other such nonsense which by now has become much clearer after many talks with Aragorn and the young hobbits."
Harry nodded, his stomach shifting at the thought of returning home. Somehow, he didn't feel so certain of it now. But he had a job, he needed to save Ginny, needed to help Hermione, need to destroy Riddle. Ron couldn't save the castle alone, though he did have Lockhart, not that Harry counted the fraud as much help.
But he didn't want to do it anymore. He didn't want to go back to the curious stares and the hissing whispers in the dark.
He just wanted to be normal. Why couldn't he just be normal?
"You called Strider, Aragorn, why?" The wizard looked stunned and confused by the sudden change of topics and Harry wondered why.
"Because it is his name. But if you wish to learn more," stated Gandalf before Harry could ask more, "it is Aragorn's story to tell, and his alone. Though I do not doubt he would probably tell it should you ask, he has become most attached to you. For whatever reason, he has barely left your side since you were found by the elves."
Harry blinked. Strider had... Aragorn had stayed by his side? But why? No one had ever... Except maybe the quidditch team, but he knew they were only protecting their seeker. What did Strider—no Aragorn, have to gain from it? Why would he?
"All the same, the hobbits too have been out of their mind with worry. Whatever you did, caused a small fire, nearly burning you and the Nazgul. Had Elrond's sons not found you in time... Well, that is neither here nor there. When you feel well enough rested, the table of the elves awaits you, you are far to thin."
Harry nodded and watched the man stand, his robes rustling as he left.
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Many hours later, when the sun had nearly spent itself and the moon already wadded through the eastern sky, Harry awoke again. Climbing from beneath the heavy, warm covers, he found a tunic of green already laid for him on the bed. After several tries he managed to get it and the green hoses on, though they were highly uncomfortable and strange.
Looking into a mirror beside his bed, Harry found the stranger vaguely familiar.
His face, which had always been thin and pale, was now red and brown from the heat and sun during their travels. Someone, he imagined Gandalf was the culprit, had managed to fix his lenses, though the thick black circular frames were still crooked as usual. But he found his hair, which was normally kept short by Aunt Petunia's horrible scissors, was longer than he'd ever seen it. The ragged, unmanageable black twines falling into his eyes and over his shoulders.
He looked at the tangles and stifled a whimper. He was not dragging those out.
"Harry?" He looked over, nodding as Sam walked through the door. He watched the blonde hobbit look at him and blush brightly, ducking his head.
"Morning Sam. Is something wrong?"
"Oh no! Gandalf sent me to come and ask you if you were ready to come down for food. I had though it a jest." The curly haired hobbit looked up, and Harry saw the worry. "When the elves brought you back, we'd all thought you dead."
Harry frowned. He hadn't meant to worry anyone, but the rumble of his stomach changed his thoughts. He looked at Sam and blushed brightly as well.
"You mentioned food?"
"Aye!" exclaimed Sam with his usual vigor, as hobbits normally were, Harry discovered during their travels. "Gandalf says Frodo shall wake in a day or so, and when he is, we shall have a feast!"
Harry nodded and together, the two guided the large city in hopes to fill their stomaches.
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Just as Sam said, Lord Elrond hosted a great feast at Frodo's convenience. The elves, Harry discovered, were nothing like those of his home. Whereas Dobby seemed small and weak with a green body and ragged clothes, the elves of Rivendell could only be described as the exact opposite. Tall and proud, they seemed each possessed with impossible strength and grace as well as angelic beauty. He'd even managed to witness one shoot eleven arrows from a longbow without pausing or missing his mark—a buckle-sized target a good twenty feet away.
All the same, the King of elves was nothing he'd ever witnessed before. Majestic. He walked with grace and spoke regally, his voice lyrical and calm like a breaking dawn whispering amongst the trees. The feast he held was delicious and the company more different than any Harry had ever witnessed. When they had all eaten their share the group followed Lord Elrond and the most beautiful elf Harry had ever seen into a large room. The hall was large and illuminating, a poet in the corner and elves everywhere.
"Harry?" He turned at the voice, smiling to find Frodo moving towards him. "Oh! Harry it is a pleasure to see you. Sam has told me what you did, facing two riders unarmed but with fire! What wonderful news to see you well!"
