Disclaimer: J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling own it. I own nothing but a few T-Shirts, some jeans, my computer, and my teddy bear.
A/N: This longer than the last chapter, but unfortunately much shorter than I want it. I was floored when I looked at my Story Stats after 48 hours, I only thought maybe 20 people would bother looking at it. When I saw 200, I immediately began typing this chapter.
Still protesting Harry the elf. Still protesting Harry long lost love of Legolas. Still protesting all-powerful elvish-speaking Harry.
Chapter 2
The hoof beats drew closer. They weren't at full pace, but faster than they should be if one was picking their way through the wood in the dark. He took a slow sip of the Firewhiskey…just to be safe of course. He knew three things:
1) The people that were coming knew the woods.
2) They were not coming for him. Yet.
3) Judging from the moaning, someone was injured.
Now this is where things get complicated. The Hermione-voiced angel on his right shoulder said that he should go and at least see what the problem was and if he could help. The Malfoy-voiced devil on the left shoulder however said he ignore them and just head in the general direction they were headed, which would lead him to a town hopefully… maybe.
The Hermione angel was glaring at him now. He felt a bit of fear looking at the apparition on his shoulder.
Hagrid was right when he said he regretted drinking before making decisions. Though he wasn't sure if Hagrid was talking about the actual decision making part.
The cries grew louder. The group stopped to make a camp, he could see the fire through the trees. With a quick tap of a wand on his shoes to silence his footfalls and a resigned sigh, decided that it couldn't hurt to look. From where he was he saw…were those statues of trolls? The statue closest to him had a bird's nest precariously perched upon its left ear. He was sure he saw Luna make a hat like that once for a Ravenclaw second-year. He shook his head and took another sip to forget the memories.
Below the trolls stood an old pony with what appeared to be a child rummaging through the knapsack attached to the saddle. Two others were kneeling on the ground next to a fourth who was the wounded one. The sun had completely set and the fourth was muttering.
"Sam! Hurry up and find something for Frodo! He doesn't look to well…" Shouted the younger of the two kneeling next to the injured.
"Well, Strider will be back at any rate" The older looked at the disapproving glare from the one unpacking the horse wh was identified as Sam, "He said he was coming back with something to slow the poison!"
"I don't put much stock in this Strider fellow, he hasn't given us any proof that he is really taking us to see the elves." Sam said as he came back with a sprig of shriveled greens he tore up and threw into a pot bubbling above the flames.
Oh no. Bad bad bad. Elves, they were not a muggle thing, he hated dodging the flying ropes of incarcerous. Even then, his name was plastered over muggle and magical watch lists as a black-magic wielding vigilante. This 'Strider' could present a problem too. Looking out at the woods he tried to see anything that moved, nothing. The forest didn't even seem to breathe then. The dancing shadows from the fire were enough to keep him on a slight edge.
"Here, Mr. Frodo, see if you can eat this, it's not much…" Sam said as he handed his friend a ladle of soup from the fire. Harry watched as the right arm of this 'Frodo' person tried to reach across his body to grab the ladle. The arm fell to Frodo's chest halfway and the left arm remained motionless.
"I can't see it Sam, the shadows are blocking it…I can't see it…" the mumbling was faint, but still audible from the troll Harry was hiding behind. Harry winced as the muttering continued. He hated poison, it was the worst way to go, no one likes to think of any death let alone their own, but to die before one's own eye is torture.
A twig snapped 40 feet to the left. He tried to look into the darkness to see what had made the noise. He shifted his head and then felt an arm pull him backwards into the darkness.
"What have we here?" A male voice with a strange accent whispered in his ear. He was about to struggle, and then he felt a thin line of cold steel touch his throat.
"You have nobody" Harry replied. Judging by the accent he might have finally been caught by an ICW bounty hunter. Fantastic.
After feeling his arm twist in a way that shouldn't be possible, the low voice responded, "Don't make me repeat myself again: Who are you?"
"I have no name." Oh brilliant. His drunken mind caught up with the situation and realized he should have just given them a fake name. Too late now, he knew from experience how often Death Eaters would make up information just to avoid further questioning, it was even too foolish for a drunk to try the same thing.
