Harry reappeared on the closer side of the Bruinen River without a sound. He swayed about for a bit, closing his eyes as he checked on his situation—more than a bit depleted, but in acceptable working condition. He's getting rusty at this, though hopefully, that particular set of skills won't need to be deployed again in the future. It wasn't as if the Nazgûl went around stabbing everyone with the blade, anyway, even if they had that many to spare—Harry had personally seen to the destruction of much of their weaponry back in Fornost, and after the Last Alliance, it was unlikely they were strong enough to enchant more.
Once he was feeling less light-headed, Harry carefully slipped the wrapped remains of the Morgul-blade into a pocket, then shifted into his Animagus form.
It was a pity that the elven magic that protected Imladris from dark sorcerous acts also happened to block outside apparition, or he'd have just taken Frodo and deposited him into the infirmary and saved himself all the trouble of doing an emergency de-sorcery without all the right things.
The trip from the Ford to Rivendell took less than ten minutes, and the sun had more or less risen by then, burning away the mists that had arisen in the night. He circled the city overhead once, and then spotted Elrond walking around in the library, unaccompanied. Alright. Harry dived down, swooped in through the window and shifted form, then skidded on the floor as his momentum carried him forwards.
"Gi suilon!"
The Lord of Imladris turned around just in time to see him nearly crash into a bookshelf. An eyebrow went upwards. "Mae govannen, Reviauron."
Harry knew that tone of voice. Yeah, sure, laugh, Elrond. He hadn't put that much force in the dive, and he was experienced enough in the Art of Sliding on Elrond's Library Floor to know that something's different. So: "Did you just polish your floor?" Harry asked incredulously, running a hand on the (much smoother) ground.
Elrond smiled. Smug bastard. He did. "Are you certain that you wish to discuss the state of my library floor?"
"That's not what I'm here for, but we will be having words about it," Harry scowled, quickly turning to the matter at hand. "Do you know about the Ring-bearer?"
There was a pause, then Elrond, very delicately, said, "Yes."
"He was stabbed not more than an hour ago by the Black Captain. Morgul-blade. I got the shard out, but you know how the blade works, so it's best if you see to him. The Nazgûl had retreated the last I saw him, but they will not stay away for long, not when they found it, so please send someone out to guard the group and bring them here." All in a single breath too.
Elrond, his face impassive if not for the faintest frown, nodded slowly. "I shall send Glorfindel. Do you know their whereabouts now?"
"Yes," Harry said, "I'll take him there—it's faster."
"What is faster?" came another voice, and Erestor came into view, Glorfindel trailing right behind.
"Glorfindel! Just the right ellon I wish to see! You ready for certain combat?" Harry bounded up to him.
Elrond coughed.
Erestor stared.
Glorfindel shook his head, long since used to occasional weirdness. "Mae athollen, Reviauron. Pray tell, what is this for?"
Harry looked at Elrond. Elrond looked back. Harry looked more intensely. Elrond failed to look as intense. With a sigh, the Elven Lord did the explaining.
Crack.
A sword came down at them the moment Harry finished materialising. Without thinking, Harry met it with a dagger of his own, and the clang of metal on metal rang out loudly in the forest.
Green eyes met startled grey, and for a heartbeat, Harry and Thorongil exchanged surprised looks with each other.
Then Thorongil's gaze slipped passed him to see Glorfindel, and there was visible surprise on his face as he withdrew his sword.
"Mae govannen, Dúnadan!" Glorfindel said, looking more composed than he had been mere seconds ago. He shot a look at Harry as he dismounted from Asfaloth in a smooth motion. "I do not believe your mode of transportation has gotten any easier over the ages, Reviauron."
Harry smiled apologetically. "I forgot how hard it was for side-alongs," he said, then kept his dagger and faced Thorongil proper. "Hail, Ranger. Greetings, hobbits," Harry added in Westron, when four pairs of eyes peered at him.
