Delusional
Raven'd Fleet
Chapter Six
"Harry Potter?"
He didn't turn around, but instead continued to practice the levitation charm, dragging boulders off the side of the mountain to place them in a large pile before himself. Far more exhausting than levitating simple feathers into the sky.
A hand pressed against his head, and Harry pulled away, surprised to see Elrond's daughter before him. She still looked beautiful, her face one of eternal youth, and her black hair, untouched by the frost of age, falling about her eyes. She looked troubled, and Harry could hardly bare to see it upon one normally so serene.
"Yes, lady Arwen?" he asked, bowing his head slightly. He felt empty now, his anger having been long spent.
"Come inside before you catch chill, child." She grabbed at his hand and pulled him with her as they walked towards the huge city. Or rather, the overly large prison.
"I'd rather not," he whispered, lowering his eyes and coming to an abrupt halt. She stopped at this and stared, as though looking through him and into his soul. It unnerved him, reminding him strongly of Dumbledore with his twinkling eyes.
"My brother did not mean to upset you, Aistari." Harry didn't know what she had called him, and didn't care. He closed his eyes and leaned forward. He knew Elladan hadn't meant it, but it had hurt all the same. "Estel has asked them both to look after you in his absence. They both agreed to protect you, and when you lit your hand with fire, they were scared."
"Elves don't get scared," Harry disagreed. He had listened to Bilbo's stories and Aragorn's as well, of elves riding off to battle and performing heroic deeds, brave and awe-inspiring.
Arwen laughed, the sound like a tinkling of many bells. "Alas, but if only! To think such things... We have hearts and flesh to feel, just as you mortals, even now I fear for Aragorn and Frodo, should the fellowship fail..." She trailed off before beginning again, eyes misty. "You scared Elladan and Elrohir very much today."
"I'm sorry..." he whispered, feeling foolish for thinking such things and for letting the elf's words get to him. The fellowship was in danger and here he was thinking only of himself—since when had he become so self-centered?
"There is nothing to forgive, Aistari. Now come, let us return for it is most cold here and Bilbo the hobbit has something to give you, so he says."
Harry nodded and let Lady Arwen lead him back into the city and to Bilbo's quarters. The hobbit as well as twin elves were waiting for him there. He bid the lady farewell with a clumsy bow and watched her smile and leave, patting his head lightly. When she'd left ear-shot, he found himself with an earful of apologies.
"Forgive me, Harry Potter-"
He cut them off with a short laugh. Watching the two bow over and over in a gawky and ungainly way that, despite their elegance, somehow destroyed his own sour mood.
"I understand," Harry replied evenly, making certain to keep his voice neutral. "You didn't know."
"It should not matter," replied Elrohir, black eyes dark. "However, we have spoken with Bilbo and decided that if you must be willful and leave the safety of Rivendell, then we shall not stop you."
Harry felt his heart leap. He could still go! He'd almost thought the elves would try and stop him, not that it would help. Harry was determined to help the fellowship either way, he would prove himself!
"However," his joy faded instantly, replaced by suspicion. A catch, as usual. "In return for keeping our silence, we shall join you." He felt the shock immediately, like a punch to the belly and found himself speechless. Seeing this, the elf plunged onwards. "We shall follow you until we are sure you are close enough to join them, and at that time, shall return to the wilds."
"But-"
"It is the only way," interrupted Elladan sternly. "We promised Estel to protect you. We will not stop you, but we will not break our promise with Estel either."
Harry nodded, albeit reluctantly.
"Very good," broke in Bilbo making Harry jump. He had forgotten the old hobbit was there. "I have prepared your maps and bags." He winked at Harry with a grin. "Three shall ride at dawn!"
The elves each smirked to themselves and Harry had to hide a goofy grin of his own. He was getting to go! He would be able to help! He would prove he wasn't childish or stupid. He would! That night, Harry could hardly contain his excitement as he went to bed.
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Harry rose at dawn, relentless.
Hooded by the swiftly fading night, they left Rivendell with only a whispered goodbye to Lady Arwen as she kissed each farewell, slipping Harry a scroll before striding away. It was then, Harry realized their were only two horses.
