I don't own LoTR or HP, rather, the fascination in both owns me.

Major thanks to the great authors J.K. Rowling and J.R.R. Tolkien for their supplemental materials and thanks to the Harry Potter Lexicon and the Encyclopedia of Arda for enabling one to find that one spell or the dwarvish name for a mountain 2,000 times faster.

I know I complain about Rivendell, but only because it is overdone. If I was smart I would have started Harry in Minas Tirith, now that has a crap-ton of possibilities. Oh well, in for a penny…

I have been wanting to write that drunken scene for almost a year It was actually supposed to start this chapter, but I liked it as an ending…

Now for the tragically overused author-reader translational notice:

"Guess what this means?" – Elvish, except when used as inflection in Westron...

"I need to learn elvish" – Westron

Confused yet?


Chapter 3

BANG!

Missed.

Harry look at the pocket he just blasted into the marble balustrade that lined the balcony of his room. He missed the merrily chirping bird by two centimeters. The twittering that would normally herald a beautiful, late morning wake up was instead a dissonant bludger that resonated inside his brain.

He hated hangovers.

He remembered last night and that there was singing and a lot of laughing. He looked under the covers. Underwear: Check. Limbs: Check. So nothing irreversible happened. He looked out the window and regretted that motion as the combination of his head leaving the pillow and the light of the sun lanced through his brain.

As he buried his head under the pillow he flailed his wand-arm in a motion that would have produced a cup for water had he remembered his wand. Harry was a proud survivor of the school of Mad-Eye. The grouchy, psychotically paranoid auror was an educator, mentor, and curse of Harry's existence for 3 months before they parted ways. Mad Eye died the week Harry killed Edmor Yaxley and two months before Harry hunted down Carrow. It the few months Harry lived with Mad-eye he learned many lessons about dueling, life, and how to kill an enemy disguised as your pillow. He also developed a borderline neurosis and gained a healthy sense of paranoia he wasn't sure he could shake off for another seven months. One of those 'life-saving' lessons was Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody's first rule of drinking:

Suffer the hangover.

Moody didn't believe in avoiding the consequences … ever. The hangover was your body telling you that you're a moron. As if Alastor Moody screaming at you to hell and back the next morning for sleeping through your guard shift wasn't enough. Of course, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Moody didn't believe in potions because he thought they were poisoned.

Old-school, paranoid bastard.

He sat up slowly and massaged his head while he reached for the pitcher, ignored the glass next to it, and chugged straight from the container. He summoned his wand and refilled the pitcher and continued gulping down the cool liquid.

After drinking his fill Harry staggered to the bureau and instinctively went to grab the bottle of Firewhiskey.

Empty.

The hissy fit that would have followed stopped suddenly as Harry caught himself in the reflection of the mirror. He stared at his wrist… a faint purple bruise was faintly throbbing just above his left hand. He gingerly poked his wrist and hissed as the forgotten pain stabbed like hot needles across his wrist.

Harry looked from the empty bottle to his wrist and looked into the gaunt face into the mirror. As he looked away he couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was more to last night than songs of lonely mountains.


Aragorn closed the door behind him muting the drunken cavorting of the dwarves, hobbits, and the stranger from the hall. He walked to the Hall of Fire to inform Lord Elrond of this latest intrusion of hospitality. As he entered the hall he couldn't help but smile at the warm hearth and the peaceful chorus of the elvish music. Walking through the crowd of strangers and elves he sighted Lord Elrond and his youngest child - his only daughter.

The Lady Arwen gave a knowing smile. Aragorn remembered running around in his youth and the boyish games he would play in Imladris. He remembered that he once mistook her age and wisdom for something much less once. He was such a fool once…still…probably always would be. His breathe still caught when she walked towards him.

She leaned against him and whispered into his ear, "Some of our guests appear to be missing. How long before my father notices, I wonder?"

Aragorn winced as he realized that she probably would laugh at his current predicament, "That all depends on what he'll hear first, you telling him, or the drunken cajoling of a visitor long due for a farewell"

Arwen looked down the hall where he had just entered, "Or he could always find out from his honored guest…"

Aragorn whirled around and tried to stifle the groan that was crawling up his throat. Bilbo Baggins was staggeringly drunk, if the fact that he was trying to chat up a statue of an elf maiden was anything to go by.

