Authors Note: Finally! An update where I don't have to start it off by saying "I'm sorry that it's been awhile" and I don't have to feel absolute shame for it being so long between updates. I would have liked to of had this chapter up sooner but unfortunately it was a Thranduil chapter so that means that it was lengthy and a process to write (thankfully it will be awhile before he shows up again). That being said, I hope you all are still enjoying the story so far (and thank you for those who've left comments, made this story one of their favourites, and have become followers) and as always comments are appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: Once again, Harry Potter and his universe were created by the wonderful J.K. Rowling. The Hobbit, and all characters associated with his writing are the work of the brilliant and masterful J.R.R Tolkien.
Everything else belongs to me.
He could find no source of information that answered any of the questions he had and though he wasn't surprised by this fact it did nothing to alleviate the frustration he had felt in the days that had preceded his little run in with the she devil. None could tell him how or why it was possible that the woman's fëa appeared to be split or how she had come to be in his lands; and it was not from a lack of searching. He had consulted every single book he thought might hold any sort of answer (and in one of the most extensive libraries in Middle Earth he was not without sources) and when he had exhausted that path he had then turned to Eldar that were more advanced in years than he.
Both Androth and Barthan had never even heard of such a thing as a fëa being split or a person of any kind coming from a land outside of Arda. In fact, both men had warned him against having any dealings with such a creature, fearing that anyone with a split fëa was not someone he should be involved with and possibly an individual who had either seen or done unspeakable things. Thranduil didn't think for a moment that the woman was dangerous, infuriating and insufferable perhaps, but not dangerous.
Suffice it to say that after weeks of finding no information and his mood darkening to the point that not even his son could be in his presence for very long, Thranduil was not at all bothered by the intrusion on his sleep once more. He was of course not looking forward to speaking with that creature after their last encounter had ended as it did, but he was looking forward to his questions finally being answered. He frowned a little as he rounded another corner in the library, wondering how he was going to avoid potentially getting into another argument with the woman. Under any normal circumstances such a task would not have been an issue, as very few ever made such a thing a problem with his temper, but as she was clearly not normal he now found himself faced with a dilemma; and one that did not have an easy solution.
He refrained from sighing as he rounded the last corner in the labyrinth of twists and turns that made up the library, still no closer to a solution to his problem. He wanted to believe he could simply avoid it by not deviating from the questions he had for the woman and certainly not attempt to touch her (which appeared to be a source of contention for the woman), but he didn't think that would keep them from killing one another. There was something about her that grated on the nerves and set his back teeth on edge and he doubted that he was the only one that felt that way.
Thranduil came to a stop and despite himself blinked at the scene that greeted him. Situated in the corner of a large sofa was the woman (whose name he really need to learn) curled up fast asleep. Of all the ways he had pictured their second meeting her being fast asleep was not one of them. Threatening to cause him physical harm again or treating him in disrespectful and deplorable manner, yes, but sound asleep, certainly not; and he did not appreciate that she was. He had things that he needed to discuss with her and that couldn't be accomplished if she slept the entire time that they were here.
How long Thranduil stood where he was he could not say but eventually he approached the woman with the intention of waking her from her sleep; resigning himself to the fact that she would not be pleased about being woken by him of all people. Whether he wished to or not Thranduil found himself taking in her features as he leaned down to wake her. Again, her beauty did not compare to that of any elf, and the colour of her skin was typical of men of the south and east of Middle earth (an exceedingly cruel group of individuals whose allegiance had once been to Sauron), but there was something about her features that was—he would not go so far as to say appealing, but fascinating.
"Wildling."
Thranduil had barely touched her shoulder when he suddenly found himself with a pointed object pressed into his throat and a thick energy pressing in on him from all sides. He stared, unblinking, at the woman as he realised with a start that he had woken a solider and that she wasn't lucid enough to realise what her body had done instinctively. "Wildling." He said again in a firm voice as he endeavored to hold himself still and not react as he would have done with any other person who dare threaten him (again!). It took no more than seconds for the woman to clear the sleep from her mind and react to what she had done. The object she had at his throat fell to the ground with a clatter and she hunched forward, her hands pressed firmly against her eyes.