"To prevent trouble," explained Elrohir as he tightened the saddle on his horse a good ways away from Rivendell's gates. "And so Ada doesn't think we're involved."
"Ada?" Harry asked, climbing on the large beast behind Elladan.
"Father," Elrohir explained patiently as they begun to ride out.
"He won't be mad at you, will he?" inquired Harry, uncertain. He didn't want to get the twins in trouble. They both laughed quietly at his concern.
"How thoughtful of you, little one," replied Elrohir with a grin. "But he will be no more angry than Estel." Elladan then too grinned, watching Harry wince. "Worry not for us though, Estel shall likely be more angry with you. Are you sure you do not wish to turn back, it is not to late?"
Harry shook his head, determined. No, he would prove his worth, he wouldn't be just left behind! He wasn't some pathetic child or useless wimp!
"Very well. Let us make haste, brother! We have twelve days to make up and more distance than I should like. Hold tightly, Aistari, let us run!"
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The group rode for several hours, sometimes at a fast gallop and sometimes a rapid canter. They filled the days with lessons in Elvish, where Elladan and Elrohir both refused to speak in English, pointing to things and naming them before suddenly quizzing him on their names: orn (tree), ondo (stone), anar (sun)... The nights, however, were filled far more pain.
While the horses rested, Harry faced each brother with his heavy sword, ignoring his sore and chapped legs so he might learn to wield a blade—one of which both elves remarked as dirty beyond belief. The first night they made him scrub it clean while beginning the lessons, agonizing over how to respect a blade and it's proper care.
The nights afterwards, Elladan attacked ruthlessly, which usually ended with Harry on his arse, completely sore all over.
"Move your feet!" shouted Elladan, coming forward and swinging low. Harry only barely managed to block the blow before it was coming for his head. He shifted sideways, breathing heavy as he pulled the blade, Gryffindor's sword, up to block.
"Surely your not tired already?" asked Elrohir, taking a swig of water and munching on who-knows-what (some stupid leaf, most likely). "How will you ever defeat the orcs if you can't carry your blade for a small ten minutes?"
The green eyed wizard glared in the elf's direction but said nothing.
A knife pressed against his throat and he knew he'd lost again, letting his focus wander.
"Dead."
"So I see..." Harry acknowledged, the pressure of the steel close to cutting the skin.
"You will not see if your attention wanders in battle! Your enemy shall cut you down, and rightly so. Pay attention and move your feet!"
"Alright," Harry grumbled, pulling away from the metal and towards the other side. Muscles aching, he dragged the sword upwards in the correct defensive position before driving onward. They did not stop practicing until Elrohir made supper, where Elladan attacked him once more while he ate.
He fell asleep listening to the elf's lectures on etiquette, to tired to finish chewing or swallowing.
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Harry woke with a start, feeling someone shaking him awake. Blurs of brown and black obscured his vision, the light of the fire flickering across the unrecognizable face. He grabbed the glasses thrust into his hand, and pushed them against his nose, wiping something wet from beneath his eyes.
"Harry!" He felt his face pressed against Elrohir's chest and heated with embarrassment. He wasn't some baby that needed mollycoddling! He tried to push away, but the arms that wrapped him were to strong and he himself, to sore. "It'll be alright..."
He stifled a groan. What was the elf talking about? Why wouldn't he just let go?
"Don't worry young one, it was just a dream. You needn't fear it anymore. You're fine." Harry glared at the strong leather armor pricking his body and tried to ignore the stirring in his gut. He didn't remember the dream, and so he hardly need consoling. He wasn't some baby, or even worse, a girl!
"I think he is well enough now, Brother," snickered Elladan in the shadowy treetops. Harry wondered how long he'd been watching. Twisting his wrist expertly upwards, he pointedly ignored the angry, painful yelp that came after ignition of magic sparks. Waiting for Elrohir to release him, the boy gave a nervous half-smile and attempted to ignore the red in his cheeks.
"Thank you Elrohir," Harry whispered, his stomach still flopping about at the contact. As he returned to sleep, he couldn't help but smile at the foreign feeling of fingers weaving through his hair.