Now that he was no longer in danger of being embedded with pointy sharp things, Harry looked around. Frodo was still looking remarkably pale and haggard, but the worst of the taint had vanished. He was awake on the pony, whose baggage had been partially removed and added instead to the hobbits' pack. Sam was beside him, recognition in his eyes as he looked at Harry. Hobbits Two and Three were walking up to him a little cautiously, sending curious glances between Glorfindel and himself.
Thorongil turned to face the trio, having been exchanging words with Glorfindel. "This is Glorfindel, who dwells in the house of Elrond," he said with a gesture.
"Hail and well met," Glorfindel declared, "I was sent from Rivendell to look for you"—this he directed at Frodo—"for we feared that you were in danger upon the road. This," he pulled Harry over to the main group, "is Reviauron, as we call him. It was good fortune that he had been present, else it would be a week-long journey till you are found."
"Then Gandalf has reached Rivendell?" asked Frodo.
"No," Harry answered, "not yet, but he should be reaching within the week. How does the wound feel?"
"It feels better now," Frodo said, and then his eyes lit in recognition and wonder. "I saw you when you were removing the shard!"
Harry raised an eyebrow, impressed. He had thought the hobbit was quite out of it at the time, much less able to see anything that he could remember later.
"Thank you," said Frodo, and he tried to get off the pony. Sam quickly tried to stop him. "Master Frodo—"
Harry laid his hands on his shoulders, keeping the hobbit firmly in place on the pony. "You are welcomed, Mister Frodo, but please, stay on the pony and rest, until Elrond has seen to you. Else I fear he will do more devious things than polishing his library floor to me."
Thorongil looked confused at that. So did the hobbits, really. Glorfindel looked like he had just thought of something and quickly stifled his laughter.
"Not a word," Harry hissed, only just loud enough for Elven ears. Glorfindel nodded, but was unable to stop the twitch of his lips.
With a shake of his head, Thorongil recovered and said briskly, "I fear the Black Riders have not gone far. They have only drawn off at Weathertop because they think that their purpose is accomplished, that the Ring cannot fly much further. Should they realise that is not the case, surely they will return."
Glorfindel nodded at that, and said to Frodo, "You shall ride my horse. If danger presses too near, he can bear you away with a speed that even the black steeds of the enemy cannot rival."
When Frodo started to protest (with very similar protests to his, Harry realised, so very long ago), Glorfindel smiled. "I very much doubt that your friends would be in danger if you were not with them. The pursuit would follow you and leave us in peace, I think. It is you, Frodo, and that which you bear that brings us all in peril."
There was no answer to that, and Frodo was finally convinced to mount Asfaloth. The pony—Bill, Sam said—was laden with a large part of the others' burdens, and so the group marched on at a good speed towards Rivendell.
Glorfindel and Thorongil kept pace in the lead, while the hobbits lagged behind. Harry, with no wish of being in explanations or serious talk just yet, stayed with them, and was quickly introduced to Meriadoc and Peregrin—cousins of each other and Frodo, and friends of everyone. The duo regaled him with stories of sneaking fireworks from Gandalf and various misadventures in their tweens. Invariably, as hobbit conversations tend to go, it digressed into familial legends and Harry found himself being told about that one time in Shire history when a Proudfoot couldn't find his silver tea tray and created an incident involving several families that only ended when someone stabbed a chair which may or may not have been haunted. It was, Frodo confided, the reason why Old Took had a dented frying pan hanging above the mantelpiece.
It was precisely the sort of drama that Gandalf would find absolutely hilarious and which could only ever occur in the Shire.
Slowly, the conversation turned to how their own adventure began. There had been a mention of Tom Bombadil, but Harry's dark look made them finish that section rather quickly. Sam pitched in occasionally, usually to correct a wild fact that Pippin or Merry had gotten wrong, and Frodo was smiling from his position on Asfaloth.
"Wait, you mentioned Gildor?"
Pippin paused in his recount, and Frodo turned to look at Harry. "Yes. We met his company near Woodhall. Do you know him?"