This was the havoc the stranger could bring without the use of the magics of Angmar. Valar help us.

This was one of the many, albeit smaller, reasons he refused to take his place on the throne of Gondor. It was because situations like these could cause the destruction of treaties, alliances, friendships, and even families. Admittedly, the fact that Bilbo Baggins was offering a statue a draw of his pipe was inconsequential to the future chaos that the stranger could cause if he stays in Rivendell any longer.

Aragorn looked over the crowd to see if anyone noticed; it was a blessing that the crowds of elves were focused on the feast that was to come. So far none had noticed the odd behavior of the halfling. He was forced to revise that thought as he made eye-contact with a disgruntled grey-eyed elf. Glorfindel had not only guessed the cause behind Bilbo Baggins' behavior, but also the person responsible. Aragorn knew Glorfindel blamed him for everything down to the stranger's existence right now. It didn't help matters that Aragorn knew it was his fault for insisting so adamantly that the stranger be brought to the Last Homely House.

Arwen shot him an amused smile as wide-eyed Frodo ran up to his uncle followed by young Samwise. The young halflings each propped up a shoulder to steady their elder as they walked him over closer to the hearth. Bilbo was all smiles to all around him. As a worried Frodo was trying to ask his uncle how long he had been in Rivendell, Bilbo was trying to engage a young man of Gondor in conversation. The man was caught between the discomfort of breaking the stern court-façade he was probably used to as a captain of Gondor and the curiosity of seeing a halfling for what was no doubt the first time. The old halfling mentioned the Sackville-Bagginses, perhaps an ale-induced attempt to explain how he was related to the confused dark-haired hobbit next to him.

Aragorn turned and saw an expression of obvious disapproval on the face of Lord Elrond. Aragorn looked from Elrond to the door and realized that something needed to be done about the stranger.

With a glance at Glorfindel, who was staring at the door with contempt, Aragorn knew it would be taken care of one way or another.

Tonight.


The stranger lay sprawled across the floor, too drunk apparently to even roll over. Aragorn looked across the hall. Gloín was passed out next to his son. It appeared that neither dwarf would be attending the feast tonight. Neither would the two halflings that lay passed out under the table. As the elves passed through the hall and muttered comments about dwarves and ale, Aragorn couldn't help but groan.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Lord Elrond had some notion that emissaries would be arriving in Rivendell from other lands. The Ring of Power had made its presence known, and it was imperative to unite allies across lands and among the peoples of Middle-Earth. Now the dwarves were absent from the feast, what's worse, passed out from drink. The Captain of Gondor would find out that the Ring of Power was being held for almost sixty years by the drunk halfling trying to elucidate his family tree. On top of it all, a man whose sole purpose seemed to be destroying the peace of Rivendell was sprawled across the floor without a care in the world.

Aragorn did not see how the situation could fall any deeper into a pit of diplomatic torture.

As if answering that desperate thought, a voice rose from below "You know, you remind me of a dog I once knew."

The man, the dark stranger, the phantom, the 'lokion', stared up at him, "…but you look healthier than he did after he escaped prison…What was his name again?...Siri..Snuffu…Snuffles! Yes…He was a good friend…" Suddenly an odd look passed over the strangers face and he started to try and roll over.

Aragorn shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose; the stranger was completely gone and talking nonsense. Aragorn went to pick up the stranger but stopped as he watched the man retch across the floor. The sickly-sweet fumes of his effluence burned the ranger's nose.

Reminding himself that he, at one time, had probably smelled worse, he picked the dark-clad man up from the floor with one arm. After half-throwing the surprisingly light man into the chair, Aragorn walked over to fire pit and grabbed a bucket of water that was used to extinguish the hearth at night. He hated to resort to these tactics; this was behavior he expected of Bree, not the House of Elrond. He heaved the bucket's content over the stranger.