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"We are drawing close," stated Elladan, bent over the hidden remains of a campfire. "They can not be but more than two days ride ahead."
Elrohir nodded silently, his grip on the reins tightening. He looked to be battling over something, but Harry could hardly distinguish what.
"Then we had best make haste," replied Elrohir from atop his steed. Harry frowned but said nothing. six days on the road with the two of them had taught him better. Instead he leaned forward, resting his body against Elrohir's back.
The nightly practices had become far more intense, with each passing session, sometimes both elves would begin attacking while Harry could only try with futility to block them all.
"Rest," he thought he heard Elladan whisper, dragging his own fingers through Harry's unmanageable black locks. However, when he managed to look over, the aloof elf was already far ahead, scouting the area once more.
Harry shut his eyes and let sleep grasp him.
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The horses suddenly halted, and Harry looked up in surprise and confusion. Why were they stopping? Surely it wasn't time for lunch yet, the sun had yet to make it even half-way across the sky!
Elrohir swung easily off the horse in front and Harry blinked silently, utterly bewildered.
"Come young one," smiled Elrohir, the more openly kind of the brothers.
"What's happening?" He asked, still in a daze.
"This is where we depart," answered Elladan simply, his voice neutral and his lips set into a frown as he sat still, obviously waiting for Harry to get off.
"Already?" he asked with something akin to reluctance. "But we only just began! Surely it is a little further?"
"No, young one," smiled Elrohir as he pulled Harry nimbly down from the horse. "Your path is forward and ours is behind. Surely you do not wish to return to Rivendell already?"
He was tempted to say yes, just to stay with the annoying elves a little longer, but he somehow managed to shake his head. The twins shared identical smirks before leaning down and kissing his head.
Elladan grabbed Harry's sword and the make-shift leather sheath they had created for him and helped to put it across his back. Hardly easy access, but better than carrying it in his arms with the risk of destroying some unsuspecting limb. Elrohir then helped Harry with his pack, shifting it slightly and patting his head with a cheerful smile and a fancy bow.
"Farewell and safe journey, Harry of England." Murmured the two each in turn.
"The fellowship is still a good walk ahead. If you eat while you walk, and rest little, you should make it by nightfall to their encampment. Or, perhaps even beat them to it," explained Elladan, pointing out the way while Elrohir handed him some food.
And with that, they threw themselves upon their horses and rode back the way they came. Never looking back.
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Harry sat in a small patch of frozen dirt next to a warm fire, the December air biting. Completely alone.
Lonely and cold and completely lost; he had yet to see a single sign of the fellowship despite Elladan's words. Surely the elf couldn't have been wrong? Elves were never wrong! Bilbo talked about them being righteous and wise all the time.
But then again, hadn't he thought elves fearless as well?
He closed his eyes and leaned against the base of the tree, eating a piece of stale bread and drinking the sweet water in his pouch. He was just about to fall asleep when he heard voices in the distance, echoes of some wanted conversation.
He doused the fire quickly with his wand, a feat he'd learned as he tried to master his control over fire, and moved promptly, unsheathing Gryffindor's sword as he pulled himself behind a tree. He stood their stiffly for what seemed forever before he remembered his bag. However, the voices moved nearer and more clear.
"What did you find," asked a voice, it's gruff nature familiar. "Or have you come back empty-handed?"
"I saw movement," spoke another, elegant and smooth. "There is something in these woods, though I know not what or who. The smoke we saw is still fresh, as though the fire were quickly doused."
"Could it be another of Sauroman's spies?" inquired a more innocent and scared voice. It sounded familiar and he struggled to remember it.
"There is a bag here!" shouted someone, and Harry froze, for surely he was caught. Listening to the sounds of movement and whispers of curiosity, he gripped the sword tightly. "It is a bag beyond any I have ever seen. Far too small for any man to wear."
He could feel his breath speeding, his heart thundering. Surely they could hear him by it! Surely they would find him and kill him, these strangers.