"I'm sorry…." She said in a tone of voice that seemed out of character with her fierce behaviour, and one that he was all too familiar with himself. He had done something similar to several elf maidens who'd had this misfortune of waking him in a manner that triggered his instincts as a soldier, and in each case, he'd admittedly felt what she now was feeling: shame.
"It's been almost a year and yet we're still dealing with the after affects." She eventually said as she leaned forward and plucked the…. stick up off the ground and slid it back into her sleeve. There were so many questions that he wanted to ask of her and he had no idea where to start.
"I realise that Lady Lothlorien is a powerful force in this land but would it kill her to ask?" She groused, with a dark scowl etched into her features. He could not be certain, but he got the distinct impression that she hadn't been brought here awake as she had the previous time but sleeping; which begged the question why.
"She is not in the habit of asking when she believes that those involved will refuse her request." He said as he sat down on the other end of the sofa, slightly amused with her grumbling. It was a sentiment he shared with the woman (though he would never admit such a thing out loud) and often put him in a foul mood when it occurred as well.
"I wouldn't," She said shaking her head as she stretched, drawing his attention to how short she was in comparison to elves and men. "there's a reason she brought me here and I'm certain it's in that book." She motioned to the small table in front of them where the object in question lay. "I have too many questions that need answers and too many people depending on me for them." She scratched furiously at her head, muttering something he couldn't quite understand. "But unanswered questions or not it would still be nice if she asked."
At the mention of unanswered questions, he decided he would begin questioning her while they were both still in an agreeable mood. "Was it a war you were involved in or a battle?" He watched her closely to gauge her reaction and was glad when he noted that she didn't seem upset by his inquiry.
"It was a war." She sat back against the sofa and tucked her feet next to her as she regarded him with a curious expression. He could not be certain, but he got the impression she realised that he was attempting to be as courteous as he possibly could and that his question was a way to avoid another confrontation. "The story is long and a little difficult to explain and would probably take more time than we have, but it was against a very dark wizard in our time." He saw the slight shift in her mannerism (the tone of her voice and her expression to be precise) and was reminded of the scholars that taught him when he was young. "Tom Riddle, the dark wizard, believed in what was referred to as racial purity. He and those that followed him prided themselves on the concept of being pure -blood, which essentially meant that their entire line, dating back to their original ancestors, was entirely magic." She paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "In our world wizard and witches are either the result of magical lines, the union between one magical parent and a human, or from two parents who possess no magical abilities at all."
The last option gave him pause and he spoke out loud as he contemplated such a thing being possible. "If it is to do with lineage than is the magic that the last group wields because of a distance ancestor."
She rewarded him with a smile and a small nod. "Yes, muggle-borns as they're called inherit magic from an ancestor somewhere in their line. Some even believe that muggle-borns are the result of squibs –people who have at least one magical parents but possess no magic themselves- marrying muggles somewhere in the line and the magic from the squibs parents eventually resurfacing."
It certainly made sense even with the words that had not translated into Sindarin. "What is a," He tried to recall the sound and the pronation of the word she had used. "Mu-ggel…?"
It was obvious by her expression that she was amused by his attempts to reproduce words from her world, but the humour seemed more along the lines of a mother listening to a child speaking Sindarin for the first time, than it did outright humour at his expense. "Muggle." She said just slowly, mimicking their last encounter with a word he did not know—and just as before he recited the word back to her.
"Perfect and to answer your question a muggle is a person who is non-magical." She looked thoughtful. "The Edain would be what my people call non-magical folk." He nodded and motioned for her to continue with her story about this dark wizard. "As I was saying he believed in race purity and that any witch or wizard that was not from these magical lines were lesser breeds, and that it was his job to put these lesser individuals in their rightful place; beneath his and every other pureblood's boot." She gave him an indiscernible look. "Which was incredibly ironic considering that he was the product of a magical parent and a muggle, a half blood as they are called."
The expression on her face was so unsettling in a person so young that he didn't know how to process it, let alone do anything that could be of any help; if he were inclined to such maudlin tendencies that is.