Harry laughed at Frodo's enthusiasm, banishing some heavy weight that he hadn't realized he bore. Could the hobbit's opinion matter so much already? Had he grown too close to these strangers despite his foreknowledge that he would leave soon? The hobbit wrapped his arms around Harry's middle, grabbing him in a hug before he realized it.
He stiffened at the touch but slowly returned it.
"Come Harry! Come meet my Uncle Bilbo, you remember the stories? He was a part of the Battle of Five Armies, a most astonishing tale. Come! Come!" Uncle Bilbo, as it turned out, was a round little hobbit with wild gray hair and furious wrinkles. Harry barely recalled Pippin spouting out nonsense of the man's birthday during their stay at the Prancing Pony Inn which seemed so long ago.
They stayed their for an hour, listening to stories before the old hobbit began singing an elven song he'd created. After that, Harry made his way elsewhere, wandering until he heard a very loud snicker.
"What are you laughing at?" Harry asked, turning at once to see a long, gray bearded dwarf drinking ale alone.
"Naught but your clothes, lad." chuckled the short, broad man.
"What's wrong with my clothes?" The green eyed wizard frowned with confusion.
"Why they are backwards and wrong way out! Surely you have noticed the stares?" Harry blushed bright red. He had become so accustomed to people staring at his scar and himself, he'd taken to ignoring it. Of course, it explained Sam's strange reaction and Bilbo's odd looks.
"Oh..." he replied, sitting down besides the large man. "Er- I'm Harry."
"Gloin son of Thorin," puffed the dwarf proudly. "I hear you came with four hobbits. An exciting tale, no doubt."
"It was," he agreed, but reluctant to tell. He turned to say something else, but saw Bilbo stand before the elves. As he begun to read, Harry felt a slow tiredness drain at his eyes. And, before he knew it, he'd fallen asleep at the table beside Gloin.
A few hours later, he was roused by the dwarf and made his way to his own room.
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The next morning, Harry awoke early feeling refreshed and vitalized. Putting on the clothes laid out for him, this time mindful of the inside and outside, the green eyed youth journeyed outside, listening to the children dash about and sing soothing lullabies.
As he wandered, he thought he heard voices. Following the sounds swiftly, he found himself staring into a meeting of some sort with many of the guest from the night before and some not. Frodo sat beside Elrond while Gloin sat a little ways away, surrounded by some of his own brethren. Elves, as beautiful as any he'd seen before, sat across and a man with a face of royalty and power next to them.
Strider—Aragorn stood in a dark corner, wearing his traveling clothes and muddy boots.
He listened silently as Elrond spoke, realizing he was at some sort of meeting of a sort, telling the tale of rings of power and the dark lord Sauron. The forging of nine rings for men, and how they fell corrupted to the power. Seven for the dwarves, all but lost over the centuries until the messenger of Sauron offered them once more. Three for the elven kingdom, hidden away. And the last, forged in secret by the fires of mount doom.
Harry stood silently as the elf told of names Harry did not recognize as well as stories that seemed almost fantastical. A man taking up his father's broken sword and cutting the ring off the Dark Lord's hand.
It reminded Harry of his own story.
Boromir, as he learned the regal man's name to be, then stood, telling tales of Gondor and some sort of prophecy about a halfling and a broken sword.
"And here in the house of Elrond all shall be made clear to you," said Aragorn standing up. He cast his sword upon the table before Elrond, and Harry noticed at once that it was shattered in two pieces. "Here is the blade that has been broken!"
"And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?"asked Boromir in wonder.
"He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn," said Elrond; "and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son of Minas Ithil. He is chief of Dunedain in the North, and few are now left of that folk."
"Then it belongs to you!" shouted Frodo, holding out the ring. And Harry could suddenly see only the object, watching as it glimmer beneath warm sun. It chilled him and burned him at the same time, making him repulsed and yet almost calling for him. He wanted it, damning anything else. He wanted the strange ring and it's beauty. His attraction broke though, as he listened then to an argument between Bilbo and Boromir over Strider—Aragorn's honor. He felt his respect for the hobbit raise and then listened to Frodo's uncle tell of how he obtained the ring from a creature called Gollum. Gandalf, stood then, and told of scrolls and journals created by Isildur as he refused to throw the ring into the fires of Mt. Doom.