"I sincerely doubt that. Now what are you doing here?" The strangers grip around his arms was tightening.
Harry quickly took stock of the situation. He was restrained, drunk, and trespassing apparently. Oh well, he's seen worse. "Listen mate, I don't even know where here is." He shifted to test if he could break out of the grip only to find it tighten. Oh, of all the nights to have a bender, he definitely wasn't able to go reflex for reflex with his captor.
"Servants of the Dark One have many disguises, yours needs some work. You are over 14 leagues away from any town or village, a rather odd place to", he took a sniff and shuddered,"get intoxicated."
"I am only going to say this once, I don't know where I am or how I got here. If you are look for dark servants, you got the wrong man"
"A stranger with no name in the middle of the woods, near this camp, I don't believe you" He was pushed into the clearing which now contained another man…who was dressed rather odd for a muggle.
"Glorfindel! These are good tidings indeed, if we have your company." The dark haired stranger looked at Harry, his expression darkened, and said something in a language Harry had never heard before.
His captor responded in the same language and the two kept glancing at him. Harry took a look at his captor, blonde hair and grey eyes. This 'Glorfindel' looked like a more pleasant Malfoy, well maybe not.
"Merry, who's that? Is he after the soup?" Harry looked up and saw the youngest child looking at him with an indignant expression upon his face. Harry's mind immediately started conjuring images of magical soups…He wondered what was so good about this one.
"Careful, Pip, Strider doesn't trust him." Merry responded looking warily at Harry. "What do you think, Sam?"
Sam however was paying little mind to Harry and was openly staring at Glorfindel, "Look Mr. Frodo, He's an elf."
Mr. Frodo was staring at Glorfindel, but he had a peculiar expression between enrapture and pain. Harry looked up at Glorfindel. An elf? He looked up and saw something he had just brushed off as a drunken hallucination, pointy ears. Hmmm…perhaps 12 swigs of Firewhiskey and passage through the Veil of Death had thrown his head for a loop. Somewhat.
"Get up." The Strider fellow said as he dragged Harry to his feet. Harry felt slightly sick at the quick change between positions.
"Well, he definitely isn't sober."Strider said with a raised eyebrow.
"Yeah, got that" Harry rasped while trying to ignore the bile rising up his throat.
"I found this next to him." Glorfindel said as he held the Firewhiskey.
Strider took the bottle, and took a sniff of dark amber liquid and almost gagged."What in the name of Arda is this? Poison?"
Harry wheeled his head to follow the movement of the bottle, "You should try drinking it sometime…" Oohh. His stomach was rolling now. His mind must have started too because suddenly the ground looked like it was see-sawing in front of him.
The voice of Strider flitted in and around his ears like a snitch, "Glorfindel, if he drank this much he's going to be…"
Harry didn't really care what they thought he was as the see-sawing world rose like a wave before him and knocked him out.
Harry woke up and felt…good, actually, if not a bit blurry thoughtwise. He remembered going to the ministry to take down Amycus Carrow, and the fight that followed. Since his armor was torn, he grabbed Carrow's black robes. He remembered fixing the Dark Mark to something else. He remembered the bottle, getting plastered, the veil-
The Veil.
If Harry had the hangover he should have he knew that he probably would have thrown up. He tried not to move though. He smelled moss still but now it was mixed with a fragrance that seemed to caress his head. There was tightness around his forehead that told him he was blindfolded, he opened an eye to test the theory to be rewarded with darkness. He shifted and realized his wrists and ankles were bound, he almost smiled. Even the Deatheaters knew that if they didn't want him to escape they would need to bind his individual fingers together. He was about to flick his finger to cut the rope when he heard a noise to the left.
"Glorfindel, is he awake?" A strong but light voice asked as footsteps crunch the levels behind Harry.
"No, still out, he hasn't moved yet. Why, do the Halflings want to leave him here?" This 'Glorfindel' responded from in front of Harry.
"Even if they want to, we can't. He has seen the Halflings and the two of us. If word reaches enemies, you know what will happen." Harry tried to remember the name…it began with an S….