"The second war didn't last nearly as long as the first," She said, pulling him from his thoughts. "but it was still as devastating as the first, perhaps more so as the first did not end in a final confrontation between Tom Riddle and his followers and the light." Her hands clenched. "We lost so many during the events leading up to that –good men and woman–and so many more when the smoke had cleared, and Tom was dead."
"You saw much action while fighting?" He asked when she fell silent and the atmosphere grew almost unbearable; even for him.
"Yes," She took a deep and steadying breath. "My father was one of his followers you see, and I knew at a very young age that my allegiance was to the light and not to a zealot bent on world domination. So as soon as I was of age I joined the cause and was thrown into the thick of it." The empty look she gave him made him glad that he would never see such a twisted and vicious world. "I saw more horrors than anyone should ever have to go through…so much in fact that I'm not sure I'll ever forget or be the same."
There was a moment where Thranduil hesitated to say anything on the matter but after he watched her tuck her knees against her chest and stare vacantly ahead he found himself saying. "I cannot say whether or not you will ever be the same –I do not know anyone who has fought in war and is ever the same– but with time the strength of the memories will recede and any pain it causes will lessen."
He was surprised by the small smile she gave him and even more so when he found himself wanting to return it when she said moments later. "Yes, well I'm afraid witches don't have the same life span that elves do." She looked thoughtful. "If my knowledge is correct you fought in the War of the Last Alliance which would make you well over…" She blinked once. "a millennium." There was a bit more blinking. "I must seem like a baby to you with my measly 26 years."
"You are quite young" He admitted, seemingly unfazed by the knowledge that she possessed. "But there is not a person on this earth who is not younger than someone else."
She chuckled softly, and he noted how relaxed she was in comparison to a few moments ago so he decided to broach another question he had for her. "The item that you threatened me with," he noticed she stiffened but continued regardless of the change. "what was it?"
It was apparent by her expression that he had obviously surprised her with his question. "My wand?" She pulled the item from her sleeve and held it out for him to take, surprising him this time with her trust. "It's how we channel our magic to perform spells."
He took the item from her, noting the thrum of power that he could feel in it, and examined it. He had never been fortunate enough to hold one of the Istari staffs, but he imagined it was similar to this wand as she had called it; though if he was not mistaken an Istari's staff put a limit on their power and given what he sensed in this object he doubted it did any such thing. "It has power if its own?" He asked as he held it in the same manner she had.
"In a manner of speaking yes they have their own power." She shifted again into role of teacher. "Wands are embedded with various magical substances and it's these substances that give them power of their own."
He handed the object back to her when it seemed to take offense to his hold on it (which was hardly shocking considering who it belonged).
"I'm not sure if my magic works here but…" He watched in absolute fascination as she flicked the wand in a series of quick movements and was rewarded with a bright light and a multifaceted wisp of smoke that looked like small Mûmakil. The creature bounded around the room in a manner that was both captivating and unsettling before it eventually vanished. "It's called the Patronus Charm," she said with a small chuckle at his astonished expression. "and is primarily used as a form of protection against a particular kind of dark creature in our world. It's an extremely complicated and difficult spell to cast and not all can produce a full corporeal Patronus like the one you saw."
He wondered at the look that she was suddenly wearing but before he could ask what its cause was she said. "In fact, I'm lucky that spell didn't blow up in my face."
"Why?" He questioned as she placed her wand back into her sleeve and sat back, unsettled by the idea of things being blown up.
"My magic hasn't been the same since we got here and as a result I've had to start using more and more wandless magic." Sensing he might not understand what she was referring to she turned to him and murmured something he couldn't quite make out and just as it had done a few moments ago the Mûmakil suddenly appeared in the middle of them, even though she had not produced her wand to do it this time. "Wandless magic simply means that the person casting the spell isn't using a wand…and up until we arrived here I wasn't exactly the best at it."
"….and that is not the case now?"
She shook her head with a worried look. "I not only have very little issue casting spells without my wand these days, but they seem to be stronger as well; which makes absolutely no sense." The Mûmakil vanished as she leaned back against the couch and draped her arm over her eyes, tension in every part of her body.