Gandalf moved suddenly his voice becoming dark and insipid as he echoed words Harry didn't understand, that cast a shadow across the grounds.
"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."
Harry felt his scar burn and fell to his knees, unable to stop the burning agony that pressed against the lightening shaped scar upon his brow and the remains of the bite in his arm. And then, the next moment it was gone, and Harry tried to control his breathing as he watched carefully from behind the bushes, sensing the importance.
"Never before has anyone dared to utter words of that tongue in Imladris, Gandalf the Gray," said Elrond, his eyes dark even from the distance.
"And let us hope none shall speak it here again. I do beg your pardon Lord Elrond, for the words may yet be heard in every corner of the world! In the common tongue, it is: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."
An elf then rose, Legolas son of Thranduil, who told biddings of the escape of Gollum, a once hobbit that fell to the madness of the ring. Gandalf, once more after him, stood and told of a wizard named Sarumon and his betrayal as well as his perilous escape. He told of how he came to the shire in search of the hobbits, and Harry almost sprung from his hiding place when he learned the old wizard had threatened Butterbur, his old friend and helpful companion. But then, quite oddly, Harry heard them call attention to himself.
"A most strange occurrence has happened though, that I had not accounted. A young boy, aged twelve despite his appearance of less, journeyed with the hobbits and Strider," recounted Gandalf. "I was told by Butterbur that the boy, Harry as he calls himself, was found in the woods just outside the stables, terribly sick with fever and carrying only a bloody sword, he looked to have been abandoned so the old man took him in.
"'A good worker and a good lad,' had said Butterbur fondly, 'though a bit strange.'" He watched Frodo rise to his own defense and smiled as the council of people chuckled.
"What is your point, Gandalf?" asked Elrond, his hands clasped together as he listened. "Surely you do not thing this boy a threat?"
"Ah!" cried the wizard agreeably, "Indeed not. I only mention him now because I believe him to be an Istari."
And with those words, the counsel erupted into chaos.
"QUIET!" roared the elven lord, his face drawn tight in disapproval at the wizard. The effect was immediate, much like when Dumbledore had done the same his first year at the Halloween Feast. Elrond looked at Gandalf sharply. "I do hope you jest, an Istari, surely not?"
"Oh! But I do not!" explained the elderly man. "He has managed twice, to my knowledge, to create fire from but a mere twig of a staff."
"Would he aid us against the Dark Lord Sauron?" called Boromir and Harry noticed Strider stiffen in the corner. Bilbo must have seen it as well, for he rose at once in challenge.
"He is but a boy!" cried the old hobbit with anger. "Surely you can not think to have a child go to war?"
Gloin stood as well then. "I myself, have met the boy, though only for a few minutes in the hall of fire. He is hardly able to dress himself, not realizing which way a tunic goes much less the correct wear of his hoses. Wizard or not, he is still a child and unable to fight."
Harry felt his face flush as the elves seemed to draw comprehending faces, obviously remembering his attire. One even dared to snicker! Boromir, however, did not appear finished.
"If the boy is indeed an Istari, should we not call his power despite his age? Gondor stands on the border against Mordor and long have we fought to keep the dark powers at bay. Our strength is wanning and our hope grows dim! Already you say Saruman the wise has turned, the Dark Lord is almost at full strength, our list of allies grows thin. My people need hope! Let the boy fight, should he be able."
"The boy does not wish to fight," Gandalf replied easily, breaking the tense mood. "He is not of our plane, but another, and has asked my help in returning him there."
"He," drawled Harry as he pushed his way from the bushes, tired of hearing himself discussed and annoyed that no one seemed to think him capable of anything; "can speak for himself and would wish that you all not gossip like a bunch of old ladies."
That, obviously, was hardly the thing to say.
The elves, all jumped in surprise and alarm while Gandalf swept around, his blue eyes narrowed. The dwarves seemed shocked as well, though gleeful for some reason Harry could not discern. He looked up to see Frodo laughing silently while Aragorn scowled with disapproval.