So they didn't know he was awake yet. He felt warmth coming from his right, the smell of smoke indicated that the fire was there and had been recently smothered. That meant that the stone statues of-what were they again?- were in front of him. The woods were behind him and judging by the whickering, the pony and the four- Halflings were they?- were down to his left and were more than twenty feet away. He heard Mad-Eye and Molly Weasley shouting a bizzare duet , bludgeoning the back of his mind about the dangers of drinking. His sober mind started whirring out the possible scenarios that could happen as the conversation continued.
"Aragorn, there are nine riders out there that are at least a hundred times more dangerous than he is. We can't afford to be slowed down with a blindfolded prisoner, we have already been carrying him along for two days now."
Harry honestly couldn't remember the last time he slept for four hours straight, let alone 48 hours. So much for planning to escape the 'Statue camp'.
"We can attach him to Bill. Frodo can ride your horse, it is faster if he should need to escape. Taking a prisoner to Rivendell, while objectionable, is the only recourse we have" Aragorn?-replied. Harry didn't think that was the name…It was a wilder name, with long-steps…Strider! That was it.
A pause of heavy thoughts seemed to pass over Harry's head," Frodo is fading; the splinter is digging itself deeper in with each day. We can no longer stop to camp. The sooner he reaches Lord Elrond, the safer everyone is."
There a silence that was only broken by pacing across camp. Harry wondered where he was that his face was unknown, because obviously these people weren't after him. The riders they spoke of sounded ominous though, but he had trouble envisioning harder enemies than Tom Riddle and his merry men.
"We have to take him with us. He will stay bound though, I don't trust him. He was covered head to toe in salt water when we found him. It hasn't rained for two days, and the ocean is over 200 leagues away. I can't explain him or his reason for lurking near our camp and he won't give a name from what you told me. Lord Elrond and Gandalf should know how to deal with him though." The voice of Strider…Aragorn…whoever he was circled him as he passed around Harry to speak at a softer tone to Glorfindel.
An agitated breath and then,"Very well, they just might. Wake him up" was all Glorfindel said in reply before light footsteps faded in the direction of the Halflings.
Harry was shaken awake by Strider was pulled up to his feet, a knife quickly cut the bonds around his ankles.
"You know, you trust me too much to do that." Harry said as he tried to orient himself in the dark.
Strider gave him a measuring look, as if to see how Harry would attack him, "Probably, but I don't feel like carrying you and we are using the pony"
Harry heard another moan from head. "He's poisoned?"
There was a short pause, and then, "I don't know what information you mean to attain-"
"Are you taking me to civilization?" Harry interrupted, deciding to curb those thoughts of an evil Harry early.
The apprehensive glance became a curious look, "Yes, that is my intention"
"I want to repay you by helping your companion. I know a few healing techniques, and he looks like he could use some help." Harry was playing the nice card. It was true that he had become somewhat proficient in healing which soon became a dying art after St. Mungo's burned. There had to be at least one person who could help Harry in Rivendell, or at least he could figure out the closest path to catching a ship or portkey out of this place. It was strange, he knew that wizarding folk used thestrals or abraxans for travel, and occasionally a horse for short distances, but muggles did not normally use horses for travel. He was trying to figure out what country the Veil spat him out in. Maybe the Canadian's had a Veil too.
He tried to envision Sirius in his dog form plodding next to a moose. He almost laughed. It was a foreign feeling now.
"I don't trust a man that won't entrust me with his name" Strider said with finality. Harry knew would end in his own pain if he broached the subject again. Despite this, Harry could tell that this Strider, or Aragorn as Glorfindel called him, trusted him enough. Hopefully there was someone in Rivendell who knew how to send him back.
Back to what though? No one would welcome him home. He was dubbed as the "Second Snake" by the Daily Prophet and some of the International Press. He buried the last of his friends, little Dennis Creevey, four months ago. Hell, the Dursley's moved without supplying a return address.
Hmm…maybe he should just stay here? He glanced down at his bonds and jumped over a pile of excrement from this 'Bill the pony' he was lashed to…nah, there had to be a more hygienic form of travel.
After stumbling over a few roots and listening to the four Halflings squabble, Harry suddenly felt a wash of cold descend upon him. He stopped walking and almost knocked over Strider, it was both similar and foreign. Like a dementor, but he felt more dread than despair.