Sputtering, the man flailed against the onslaught of water, after gasping for breath the stranger parted his bangs and stared up at his attacker, "What the hell was that for?"

Aragorn could barely marvel at the mountain behind that question, "You have stayed well beyond the bounds of hospitality. It is time for you to leave, guest of Elrond."

The man stared stupidly at Aragorn, "What do you think I've been trying to do?"

With raised brow, he replied, "Becoming intoxicated on your host's store of wine and being a general boor of generosity?"

After a long pause and a look of hard concentration the man replied, "Well…besides that?"

"Fine!" Aragorn had had it with this man, his drink, his stupidity, and his reckless abuse of his guesthood in Rivendell. He walked over to the mantle above the hearth where a map of the land of Middle-Earth was displayed proudly. After plucking the map off of its time-honored post he walked back to slump of a man across the hall, taking care to avoid the pile of sick that a member of the kitchen staff was running to clean up with a bucket and cloth. In the simplest voice he could muster he explained, "Look, we will escort you to wherever you need to go. Point to where you came from, or anywhere you wish to go, and you will be escorted there. We can give you a horse. But you need to leave. Tonight."

The stranger tried to focus on the map but judging by the rapid movement of his eyes, Aragorn could tell that the map, no matter how stationary he held it, was still moving in front of him.

However after a moment, and with a note of finality, the man stated, "That's not my home."

Aragorn knew the man was inebriated. Even an elf would be lacking some skill after imbibing as much as this man had. Aragorn could think of no feasible reason why he had to completely obliterate every ounce of sense he had five times in the past fortnight. But no matter the source, the end result sat before him.

So, he tried to explain again, as if to a very young child who had more questions than the number of breaths they had ever taken: very slowly.

"Please." Aragorn held the stranger by the shoulders and said, "I need you to overcome your drink and tell me where you can go that is not here." Preferably a hundred leagues away, where his shadow cannot be cast upon the halls of Imladris anymore.

The stranger gave a huff and replied, "You can't send me back, for two reasons"

Aragorn watched unimpressed as the stranger raised three fingers.

"One: I don't want to go back. Two: You don't know how." The man stared confused at the third finger for a while as if it was going supply a third idiotic reason for not leaving.

Just as Aragorn was about to say those didn't matter, the stranger interrupted, "Three: I might be dead."

The wonders never cease to rise from the springs of drunk and fools.

"You have been informed already that you are in the land of the living. I high recommend that you stop drinking so you can remember that fact." Aragorn replied, shoving the map under the imbecile's nose.

For a moment a look of complete seriousness passed over the face of the young man before him, Aragorn almost thought he had become sober in a moment.

The man seemed to stare through the map, "I drink to forget the possibility, not the fact."

Aragorn knew that this man would not go back to where he came from, most likely he was banished from there on account of some form of debauchery. "It does not matter if you want to go back there or not. I only ask that you leave. We can take you to the Western shores or as far as Gondor. The horses of the elves are well-bred and fast, they-"

The stranger interrupted with a strangled groan, "The elves this. And the elves that! Do you even hear yourself talk? Everyone makes it sound like these elves are perfect at everything. You make it sound as if there is no point being born human!"

Aragorn stared at the stranger, completely gobsmacked. A rustling of fabric behind him told Aragorn that someone else was in the hall.

The new arrival was in fact two. Gandalf the Grey and Glorfindel. Aragorn wondered if anyone else ever felt the sinister laugh of fate beating across them.

Gandalf step forward and cleared his throat, "I think we should let the young man get back to his bed. It has been a long night. I think we should bring the celebrations to a close- "

Glorfindel cut Gandalf short, "No, this man, this drunken-"

"-I think I am getting sober, actually", interjected the man from the chair as he stood up and was pushed back down by Aragorn.

"Gandalf, he can't stay. The council convenes tomorrow, and we don't even know if he can be trusted." Aragorn pleaded to the wizard.

The wizard looked down at the man who was trying to focus on the elusive form of the wizard in front of him. After a moment, the dim glazed look became sharp and aware and the stranger stared at the floor and addressed the wizard, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The last person who tried to pry had the misfortune of dying in a distasteful manner."