Elrond did not look happy at all.
"So you can, young Harry," agreed Elrond lightly with an undercurrent of annoyance. "It is also quite obvious you can hear, or rather eavesdrop. Admirable qualities for certain."
Harry ignored the sarcasm and glared at the elf and Gandalf. "I do not see why I was not invited, if I was to be discussed. It is just as rude."
"Indeed," concurred Aragorn, and Harry watched the ranger walk forward. "However, you will have no part in this fight so it matters little."
Harry scowled then too. Why did they always have to treat him like this? He was hardly little and could fight just as well as Frodo.
"Come," demanded the man, and when Harry still refused to do so, grabbed his ear and twisted it harshly. He cried out in pain as he was dragged from the counsel and into another area of Rivendell. "What did you think to accomplish?" growled the man, as soon as they were far enough out of earshot. He released Harry's ear and glared into the angry green eyes. "Do you wish to die?"
"No-"
"Then what was the meaning of that- that- charade! Surely you are not so stupid? Those are some of the most influential people in Middle Earth and you called the women!"
"I compared them to women-"
"ENOUGH!" shouted Aragorn, obviously more angry than Harry had thought. He shut his eyes, leaning forward. "Enough, Harry. You may come join us again, only you will be silent and not interrupt. You may speak only should a member of the council ask you to. Do you understand?"
Harry nodded, and the man glared, grabbing hold of Harry's ear again.
"Do you understand, Harry?"
"Yes sir."
"Good. Now come along."
He did not let go of Harry's ear, but he loosened his pinching grip. No one acknowledged their return, though he could see Gloin hiding a snicker and Frodo smiling despite himself. Harry scowled but said nothing otherwise.
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"I want to help." Harry said when the council was over and fellowship was chosen. Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli son of Gloin, Aragorn, Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.
"Out of the question," commented Aragorn as he pulled Harry along.
"But you heard Gandalf, he doubts he'll be able to send me home because of the dark magic in the air, why can't I come with you and help? I'll be useful! I can cook and clean, I've been able to for ages."
"No Harry. It is too dangerous."
"But Merry, Pippin, and Sam all get to and I fight just as well as they!" He replied in kind, feeling his anger at the unfairness well once more.
"They come because Gandalf and Elrond rightly feel someone of each race should go forth on the quest to destroy the ring. We already have two men, and besides that you are too young."
"So! Gandalf is too old! He's so ancient, he needs a walking stick!"
"Now you are being unreasonably childish. Gandalf is a wizard. A powerful wizard," he added as Harry opened his mouth to argue. "You are a boy and as such, should remain here where it is safe as boys do. Please Harry."
"But Aragorn..." he cut off as the man stood tall, his form towering over Harry like a majestic king.
"NO!" shouted Aragorn, his voice more harsh than Harry had ever heard it. The sound left him hollow and fearful and he flinched away from the outstretched hand. The ranger sighed wearily, his eyes falling shut. "No, Harry. The decision is final."
Harry felt his eyes water and ignored them, glaring at the ranger angrily. Had he not fought a troll and Quirell at eleven? Had he not fought the basilisk months earlier? He wasn't a baby! He wasn't weak or stupid! He could help! He could!
He turned away and fled, feeling the liquid fall from his eyes.
It wasn't fair.
But when was it ever?
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Gandalf couldn't send him home.
He had flickered for a moment, or so he'd been told, and he'd almost thought he'd heard a maniacal laughter, but then he'd opened his eyes and seen a highly confused Gandalf frowning at him, muttering about unreliable curses or something of the sort.
And now he had nothing. His friends from Hogwarts were most likely all dead by now. It'd been months since he'd last seen them and even if Ron had escaped, Hermione, still petrified, would have been in no state to defend herself from the Dark Lord's revitalized state. Ginny was beyond a doubt dead, having been dying in the hours he'd tried to help her. Hedwig was probably gone as well.
He'd failed them there, and now here as well.
Strider hadn't been happy in the least to learn Harry was still there. In fact, he seemed almost furious. Somehow, the thought hurt more than expected. Did he really want Harry gone so badly?