A twig snapped nearby, and Harry swung from behind the tree, dragging his sword out and pushing it forward with enough force he hoped to break armor. However, he missed, hearing a shout of exclamation just as the weight of his sword's force spun him around. He had but a moment to glimpse gold and blurs of green in the dark before his wand came up in defense.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
He could hear the people running, coming towards him and looked up in time to see the outline of a shocked elf floating above him, starlit hair spilling down and ethereal eyes wide. An elf, in the woods? So happy, was Harry at that moment, he forgot to continue the spell to keep the elf up, and the graceful figure fell to the ground with a loud thump. Groaning with a glare.
"Legolas!" came a shout, and Harry saw four figures shrouded in shadows rush forth; one, short and thick moved forward wielding his axe threateningly, when the elf, Legolas, cried out.
"Stop! Gimli, it is but a child!"
The ax fell short by a few inches and one of the tall figures thrust out a long cane, making the end grow bright. Gandalf, Harry discovered suddenly, when the blinding light had diminished some, and beside him Aragorn, Boromir and Gimli, the dwarf. The fellowship! But where were the hobbits?
As if called by his thought, four small figures rushed in as well, one holding a bundle of maps and the other shouting wildly. Each stopped and stared, obviously confused.
"Harry?" he turned towards Frodo, who looked to be frowning in thought, his face clearly weary and joyful. "Is that you? But why are you here and not in Rivendell with the elves?"
"A thought we'd all like to know," muttered Gandalf with a cantankerous face. He turned to the elf then, who was still on the ground. "Are you wounded Legolas?"
"Only in pride," replied the sullen elf as he stood. "He managed to surprise me, I had not realized him hidden in the dark." Harry beamed, realizing Elrohir's lessons in stealth had worked, but stopped at Aragorn's stern glare. The tall man moved forward quickly and grabbed him by the ear, twisting it without compassion.
The ranger easily dragged Harry back to where his things were, guided by Gandalf's light as the fellowship set up camp. While making a large fire, Harry would have been glad to help with, except for the painful grip on his ear. When all were settled, the elderly wizard pressed Harry with a hard stare.
"Now, Harry Potter, that we are all settled in, perhaps you will tell us your tale? I, myself, am especially curious to know how a boy, who last I knew in Rivendell still wounded and abed, could somehow beat us to a place even we had not expected to go."
The entire group was staring at him, and he felt his face blush red. Somehow, he hadn't quite expected having to tell them why he came. In fact, he wasn't sure what he had though, beyond the point of getting their.
The first step had seemed impossible enough.
"I... Er- I needed some fresh air!" he lied, trying to think of some reason, any reason besides the real one. A moment later, he heard the dwarf snort and and saw the elf raise an elegant brow. Strong fingers pinched his already delicate ear.
"We are hardly so stupid as all that," stated Gandalf with a frown. "Now the real reason, if you would?"
Harry blushed and then glared. He didn't have to put up with this! He'd come to help, and if they didn't want it, well... Well... Well fine! He tried to pull himself upwards, tried to rise to his feet and storm away, but a hand shoved him firmly to the ground; rooted.
He glared at Aragorn who simply glared back.
"Because I felt like it," he replied angrily, daring Aragorn to refute him. The man said nothing, but the look on his face said he highly disapproved. "What are you going to do, send me back? Elladan and Elrohir are leagues away by now!"
He froze and could have smacked himself.
Stupid. Stupid!
"Elladan and Elrohir!" cried Aragorn stunned, Gandalf and Legolas looked just as shocked. The hobbits, Boromir, and dwarf seemed clueless and worried. "What have they to do with this?"
Harry bit his lip, ready to refuse all questions when Aragorn pinched his ear, demanding once more what the twin sons of Elrond had to do with him being about in the woods. In the end, Harry was forced to tell about how the two had taken Harry from the safety of Rivendell and left him in the wilderness that morning to walk on.
Aragorn looked absolutely livid.
"I don't see the problem with his coming," suddenly spoke Boromir, the son of the steward of Gondor, a distant land in the East. "He is a wizard, is he not? And he has already spooked the elf. As it is, we can hardly send him back, not alone amongst the wargs."