Aragorn placed his hand on the knife he kept with him in lieu of a sword at such formal events. His experience with Gandalf made him aware that the elder had a penchant for rubbing people the wrong way, but this was the killing intent he had been expecting from the stranger. However, Gandalf seemed completely unfazed by the turn in demeanor and placed a staying hand on Aragorn's shoulder.

With as pleasant a manner as always, Gandalf removed the hand from Aragorn's shoulder and asked, "May I ask how you learned to do that?"

"You can ask, but you won't like the answer," the man said eyeing the elder as if he was about to strike him at any moment.

Gandalf seemed oddly pleased with this answer. "So you intend to give no answer."

Glorfindel who was silently fuming until now, reached down and grab the stranger's wrist, "Listen, it is time you learn to show some respect-!"

The sound of hammer on an anvil rang through the room at a volume much louder than anything Aragorn had heard in his life, as Glorfindel was picked up and thrown across the room as if by some unseen force. Aragorn rushed to the side of the dazed elf. Seeing that there were not dangerous injuries Aragorn looked for the mysterious source that knocked the elf so easily off his feet.

The stranger sat glaring at the elf with one arm extended at if he was forcibly holding the air in front of him. Gandalf was looking at the space between the stranger between the chair and Glorfindel's slumped form, as if something fascinating was occurring in the space.

The stranger slumped further in the chair raised his left hand, and Aragorn drew his knife as the nearly empty bottle of the stranger's foul, amber liquid flew past him and into the stranger's waiting hand.

Bewildered, Aragorn could only stare as the stranger said, "Bottom's up" swallowed the last mouthful from the bottle and passed out with the empty bottle still clutched in his hand.


As Gandalf turned the key to the stranger's door Aragorn looked at the wizard hoping for at least some explanation. Aragorn knew that the wizard would only explain things when he was completely ready to do so, never knew he needed to trust in Gandalf the Grey, because if he couldn't, who could he trust? Gandalf had given word to Lord Elrond and his Council that Saruman the White had fallen to the seductions of the Ring.

The One Ring.

Aragorn still couldn't believe it was housed in Imladris, and was at a loss as to why Gandalf trusted him to travel with the halfling who carried it. If the great kings of old couldn't withstand its power, what right did he have the trust to sleep in the same city as the Ring?

Aragorn elbowed the stone wall behind him in frustration, why did he have to have this many questions now?

"I wonder if the sole doom of solid partitions is to forever be in our way of what is sought." The voice of the elder wizard said from behind him.

Ignoring the comment, Aragorn looked past the brim of the grey hat and saw the closed door behind the wizard, "Is he in bed?"

With a raised brow and slightly baleful gaze, Gandalf looked down at Aragorn, "A dragon would be in bed after what he consumed. Don't think that excuses your behavior, or Glorfindel's for that matter."

Aragorn knew the wizard was right, but couldn't help but try and justify his actions, "He was a guest of Lord Elrond's-"

"No." Gandalf interjected, "He is a guest of mine in the home of Lord Elrond. There is a difference, and while Elrond is not pleased with the arrangement, he knows my reasons," He paused and then added, "no matter what you and Glorfindel say on the matter. Fortunately for you he will not remember due to exhaustion and the imbibment of a large quantity of the elves' wine."

Aragorn sincerely wanted to kick a wall. Or the stranger. Whichever his foot found first, actually. He was mature, he was being responsible, he didn't get drunk every night, and this lokion of Angmar-

As if reading his thoughts, Gandalf continued, "He isn't from Angmar, or at least that isn't where he learned his magic from. He does not want the Ring, in fact I strongly believe he wouldn't even know what it was if he were to even see it."

There was an uncomfortable pause for Aragorn as Gandalf pulled the pipe out from its holding place on his staff. This was the most he had heard from Gandalf in sequence since his arrival in Rivendell. He had almost forgotten how calming it was to have the wizard around and aware of the situation. That didn't change the fact that Aragorn needed to know more about a man that still had not been labeled as officially trustworthy.