A cold wind blew from behind the group. Glorfindel's abrupt cry tore through the silence that fell over the company:
"Fly! Fly Frodo! The enemy has found you!"
Aragorn was conflicted about many things. He was told to keep an eye out for a hobbit named Frodo Baggins, who would be in the company of Gandalf. Gandalf was supposed to meet the hobbits at Bree, but he hadn't shown. Glorfindel stated last night that he just saw Gandalf as he was headed for Rivendell, and Aragorn had trouble imagining what if anything could hold Gandalf back from completing a task he set for himself. It still doesn't help his task that half of the Halflings do not trust him.
Now this stranger appears and Aragorn had no idea what to make of him. The stranger refused to give his name, and arrived under circumstances not even the greatest conspirator could contrive. The man was drenched; his clothes were soaked through with sea water. Very few who go to the shores end up in Trollshaws, even if he swam up the Greyflood itself. The man's clothes were another cause of concern. The black robe he wore had an embroidery upon the back in silver, two snakes consuming each other in a loop with a twist in the middle. He had almost dropped it when he laid it out to dry by the campfire, it the flickering light the snakes seemed to move. The next cause for concern was the armour the lad was wearing. Most cultures and territories of Middle-Earth had distinct traits in their armor. The soldiers and men of Gondor use the wings of the sea-bird and Rohan can be identified by horse hair attached to helmets or horse engravings. Elves even engraved their weapons with their language. The armor found under the long robe the stranger wore was made of scales. Not the scale-mail of the dwarves, but actual scales. Aragorn could not think of any scaled-creature on middle earth large enough to make the breastplate, except one.
But that was impossible.
Glorfindel was equally as puzzled and more skeptical of the stranger's intentions.
"After all," he had said, "How much can you trust a man who wants to be represented by snakes in battle?"
He didn't know if that would even apply to the boy, he didn't seem like an agent of the enemy. If he was that close to Frodo he should have been able to grab the ring before Aragorn got back. It was painfully obvious that Frodo was injured, however well the stout hobbit hid it, and the three others are no match for sleeping goblin, let alone a man who had as many battle scars as the stranger did. Aragorn had checked the woods after the nameless man showed up. His track went to the middle of a patch of moss on a boulder in the woods. No trail lead to his tracts, nothing. If this person was that excellent at hiding his tracts while drunk, Glorfindel should never have found him. Adding that to the lad's offer to heal what Aragorn deemed a wound beyond the stranger's skill, the young man was a riddle. Honestly, Aragorn didn't feel that this lad was in the service of Mordor, but he had to agree with Glorfindel in that something was off.
As the company broke through the forest, Aragorn wished they could get to Rivendell so that all the mysteries could at least come to some conclusion.
With a slight thwump Aragorn collided with the back of said stranger. The blindfold hindered the sight of his face, but Aragorn could see the lips pressed together so hard his face that they were turning white.
Glorfindel spun around to look up the hill, his eyes widened as he shouted," Fly! Fly Frodo! The enemy has found you!"
Frodo twisted in the saddle and saw the sight Glorfindel was looking at, four riders, garbed in black sitting upon black steeps atop the hill. A loud cry echoed down towards them and Aragorn felt the fear trying to crack open his mind to give way to blind panic.
Glorfindel was yelling at Frodo to ride on to Rivendell while he can. For a sickening moment Aragorn watched as Frodo drew his weapon, eyes never leaving the Nazgul. Frodo looked ready to run to them rather than away.
"Noro lim, noro lim Asfaloth!"
The horse bolted away from the riders before the Ring could taunt Frodo any further. He watched as the riders flew past horses foaming red at the mouths. Frodo was well ahead, the elvish-raised horse outstripped the speed of the Mordor steeds and was heading towards the bridge at great speed.
Aragorn exhaled the breath he was unintentionally holding. Frodo would be safe when he reached the river. Elrond knows how to keep enemies away from the "Last Homely House".
Glorfindel was now staring at the stranger. Aragorn glanced at the contorted face of the man in front of him. With a quick nod from Glorfindel, Aragorn removed the blindfold of the stranger. Any information he would have gathered would have been useless to the enemy now that the Nazgul were chasing the Ring to Rivendell.
Green eyes blinked in the light of the sun, they looked down," Awww…this is going to take forever to get out."