"Harry Potter?" called a voice from the door. He ignored it, as he did the others. He didn't want to see anyone. He didn't want to look at their pitying face or see their ruthless compassion. He wanted to go home! He wanted to be normal! He wanted away from everything... "Harry Potter, surely you would open the door for an old hobbit such as myself?"
He looked at the door inquisitively despite his sadness. Bilbo? Slowly, he got up from his bed and opened it for the little old man. Without a pause, the hobbit scurried inside, glancing about the wooden interior with a cheerful expression. It did little to help Harry's sour mood.
"Ah! Young Harry!" smiled Bilbo as he pulled himself upon the bed almost as tall as himself. "Come, let us sit and talk. I would much like to hear of that home of yours. Frodo happened to mention you've fought a troll. I'd be most interested to hear the tale?"
Harry stifled a sigh.
He hardly felt like retelling that story at the moment. But, seeing the eager expression on the hobbit's face, he couldn't find it in him to disappoint Bilbo as well. "I was searching for my friend Hermione who had hidden herself among the chamberpots," he begun, telling the story for what felt like the thousandth time. It was one of Frodo's favorites during their travels. "When suddenly we smelt something terribly rank-"
"Rank?"
"Foul," he corrected with a roll of his eyes, his sadness dispersing a little and he lifted his lips in a half smile.
"Yes, yes. Continue?"
"We found Hermione, but at the terrible smell, we discovered she wasn't alone. A troll! The troll that should have been in the dungeons was in the same room with Hermione. We watched it smash a few chamberpots before it almost hit Hermione. Being afraid, and highly stupid, we started throwing rocks at it to get it's attention. When it didn't pay much attention, I managed to climb on it's back and stick my wan—a stick up it's nose. Angry, it grabbed me off it's back and started swing it's club at me while holding me upside down.
"Next thing I know, Ron's levitating the troll's club above his head. It falls and knocks the troll out. Then the Prof—adults arrived."
Bilbo chuckled and patted Harry's knee affectionately. The touch felt awkward and strange. "A gallant tale, my boy, though perhaps not all as great as the deed itself. Will you tell me another?"
He did, going over all the exciting tales until he couldn't take it and finally collapsed in tear, his pride was nothing compared to the vulnerable black hole that seemed to be his chest. His stomach ached and his throat burned with emotion as he tried speak past the lump choking his every word. He spilled everything to the little old man, telling him about his family and his cupboard. He told him of the joy he'd found when Hagrid, his giant friend, had delivered the letter and how excited. His first birthday present and his first friend. He talked about the Dursleys and the Weasleys, talking of Dobby the house-elf who was forced to beat himself and who cried at unexpected kindness. The warning and the diary. The basilisk and the spiders. Hermione and Ron and Ginny and Fawkes and Riddle.
He talked until he could talk no more.
"And then you came to Middle Earth?" said the man kindly, his aged eyes filled with tears as well, though unshed. "It is no wonder you miss your friends, but starving yourself in a room will accomplish nothing!"
Springing to his feet from the bed, the young hobbit grinned suddenly.
"And if there is one thing we Hobbits can do, that is eat. Come along, you looked half-starved when you arrived anyways." Harry nodded slowly before joining Bilbo on a raid of the kitchens. He ate little, but when they finished, he felt stuffed all the same.
"And now, young Harry," said Bilbo with a smile, "we come to a decision. I shall make you a deal."
"What kind of deal?" Harry asked, suddenly wary.
"A small wager, nothing terribly great, I don't suppose; but a wager all the same. I hear that you are a wizard, which you did most certainly not deny, and that you can make fire from nothing." Harry nodded, still unsure where this was going. "Well, should you make fire bloom in your hand, as though a flower, and hold it there without wood or kindling, then I shall give you my maps and show you the route to find your friends." Harry felt his eyes grow round in surprise. Bilbo would help him! He wouldn't be lost without his friends this time! He could...
He stopped, suddenly suspicious.
"What do you want in return?"
Bilbo grinned. "Just a small token. I want to write your story."
Harry grinned as well. "Deal."
Shaking hands, Harry rushed away to find a stick and knife. He wouldn't fail! He couldn't! He would make fire bloom in his hand if it was the last thing he did!