"He is dangerous, frighteningly so. Then again, so are you, so is Elrond, and so am I" Gandalf puffed the pipe, and after a moment's consideration, he concluded, "He is something I have never encountered before in the Ages I have walked Middle-Earth."

With that discomforting thought, Aragorn kept his pace with Gandalf as they reached the edge of the hall. As they turned the corner, Aragorn saw Lord Elrond make his way down the hall. Inwardly groaning at the inevitable rebuke, Aragorn couldn't help but feel he was a small child caught after running through the Halls of Imladris.

"Your guest certainly has a way of causing disruption everywhere he breathes, Gandalf the Grey. I don't even think I can foresee what future chaos he may bring to these halls," Elrond stated with no humor as he drew level to Aragorn and Gandalf.

Gandalf smiled and withdrew the pipe from his mouth, "My Lord Elrond, I think one day you may be thankful you offered him shelter in your Halls." Gandalf glanced at Elrond's unconvinced look, "But that day is a long way off"

Aragorn couldn't help but crack a small smile at that, "Indeed. But he can't be sheltered here forever and refuses whether he is sober or drunk to go back to his homeland. Which heralds the question: why?"

"He didn't arrive here by natural means; he could have been banished, hunted, or escaped. Albeit none of them explain in anyway the manner in which Aragorn found him." Elrond mused, his eyes falling on Gandalf.

Gandalf walked over to the banister separating the walkway from the view of the river gorge and leaned against it. After a pensive look into the river, he turned back to the two, "A man who does not want to stay here, return to where he was, or go anywhere else, would desire to be nowhere at all; a very unfortunate outlook on life indeed."

Aragorn remembered the haunted look upon the stranger's face when told he was alive, 'I drink not to forget the fact, but the possibility'. Words that still made no sense but stuck out like blood on snow. Aragorn shook the phrase from his head and turned to Gandalf as he remembered the question he had wanted to ask while he waited outside the Stranger's room.

"What did he do to Glorfindel? I have never seen anything like that in all my years, not even from you, Gandalf, my friend." Aragorn questioned while leaning against the wall facing the view of the mountain.

Gandalf and Elrond shared a look, and then Elrond spoke, "Glorfindel had only been wounded by the fall. The force that removed him from his feet did not injure him. So he will be able to make it to the Council tomorrow, albeit, he'll probably be carrying some pain. I refused to heal him on the ground that his actions were unbecoming of a dwarf, let alone an elf of his stature. I too, must admit that I am curious as to how he managed to come to such a state."

Aragorn could help but lightly smirk--Glorfindel wouldn't have taken that well. It felt good to know that there was someone else feeling the same frustration he was.

After sharing look with Elrond, Gandalf answered, "He can use magic, but not like me or the other Istari when they are at their full purpose."

Aragorn noticed the look and the specification about the Istar, "And what of Saruman, then?"

Gandalf looked back at the waterfall, "Saruman is on his way to achieving the magic that this man has." He held up a hand to stay the inevitable onslaught of questions and vindications, "Saruman is perverting his powers from that of a guardian to that of a conqueror. This man does have a magic that would fall in this category, but it not the same power that any of the Istari possess."

Elrond broke his silence to ask, "What do you mean Gandalf? I must confess that I do not know as much of the magic of the Istari as I do the magicks of Angmar and my kin."

"It means that he doesn't use magic like anyone in Middle-Earth has ever used it before. It is not evil, but it is not good." Gandalf answered as he took off the wide brim hat and examined it.

A dark thought occurred to Aragorn, "What if he was to fall into the hands of the enemy? That is to say if he hasn't already?"

Without looking up from his hat, Gandalf replied, "If we are strangely fortunate, Sauron does not even know of his existence, let alone his powers. However I am sure his mere presence at the Trollshaws has alerted the enemy to the existence of a strangely-clad man in the presence of the Ring of Power. You and Glorfindel were right to assume he was an agent of the Enemy, however that assumption may mean that he will be hunted by the Enemy even if we were to release him to Rivendell."

Aragorn tried to ignore the bitter taste in his mouth as he realized that his actions he may have doomed the dotard to being hunted by Sauron.