Aragorn would have laughed if the situation had been different. The black robe the stranger wore was covered in white rings of salt that made his robes look dark grey as opposed to the black they were when he was dragged to their camp.
"We are going to Rivendell with utmost haste," Glorfindel said in a warning tone," if you impede our travel in any way, I can only ensure you a quicker and more painful drop than the last you had."
"Right then, I'm not stopping anyone. Wouldn't dream of it. Speedy is my middle name." the stranger was holding his head as if in great pain. "What just passed by? It felt…like something was trying to drag someone to their death…"
Glorfindel looked sharply at the stranger, but apparently the fear of the Nazgul had passed and the hobbits had decided they had been quiet for far too long.
"What about Mr. Frodo? Those wraiths are chasing him!" He looked between Glorfindel and Aragorn, "We have to do something!"
Glorindel turned his gaze from the stranger and looked at Sam, "Frodo will find safety at the borders of my people. The best we can do is be there when he wakes up." He finished with a smile at the young hobbit.
"Does this mean we have to keep walking?" Pippin asked while examining the bottom of his feet.
"Yes, young master Peregrin" Glorfindel said with a small smile, "in fact, why don't you and young master Merriadoc lead the way?"
"Way to go Pip, why don't you volunteer us for hunting next?" Merry muttered as he and Pippin headed to the front of the company and headed towards Rivendell. Aragorn had to admit that they were making great speed, Glorfindel gave each of the hobbits a sip of the flask which Aragorn contained something similar to miruvor. Apparently the dose should be able to let them reach Rivendell by nightfall.
Glorfindel was keeping the two youngest Halflings entertained at the front of the column, Sam was focusing on the path ahead with a single-mindedness that no doubt pushed all thought of the rider's to furthest edge of his mind, and the stranger looked through the thicket the horses had just barreled through. Aragorn had to admit to himself that he felt apprehensive about the man's interest in the Nazgul. Everyone feels something when they encounter the cry of the Ringwraiths, most feel despair, some of the elves said they sometimes feel a loneliness, many just feel pure dread. Assuming that this stranger did not know of the Ring or what the Riders were, he couldn't figure out how the boy had labeled the situation just by a 'feeling'.
…like something was trying to drag someone to their death…
It was almost chilling how accurate he was, Aragorn thought as he remembered the moment where Frodo looked like he was about to run to Nazgul instead of away from them. In essence, they were trying to drag Frodo to them through the ring and, with little doubt, the splinter of the blade embedded in Frodo's shoulder.
With the number of mysteries surrounding this man, Aragorn almost wished he was a spy for Mordor. If so, he wouldn't need to suffer these riddles much longer.
The sun was setting and apparently they have almost reached the destination that Glorfindel was leading them too. Harry was getting restless, he hadn't spent this much time with one person, let alone five, in 6 months. Well, not this long without killing that person, anyway.
He still couldn't get over the feeling that had passed before his blindfold was removed. It was like fiber in his body was being pulled, yet the pull wasn't strong enough to move him. It was as if someone nearby was being pulled, and he was caught in the current. But he knew by the cold darkness that was at the end of the pull would kill whatever touched it. That, apparently, was the effect the infamous 'riders' had. Duly noted.
Harry had also felt a pull to panic, one he hadn't felt in 2 years. The last time he was about to panic was when Hermione was dying in his arms. After all, she had been his rock, but Harry couldn't even bring himself to panic, even then. After Hogwarts was taken, Harry realized that he had no reason to panic anymore. The worst case scenario was popping up around him, people were dying, so why should he waist time panicking? Time was not measured in minutes, in those days it was measured in the lives lost and saved. But really, what was the worst that could happen? His death? Yeah, right.
Harry shook himself out of his reverie.
Where was the Firewhiskey when he needed it?
The company halted at a bridge. Across it Harry could see lights illuminating an elegant structure before them. Perhaps he was in France? He vaguely remembered Fleur talking about elegant castles and dazzling lights. A tall, blonde man stood at the end of the bridge patiently waiting for the group. He looked like he could be a relative of the wispy, blonde woman. As they approached though, Harry realized that his drunken hallucination of pointed ears was no fabrication of his deluded mind.