Pippin nodded earnestly, and Harry noticed then that the hobbits were all quite pale.
"Well, as it seems we have no choice-"
"But he is but a boy!" shouted Aragorn, his hand falling against Harry's shoulder and a tightening painfully. "Surely you can not expect him to come-"
"And surely you can not expect us to turn back such a weapon?" asked Boromir, standing. "It is fate! It must be for him, not only to find us in the wilderness such as this, but also to remain in this land-"
"It is not fate but folly!" argued Aragorn, obviously devoted to sending Harry back. "He is twelve of age. Twelve, Boromir!"
"And there are children younger that must join our armies back home," replied the man stiffly. The words made Harry sick. Children younger than... But they'd have to be, like Ginny's age. And then if they die... at Ginny's age. And...
And the image of Ginny was before him again, her red hair spread about her as she laid limp, brown eyes shut, as though in sleep. Riddle was standing over her, his face a look of power, his eyes flashing red as the pale girl faded from life. But the red hair was turning brown and frizzy, utterly bushy with a pallid countenance etched in horror; frozen in time, wide eyed. The note in her fist. The mirror in hand.
And he could feel the bile rise in his throat.
Opening the eyes he didn't realized he had shut, he looked at Boromir in pain.
"Younger than..." He needn't have finished, the man simply turned his head, obviously shamed.
No one talked after that, except in soft whispers. Aragorn and Legolas sat together, arguing heatedly and so quickly in elvish Harry couldn't keep up, except the occasional word. Merry and Pippin both huddled together next to Sam. Frodo looked just as frightened, though he tried to show none. The dwarf, Gimli sat next to him, talking about the wonders of a place called Moria and Gandalf smoked his pipe, staring into space.
Slowly, that night Harry fell asleep, memories and dreams weaving themselves together in a frightening array that left him restless and tired in the morning.
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"Well, we're here at last!" said Gandalf. He had lead them early in the morning a little less than a mile to a small strip of land bordered on either side by large, sharp outcroppings and shallow water lined with drowned bushes and dead stumps. The walk was slippery and often times treacherous, but the fellowship kept close, and Harry was kept closer for Strider's anger had yet to diminish. "Here the elven way from Hollin ended. Holly was the token of friendship from those people and a marking of borders, for the West gate was made chiefly for their use in trafficking with the Lords of Moria. Those were happier days, when there was still close friendship at times between folk of different races, even between Dwarves and Elves."
"It is not the fault of the dwarves if the friendship waned," said Gimli.
"I have not heard it was the fault of the elves," said Legolas in reply. Harry had to hide a laugh at their argument, upon Aragorn's disapproving glance, it reminded him fondly of Hermione and Ron of whom he had left at home. His smile faltered when he thought of his best friends.
Both most probably dead.
"I have heard both," said Gandalf; "and I will not give judgment now. But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both. The doors are shut and hidden. The sooner we find them the better."
He then turned to the rest of them and had them unload the pony, Bill, who could not journey through the mines. Sam was all but consolable, having grown fond of him during their journey. Anything that could be left behind was left in a pile. Pippin made a short joke of Harry guarding the pile, but said no more when he found his furry feet slightly smoking.
"Well, here we are and all are ready," said Merry; "but where are the Doors? I can't see any sign of them."
"Dwarf doors are not made to be seen when shut," replied Gimli in turn. "They are invisible, and their own masters can not find them or open them, if their secret is forgotten."
Gandalf muttered something before moving forward, his hand tracing over the smoothest section of the wall. And slowly, as though tiny threads of silver were working their way forward from the stone, lines began to appear. When the elderly wizard stepped back, Harry could feel his breath hitch.
"What does the writing say?" asked Frodo as he tried to decipher the inscription on the arch of strange letters.
"They do not say anything of importance to us. They say only: The doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter. And underneath small and faint is written: I Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs."
"What does it mean, Speak, friend, and enter?" asked Merry.
"That is plain enough," answered Gimli. "If you are a friend, speak the password, and the doors will open, and you can enter."