"He is an acquaintance," Harry said, still surprised. He'd assumed that Gildor and his company had sailed from Middle-earth in his absence when he failed to see them while following the Nazgûl to Bree. Perhaps they could be persuaded… He shelved the thought, then looked up ahead to see Thorongil glancing back at him.
"Excuse me for a bit," he said to the hobbits, and quickened his pace to catch up with the pair in front.
He had left them alone, figuring that between him and Glorfindel, Thorongil would likely trust Glorfindel more in explaining the matters, but the Ranger's constant backward glances didn't seem to be decreasing. Better go settle any possible problems here.
"Hello," Harry said nonchalantly, "anything you would like to ask me?"
Thorongil looked at him thoughtfully. "The hobbits told me you removed the Morgul-shard from Frodo's shoulder. Lord Glorfindel said you have the skill. How?"
Harry drew himself up, affecting an air of great wisdom. "Child, you will find that there are many different powers in the world."
No, he couldn't resist.
Glorfindel gave an Elvish snort, which was the same as a normal snort but with more grace and elegance, making it the sort of thing a lesser being could write ballads about. Thorongil had an odd expression on his face, somewhere between bemusement and surprise.
"I am older than I appear," he said finally.
"I know." Harry told him simply. "As to how I got the shard out: I'm a wizard."
Wow, didn't that feel a little déjà vu?
This, of course, led to another surprised look. Yes, Harry was well aware he doesn't resemble any of the Istari, so he'd better pre-empt that question. "I'm no Istar."
That only seemed to inspire more questions.
Fortunately, Glorfindel took pity on him. "There are things out there that even I do not understand, Dúnadan, and Reviauron happens to be one of them. Let it be."
Harry shot him an amused look. Lies. Glorfindel was one of the few who could claim to actually know him. Keep the Ranger in the dark, eh?
"Where are you from, Reviauron?"
"Here and there," Harry said, grinning. "If you want the specifics, then point to any place on a map."
Who could say what had happened to the continents of the old world? For all he knew, a little bit of soil that had once been English could be right beneath their feet.
"Even Mordor?"
"Even there," he said blithely, seeing Thorongil's eyes narrow. "And try not to say that name, if you please. The day is too fine to be darkened by its mention."
"But Mor—"
"Reviauron is right, Master Took. The afternoon has been lovely thus far, and it will be a shame to see it spoiled by talk of the Enemy," Glorfindel said over his shoulder.
Pippin nodded. "But you can't have come from there," he said dubiously. "Only dark creatures do."
"And I don't look 'dark' to you?" Harry tilted his head.
"No."
"Oh really? You think so?" He ended with grating rasp. Shadows wrapped around him, writhing and growing as he drew himself up, now taller than Glorfindel and Thorongil. His hands became skeletal, and his face fell into shadows. Only his eyes were visible now, shining with the unholiest of light, green and sickening. He was death, and death holds dominion over all. "Do I look dark to you now?"
Pippin yelped, stumbling back into Merry, who looked just as white. Sam had frozen, and Frodo was stiff on Asfaloth, whose ears were flattened back until Glorfindel murmured to him.
Then Harry dispelled the illusion and smiled amiably. "When Gandalf says not to take him as a conjuror of cheap tricks, listen to him, because that would be referring to me instead."
Glorfindel muttered something that sounded like "you've made that abundantly clear before", "stop terrorising the hobbits" and "if you get stabbed in your sleep I'm not going to help". Then, "the Dúnadan might really stab you in your sleep".
Frodo seemed to melt on the saddle, Sam gave him a suspicious once-over, Merry pushed Pippin off him, and Pippin stared at him, eyes wide. Harry turned to see Thorongil regarding him warily, a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Remember, don't judge wizards based on looks. To answer your question, Pippin, I am not from there, but there may be parts in that land that came from where I did."
It took almost a week before they crossed the Last Bridge. During this week, the Nazgûl were conspicuously absent, although their cries could be heard far off in the distance in the dead of night when all was silent. Frodo remained much the same, but he complained softly of a pain in his left shoulder when the Nazgûl cries were loudest.