"Fear not! I think I may have a solution to ensure his safety," Gandalf said with a smile. After a pause he chuckled with mirth.

For some reason, the comment seemed more foreboding than comforting.


Aragorn surveyed the porch which overlooked the pine forest climbing the mountains surrounding Rivendell. The dwarves, Gloin and his son Gimli, had shown the resilience of their race by making it to the meeting despite their state the night prior. The elves of Mirkwood sent their prince, Legolas, to bear urgent news to Lord Elrond. The shipwright Cirdan of the Havens had sent Galdor on an errand to Imladris and Elrond ask that he be present at the meeting. Gandalf had just entered the meeting with Frodo and Bilbo Baggins in tow. If the rustling in hedge behind them was anything to go by, another hobbit had made his way to the porch, most likely Samwise. Boromir of Gondor, son of the Steward, Denethor arrived late last night, urgently asking for Lord Elrond's council, he was guided to the feast and told his questions would be answered the next day. The anxiousness of the travel worn man was contrasted with the surliness of Glorfindel and the serene peace that always seemed to emanate from Erestor, Elrond's chief advisor.

As Lord Elrond seated himself between his advisors and looking at an empty chair set between Gandalf and Galdor. Aragorn followed his gaze and tried to think who could be missing, after all, no summons were sent, everyone who had arrived had their own business with Rivendell.

Except the stranger.

Gandalf had been reticent as usual in the disclosure of his plans. It was truly one of the wizard's less endearing traits.


Harry wandered out of his room and out of the walkway, poking at his wrist as if trying to annoy it into telling him some secret that it held. He seriously wondered what it would say about his sanity when it finally replied.

He found himself going down the south corridor, and realized he hadn't ventured this Hall in the two weeks of his stay. Harry let his feet carry him as he thought about England. He wanted to go back, no matter how much he denied it. The devil you knew was better than the devil you don't, if anything. He honestly had nothing to go back too. Everyone he wanted to talk to already had a life outside the Deadzone, the public's charming name for the area inside the ICW disapparation border around England. That or they were dead.

Yet, at the same time, he had nothing here. Well, he had safety, but that was a stranger. He knew he should be polite to 'hosts' but courtesy fell out of his use, and sometimes, he just couldn't help himself. Whiskey probably had a good deal to do with that.

The other wizard was watching and popped up like a daisy whenever he even thought about leaving. It wasn't like the old man could read his thoughts, his Occlumency barriers had become a veritable fortress. The wizard, Gandalf who liked grey apparently, wasn't a true Legilimens--at least from what he gathered in incidental chats. His topics of conversation only coincided with his thoughts, meaning he was able to determine congruent topics, never the actual subject of his thought. Which was a relief, yet still unnerving.

He couldn't even explain that he came from a different world, which indeed he had judging from the various maps and runes he had never seen. The 'How?' he got here would be followed with the 'Why?' he was in that situation, and then he would need to explain 'Who?' he was.

And 'Who?' was a loaded question.

Orphan. Wizard. Student. Savior. Vigilante. Murderer. His resume had certainly taken a turn for the worse over the years. He briefly mused over if they found Carrow's body yet. With Carrow dead, there would be a mass search for him. The ICW would probably flood the country and find him before the public outcry to end the Deadzone. Harry had wondered what would happen when they didn't find him. Kingsley would pitch the hissy-fit of the century no doubt.

It was unfortunate that he was probably going to miss it.

Quiet mutterings disrupted his thoughts. Harry winced in at the brightness of the sun; he had sincerely hoped he would be over his hangover by then.

Well…what have we here?

Harry pulled the invisibility cloak out from the large pocket in his robes. After levitating himself a few inches off the ground he approached the collection of voices.


Aragorn listened to Gloin recount his tale of the messenger that came to seek out the whereabouts of the ring. He was particularly troubled by the news that the nearby city of men would suffer a siege as a result of Sauron's obsession with his search. If Aragorn remembered the story the old hobbit had enthusiastically told him during their coinciding stay at Rivendell, Bilbo's ring only came into play when one of the lake men came looking for Bilbo. Aragorn let the stranger be seen in the company of the bearer of the Ring by the Nazgul themselves. He felt like a fool. The stranger was going to be hunted regardless of his strange magic and drinking habits.