Harry stopped listening to them squabble, drawn to the black water of the lake. Gandalf was saying something about not knowing the password and Boromir was fretting over the turn of events. He sat near the ledge, his legs hanging over to dangle a few feet above the putrid liquid and the dead bushes beneath.
He wondered, if only to pass the time, what old Butterbur was doing. Probably pouring some old drunk a drink of ale and causing a cheer with his bustling smile. Harry grinned as well, when he heard the sound of a loud howl.
He looked towards the frightened pony and fearful Sam.
"Do not let him run away!" said Boromir. "It seems that we shall need him still, if the wolves do not find us. How I hate this foul pool!" He stooped and picking up a large rock, threw it far into the middle of the black water. The water rippled and bubble where the rock landed, before slowly drawing nearer.
Harry stood quickly, a feeling of sudden fear taking him over. Something wasn't right here. He grabbed his wand and held it tight, backing away from the edge.
"Why did you do that Boromir?" asked Frodo. "I hate this place, too, and I am afraid. I don't know of what: not of wolves, or the darkness beyond the door, but of something else. I am afraid of the pool. Don't disturb it!"
"I wish we could get away!" said Merry.
"Why doesn't Gandalf do something quick?" said Pippin. Then, as though thinking of something, turned to Harry. "Harry, your a wizard, can't you open the door?"
The fellowship stopped talking and turned towards him. The hobbits looked eager, Gandalf seemed to be ignoring them as he riddled through endless thoughts, and the dwarf seemed to huff in annoyance—as though some boy could break into Moria! Legolas and Aragorn both eyed him neutrally while Boromir's spirits seemed to rise considerably.
"Yes, come boy, show us your powers! Open the door!" said the man.
"The dwarves magic is strong," replied Aragorn as though it were most obvious. "It is doubtful it will open to him, who does not know the password. Gandalf will remember, we must simply have faith and give him time."
"I would rather we try and know now," said Boromir. He nodded towards Harry and the younger wizard felt torn. Should he? Gandalf didn't appear to be making any progress, what if he could? What if he managed to get them into Moria? Then he'd prove his worth, and Aragorn wouldn't be angry anymore, and they'd let him help, and... and...
He looked at the door and nodded his head. Maybe if he put a lot of power into the unlocking charm, would it open?
Focusing intently, he pulled at his fear, dragging it from his gut and heart. He thought of his fear for Ginny and Hermione, the terror of the black water and whatever laid beneath. He approached it, about to ready his wand, when a laugh broke his concentration.
"I have it!" cried Gandalf. "Of course, of course! Absurdly simple, like most riddles when you see the answer." Picking up his staff, he stood before the rock and said in a clear voice: mellon!
The light of the star in the middle of the picture faded out and the outline of a doorway appeared in the stone that, moments before had had signs of none. Slowly and noiselessly, the door swung open, revealing a great darkness beyond, blacker than night.
"I was wrong after all," said Gandalf, "and Gimli too. Merry, of all people, was on the right track. The opening word was inscribed on the archway the entire time! The translation should have been: Say 'friend' and enter. I had only to speak the elvish word for friend and the doors opened. Quite simple. Too simple for a learned lore-master in these suspicious days. Those were happier times. Now let us go!"
Just as Gandalf stepped foot on the doorstep to enter Moria, a shout could be heard. Turning at once, Harry saw a great tentacle lifting Frodo into the air. But why would the giant squid... He felt a hand push him backwards and Strider was racing into the water.
"Expelliarmus!" He shouted, raising the wand towards the tentacle holding Frodo. It twitched but didn't let go. He cursed and moved his wand towards the creature's large eye, which by now was peaking from the lake. "Diffindo!"
An arrow from Legolas's bow struck at the same time as Harry's spell. The large beast reared in the water, it's tentacles flying about and Frodo falling into Aragorn's outstretched arms. A feeling stirred his stomach but he didn't have time to think. He was being pulled past the West Gates as it was, Legolas had taken his arm and the monster was sweeping its tentacles blindly.
He heard a shout and the thunder of falling rocks.
A pain split through his head and the world went dark.