Oh Merlin, where the hell was he?
"Welcome travelers from beyond the Bruinen…and guest" The elf said delicately. Harry knew from the disdainful tone that he was the 'and guest '. So good to know he did not need to worry about making a first impression, they already had one.
"We welcome you to stay here for the night and invite you and your guest to seek the council of Lord Elrond"
Diplomacy. It was a lost art where Harry came from, it was almost ticklish to hear it again. 'Seek council' could easily be translated into interrogation, or in some cases, death. "Delightful." Harry said, trying to sound like every ounce of him meant it.
Harry took the raised eyebrows of the elf in front of him to mean that they probably expected a show of resistance before now. Good, always keep the enemy guessing. Unfortunately that was easier to do when drunk in most cases.
The elf led the group through the halls until Glorfindel took the hobbits to the right down the halls. They kept walking in silence down the corridor. Harry could have sworn he heard singing in the halls in the wing off to his right, or maybe it was the chiming of bells. The elf soon turned right, and Harry could no longer see the lights of the hall, but he could still hear the ringing voices. Finally they came to a door and Harry realized the delicate craftsmanship up close. The patterns looped to form larger ones and he realized that these people had patience. Undiluted patience, he thought as he looked and saw similar details in everything down to the looping patterns in the ribbed vaulting above his head.
The doors opened to reveal an elaborate sitting room. A terrace looked out into the starry nights, a bookcase sat opposite the room from the terrace, and a fire crackled merrily in an ornate bowl with three chairs seated around it. Two of the three chairs were occupied, in one sat an old man with a long grey beard, wearing worn grey robes, with a grey pointed hat in his lap and a long, smoking pipe between his lips. The other chair held a man who gave an air of no-nonsense wisdom, wearing long, elaborate robes.
"So, No-named guest, what brings you to my Halls?" Said the younger looking of the two.
"I believe you have a better idea of that than I would, oh no-named host of mine" Harry said with a sardonic tone as Aragorn pushed him into a chair as the still unnamed elf bound his ankles to the legs of the chair. Harry was trying to debate when he should stop playing 'prisoner' and start knocking heads together.
The old man smiled and chuckled out thin wisps of smoke."I suppose we have been rather conspiratorial. Haven't we? My name is Gandalf, or as some call me, Gandalf the Grey."
The younger looking man rubbed his temples, obviously the two seated figures were supposed to retain anonymity during the questioning. Harry looked at the hat in the man's hands, it was like the pointed hats the first year's wore during the sorting ceremony only grey, with a wide brim.
The old man's eyes were asking for a name in return. Harry took a deep breath and ignored the unasked question as the elf finished tying his ankles to the chair, "And what is your profession, Gandalf the Grey?"
The old man smiled, "I am a simple wizard, one who hopes to find peace after the fall of the Darkness in the East."
Harry almost smiled at the sugar-coated answer, "I hope you find it, but from experience, to take down darkness, you need to be even more than a 'simple wizard'. My only intent from when I woke up in the woods has been to find out where I am, and how to get back ho-back to where I was." Harry bit the inside of his mouth, he had almost said 'home'. He really should stop reminiscing, it brought such silly notions.
"Where do you call home then?" The elf in deep blue robes asked, perceiving what Harry meant to say.
"Home? Nowhere. I'm just lost, and I am trying to get back to where I was." Harry said with steel in his voice, he needed to get back to the Veil. Something was off about this place, he just couldn't tell what.
The wizard was staring intently at Harry now, "He is telling the truth Elrond. Questioning him any further would go against hospitality."
So this was the great Lord Elrond. Harry figured he should probably curb the habit of baiting everything that tied him up and considered him evil, it just wasn't polite. After all, this Gandalf had some skill in legillimency, fantastic. Harry reflexively relaxed and felt the shields in his mind rise up like thick vines from the earth.
Gandalf immediately sensed the change, "You must have a hard time getting people trust you. Now, I am sure you have a question you want to ask?"
On the surface, Harry was ice, unflinching, unprovoked, and unafraid. Inside, however, it was as if the ocean had just dropped upon him. The suspicion that had been nagging him since he arrived in Rivendell, the only worst case scenario Harry could think of right now was roaring like seafoam in his ears forcing the doubt to become a question.