Gloin concluded with the final words of the messenger that sought the exchange of Bilbo for the three Dwarven Rings.

"'The time of my thought is mine to spend', Dain said." Gloin recounted to the Council. "He replied, 'For now.' And then rode off into the darkness."

Aragorn knew Sauron would be watching all roads. The disposal or destruction of Ring would be difficult. He paused as he watched Elrond sit up to recount his view on the tale of the Ring of Power.


Harry snuck past a pair of legs hanging out a shrubbery lining the porch. Judging by the length, they belonged to one of the Halflings he saw running around over the past few days.

A regal looking man was standing now and recounting a tale about a ring. Elrond, the man that begrudgingly gave him a room, proceeded to tell a beautiful story about a man who befriended the 'perfect' elves and learned their secrets and betrayed them. The tale continued to a battle, where everything was pitted against them and then they removed the ring and the evil guy, Sauron, was defeated. Harry couldn't help but feel he had heard the story before.

Then apparently the ring disappeared for a while and peace came to the lands as the ring was lost forever.

Elrond then continued to relay his story over the years…which would mean that he was over 800 years old. Harry knew that anything was possible, but this Elrond was surprisingly well-preserved for his age.

The ring had seemingly been hidden in a river for a good bit, after being lost by a king from long ago, which apparently no one knew, if the man with the travel worn cloak and the horn was anything to go by. There was a city that even then stood against the guy, Minas Tirith, a much better name than Minas Anor. And some of the old cities had fallen into darkness. And the ring was the furthest thing from everyone's mind.

And It had just been found. And now bad stuff is happening. Harry watched the Council and saw the growing fear behind the eyes of those seated.

Harry finally realized why the story seemed familiar. It was Tom Riddle's story. The name may be Sauron and he may have a super ring, but the man had only taken the same idea Tom had and made it much larger.


Aragorn settled back into his seat. He probably shouldn't have yelled at Boromir about the Dunadain. The man had probably been weaned on the stories of the glories of Gondor from his father and was probably never told the stories of the men in the North. Still, the Men of Gondor were hailed as heroes and his people were outcast and all but chased out of towns.


Harry listened to the man named Boromir go on about the illustrious deeds of the men in his city and how it was a literal pillar of goodness for the surrounding lands. Harry could have puked as he remembered some of the propaganda issued by the Ministry after the fall of Voldemort. Aragorn, the man who apparently disapproved of Harry's existence, stood up and told him that the same men that are outcast are the ones that risk their lives to protect the people.

Harry concluded that this Aragorn was too nice to strangers and could benefit from whiskey.


Aragorn watched as Boromir continued and recounted his dream that brought him to Imladris. It was an accurate dream that summed the entire purpose of their meeting into a few lines of verse. Aragorn knew he was the described bearer of the 'broken sword' of Elendil. He rose up and presented the broken sword Elrond had requested him to bring to the meeting.

The doubt came off of Boromir in waves. If the Captain of Gondor would not believe in the heir to the throne of Gondor, who would?


Harry watched as Aragorn presented a blade to the Council that would have been a beautiful sword if it was not snapped a handlength above the hilt. Unless he was wrong, Harry knew that sword meant Aragorn had something to do with the old kings…

Which meant that the scruffy and disapproving man was really a-

Harry's train of thought was cut as the hobbit, Frodo, was asked to hold something aloft. An innocent little gold ring, like Aunt Petunia's wedding band. Harry wondered if maybe someone was getting married later, and then, he saw it:

Red letters in a language he couldn't understand.

Harry watched as the runes glowed as if hanging in the air surrounding the ring. Then He heard the whisper:

Harry Potter…

He almost fell out of the bush he was in. No one here knew his name. No one. He looked around violently, almost cracking his neck as he looked for the small Hobbit. But there he lay, feet still hanging out of the bush.