It was obvious that the unanswered questions she had spoken of earlier, coupled with the fact that she and her company were in a foreign land weighed heavily on her mind. He could not imagine what it must be like to survive a war, only to end up in a land that was not of their own a year later—with questions that could only be answered by a select few in Arda. It wasn't any wonder why Galadriel had brought her here to sleep, but it was odd that she would do so and not join them to answer the woman's questions. Thranduil regarded her openly for a few moments before he resigned himself to the fact that he would not be asking her anymore questions for the time being. He had no idea what he could offer in the way of help regarding her larger problems, but he thought perhaps avoiding any further questions would be of some comfort to her.
"The language that you speak in your land," She peaked at him from under her arm. "is there a way it can be taught."
She moved her arm and gave him a considering look before she nodded. "We were able to find a way to alter the spell that made it possible for the others to speak Westron and include our language in it. So, it is possible for me to teach you something other than swear words. "At her amused look he arched his brow at her in silent question, forgetting momentarily that his eyebrows seemed to amuse her for some reason—at least right up until the point that she pressed her lips together when they began to twitch.
"The people we're traveling with don't appreciate the fact that they can't understand us anymore," She eventually said once she had managed to suppress her laughter. "…despite the fact that they often communicate with each other in a language other than Westron." She shook her head and before he could ask about who she was traveling with she continued with her earlier line of thought. "I will have to perform magic on you in order for it to work."
The idea of her performing any sort of magic on him gave him pause (which is no doubt why she mentioned it and why she was watching him so closely) but after a moment of thought he realised that this was an opportunity for him to earn a bit of trust from the woman; who clearly did not trust easily. He also did not have much to fear as he was certain that Galadriel would not let any great harm come to him. A few bruises perhaps but nothing that would place him and his people in any real danger. He inclined his head, silently giving her permission to do what she must, and watched as she turned to face him fully.
"The spell requires entry into your mind, so you are going to have to look me in the eyes and allow me to enter your mind."
He stared at her. "You possess such an ability?"
"Yes, my god father gave those who were fighting for the light crude lessons on how to occlude and from there several of us learned how to enter the minds of others." She gave him what he assumed to be a reassuring look. "It is not something that we do on a mere whim and isn't something we do lightly."
Again, he nodded and simply said as he gazed into her eyes. "Proceed as you must."
"I don't want a headache so don't resist." With that said she looked into his eyes and for a very long time he felt nothing and then as if she had sensed his growing impatience he suddenly felt the slightest pressure on his mind. If he had to put into words what the feeling was like the nearest he could come to was odd and unsettling. It was as if she were running her hand gently across his mind in an effort to coax him into opening up… and for reasons he knew not he was powerless to do anything but respond to the touch and allow her entrance.
Thranduil couldn't say how he knew that something had gone wrong (though he suspected it had something to do with the fact that he seemed to be able to feel her surprise and panic) but one moment he was staring into her eyes and the next moment he was watching what appeared to be brief moments of her childhood compiled into one.
Amazed and perhaps a little unsettled at what he was witnessing, Thranduil found himself unable to do anything but watch in absolute fascination as he experienced her memories as if he were actually there with her. The first few memories seemed to be of the loneliness she experienced in her earlier years and the feelings of abandonment she was made to endure for reasons he knew not, while the latter half of her memories were of her first magical experience and when she first learned of their world and began pretending she was there, as children often do. It did not escape his notice that once she was in possession of such knowledge she appeared to be a lot happier (even though her parents still did not visit as often as she liked) or that most of her 'adventures' either took place in the Woodland Realm or in Erebor and concerned both him and king Under the Mountain. He could not fathom why that was the case and as he watched yet another scene with her battling some unknown foe alongside Oakenshield and himself he found himself wanting to ask.
However, before he could even fix his mouth to form the words she uttered a curse that he appeared to better understand this time, though whether that was because she had already explained its meaning or because of whatever she had done to his mind he could honestly not say. The utterance was immediately followed by a sharp searing pain that he swore even he could feel and a flash of blue light and then a vast and empty nothingness.
"My lor—" The sudden movement he made as he bolted upright forestalled any further words from the elf maiden, and as he stared at her from his position on the ground (where he most certainly had not been before he had gone to sleep) he could think of only one fitting expression to say after the events that had transpired in the library.
Well Fuck