"Am I dead?"
Hot anger bubbled in his stomach and Harry felt sick. The game of diplomatic cat and mouse was no longer amusing, it had taken a dark turn in the demons of Harry's mind. He wanted to tear something. Anything, even himself, if he died…no…this wasn't how it was supposed to be. He should be there with everyone. Not here.
Apparently, this wasn't the question the four people around him were expecting. "You may be pleased to be informed that you don't appear dead. Or act dead, for that matter." Gandalf said with a slight smile as he puffed his pipe.
The anger wasn't subsiding though, "Look," he said with icy calm, "I have no interest in you, your elaborate home, whatever you are concealing from your enemy, or even the enemy themselves. I don't pretend to have a reason to leave. If you don't want to see me again, I will happily oblige. Just tell me where I am so I can go."
Elrond furrowed his brows and looked and Gandalf. Well, Harry thought, at least he could still keep them guessing.
"You are in Rivendell, in the house of Elrond." Gandalf said leaning in towards Harry while trying to make eye contact.
"I know that. Where is here in relation to England?! What country is this? Am I even in Europe?!" Harry answered coolly firmly fixing his gaze upon the fire in front of him to avoid the stare of the wizard.
There was pregnant pause as all four of his captor looked at each other in total confusion.
"My dear boy," Harry almost twitched at the similarities between Dumbledore and this grey man before him, "You are in Arda, I have walked this land and its borders for more than a life-age, I have never seen map or heard tongue of this, 'Ingland' or this land called 'Aurope', as you call it."
'Aurope?' Oh that was rich. He was bound and being as polite as his alcohol deprived mind would let him be, and now they mock him. A dark chuckle escaped Harry's lips, a menacing gleam darted across his eyes. Sparks leaped over two meters above the fire and Aragorn subconsciously reached for his sword.
Harry looked between the old man and this 'Lord Elrond', "You know, I've been nice, I played along as prisoner, but if you don't tell me the truth in ten seconds you are going to find out just exactly who you are dealing with."
Harry felt the same whirling of magic around him he felt in the veil, he knew he was close to losing his grip, but he really didn't care. The ropes binding his legs writhed like snakes around his arm as Harry forced the magic in him to unravel the ropes, another neat trick he learned from Death Eaters trying to escape his grasp. He stood and pulled out the Elder wand from his belt and his Phoenix wand from his left sleeve.
The one reason the Deatheaters starting turning themselves in to the ICW Aide-Auror division is because Harry didn't let them live. He had become the definition of stealth by practicing wordless casting after he was almost caught after a failed ambush on Deatheaters; they heard the casting of a spell and ducked in time to return fire. After the death of Riddle he began using both wands in a duel…after all, what was the point of a second wand if you never used it?
He allowed the magic to hover in the air and then sat down again in the chair after making a good show of incinerating the bonds. "Now…let's try this again. Where am I?"
The elf and Aragorn had their swords out and were poised to attack until Elrond gestured them to put them away. Gandalf made a slow trip to stand up and put the cap on his head. He took a long look at the young wizard before him and after seeming satisfied he walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a parchment scroll. Harry trained his wand on Gandalf as the elder man walked closer to him and set the scroll on the arm of the chair.
"That is map of Arda, and everything we know in relation to it. If you can find your land on that map, I can tell you how to get there. If you cannot, please stay here and rest for a few days while you consider the next step on your journey."
Harry was sick of journeys, they never seemed to end…even when one dies. He unrolled the map and the feeling that something was off about this world multiplied. The writing along the sides of the map was not in an alphabet that he had ever seen and nowhere was there any mention of a land that even sounded remotely familiar. Harry sorted through his memories and could find no mention of Eregion, Beleriand, or the Sea of Rhun.
Nothing like this land matched up to any map that Harry had ever seen before. It was a piece of a puzzle that didn't fit to England, Europe, or maybe even Earth. Which meant…oh no…
Was he even on Earth?
Somewhere he was sure Tom Riddle was laughing himself to seven pieces.
A/N: Added the ability to anonymous review. I have not started chapter three yet, but I am pretty pumped for it.
Next up: Many Meeting, Council of Elrond, and the best group of drinking buddies ever.