Harry Potter…

Harry snapped back to the ring. Rings should not be able to talk, let alone know names. Harry felt something familiar with the pleading tone of the ring. Then again, if he put it on, he would…

The words of the late Arthur Weasley creeped into his brain: Don't talk to something unless you can see where it keeps its brain.

The ring was pleading to the voices on the porch. Harry stared at the little trinket, wondering why it felt familiar.

A Horcrux. The blasted ring was a Horcrux.

Harry would have kicked a tree nif not for fear that there was another halfling hiding amongst the foliage.

Harry tried to remind himself that it was only a ring, though the fact that the last ring Horcrux he encountered brought the dead to life did not allay his fears.


Aragorn listened to the Hobbits tell their tales of their encounters of the Ring of Power. Aragorn smiled as the elder Hobbit took the floor. The little hobbit had a genuine gift for telling a story. The younger of the two, Frodo did not have the same showmanship his uncle had when telling a story. The young halfling looked genuinely scared of everything at the Council, especially the Ring.

As the two sat, Gandalf stood and explained his part in the story.

Leave it to Gandalf to find the scroll of Isildur underneath the nose of the Steward. Then Gandalf explained the engravings and the characteristic of the one ring to provide Galdor the proof he desired to prove that it was the One ring of Power.

Then Gandalf continued to say that he read an inscription off the ring…but Gandalf the Grey would surely not be so foolish as to-


"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"

Harry clapped his hands over his ears at the grating sound of the words the old man muttered. The air around him seem to drop in temperature and rattle everything from the trees to the loose pebbles that lay on the flagstones of the porch in front of him.

This was seriously doing nothing to help his headache.

For a moment the grey wizard no longer kind and friendly, but terrible and commanding. Harry didn't know the meaning of the words, but knew it wasn't tidings of good cheer.


Only Gandalf the Grey would ever think to utter the tongue of Mordor in Rivendell. Then again, only Gandalf could get away with it. Aragorn knew Elrond would most likely have words with Gandalf later about that stunt.

As he watched the timid flight of a few birds returning to a tree near the porch, Aragorn listened to Gandalf recount the capture of the creature, Gollum. He remembered the task that had strengthened the friendship he had with the wizard. Aragorn had taken the creature to Mirkwood after he and Gandalf extracted information from him. As Gandalf drew to the end of the story that had been a few years of Aragorn's life, Legolas, son of Thranduil, stood up and announce that Gollum had escaped the watch of the elves.

"Escaped?"


Harry almost busted out laughing. The elves lost a prisoner because they were 'too kind' of all things. Really? If there were elves as old as Elrond, heck even half that age, then it should've been obvious that you did not let prisoners gambol about and climb trees freely. Harry made a mental note that he needed to teach the elves how to keep someone prisoner. His life had taught him all prisoners need constant watch, soupy food of no consistency, and if they are playing with anything, it had better bite them.


Aragorn knew that the elves of Mirkwood had meant well, but he felt that Gollum being a captive of the elves was one of the few things they had over the enemy. With a physical source that could sneak around better than the Nazgul and with an equal obsession of the Ring, the Enemy had a much greater chance of finding the One Ring.

His thoughts broke as his listened to Gandalf relay his time as a captive of Saruman the White.

Gandalf the Grey held prisoner. It was almost unbelievable. Though Gandalf had repeatedly said that he had not been tested against many things in this world, it still was daunting to several people who knew the wizard to know that there were forces that could contain him. Saruman was particularly worrisome. His proximity to Rohan could leech the will of the people North of Gondor before any battles were fought.

The grey wizard sat down at the end of his story, Elrond stood up and addressed the Council, "Well the tale is now told, from first to last. Here we all are, and here is the Ring. But we have not yet come any nearer to our purpose. What shall come of it?"

Silence.


A/N: Thank you so much to Intelligo and Durend who beta-ed this chapter. Many apologies for the late update of this chapter. I have no more excuses to offer, save that life slapped me with a dead fish repeatedly. Hope the chapter was worth the wait. Thank you to all who reviewed my story. I will try to post another chapter before I leave for study abroad.