The hobbits were visibly exhausted and even Thorongil looked wearier each morning. Glorfindel was an elf, so he doesn't count for much. Harry, on the other hand, was also beginning to wilt under such long periods of hobbling and marching—it wasn't that he was tired, but it had been a very long while since he had to go on foot for so long.
Of course, that was when the Nazgûl attacked.
When the East-West Road ran out of the tunnel, the Ford of Rivendell came into view. It was a magnificent sight and the group visibly brightened. Ahead was a sharp incline, but at its bottom was a long flat, with the Bruinen River cutting through it. On the further side was a steep brown bank, threaded by a winding path weaving up the cliff face. In the far off distance were the Misty Mountains, each snow-capped peak climbing further up into the sky.
It was also then that Harry became aware of an echo, the sound of pounding footsteps as if there were people following them. Glorfindel stilled, turning to listen.
"Fly!" he shouted, springing forward. "Fly! The enemy is upon us!"
Harry swore. Asfaloth leapt forward, charging ahead. The hobbits ran down the slope, as fast as they could manage. Glorfindel and Thorongil stayed at the back to guard the rear. Harry shot off ahead, changing forms mid-run until he was flying alongside the Asfaloth.
They were that close to safety. That close. Dammit Nazgûl.
The group was halfway across the flat when the sound of galloping horses reached them, and then five Riders burst from the forest to the left. Harry swerved wildly to avoid one, and then turned to look at the others.
"Ride forward! Ride!" shouted Glorfindel.
Frodo hesitated, and Asfaloth slowed down accordingly. Harry cuffed his head with a wing when Frodo turned to look back. What was he doing? Keep going!
"Ride on! Ride on! Noro lim, noro lim, Asfaloth!" Glorfindel called, and Asfaloth surged forward once more.
The Ringwraiths behind screeched, loud and clear. It was answered by four more Nazgûl flying forth from the trees and rocks on the left. Two rode towards Frodo—the other two galloped across the Ford to cut off his escape.
Harry measured the distance, dropped lower and changed form, rolling twice on the ground to break his speed.
When he stood up, fire streamed from his wand, blazing and white. The Nazgûl closer to him hesitated, its horse rearing up before the heat. Asfaloth took the chance to break free of the ambush, jumping into the river and crossing it in powerful strokes. The Nazgûl in pursuit came up to the riverbank, just as Frodo turned around, his face pale and ashen, expression one of distressed terror.
With visible effort, he sat upright upon the horse and brandished his sword. "Go back! Go back to the Land of Mordor and follow me no more!" he cried, his voice thin.
The Nazgûl reined in their horses before the river and laughed, harsh and chilling. "Come back!" They called. "To Mordor we will take you!"
The leader of the ambush team nudged its steed forward, and two others instantly followed it, wading into the Bruinen. Harry whipped his wand towards them, tongues of flames reaching out to halt their advance.
A yell from behind caused him to look back. Thorongil was pushing the last of the Nine towards him with flaming brands, Glorfindel cutting them off whenever they tried to flee away from the river.
What… Oh. He got it. Harry retracted his flames, turning them instead towards the approaching wraiths.
Just as the hoof of the first Nazgûl's horse touched the shore, a great roaring and rushing sound came from upstream—the sound of water pounding upon many stones. In the first wave of the river water were white riders, seated upon white horses with frothing manes, leading the charge with raised swords and long spears—there was definite magic in the shapes. Elrond couldn't have done that—Gandalf, then. The flood thundered down, and the three Nazgûl within the river were instantly buried under angry white foams, pulled downwards by the currents.
The one remaining on the riverbank drew back—or at least, tried to. Flames blocked its paths, and Harry left only one way out of the fire: into the Bruinen River. At last, its black steed leapt into the river and was carried away.
The five that Glorfindel and Thorongil were herding had also arrived. Glorfindel was shining as only one of the High Elves could. The Ringwraiths fled before him, and Harry stopped them from escaping to the sides until the black horses rushed forward blindly and leapt into the raging river to escape the flames. The Nazgûl's piercing cries were drowned in the roar of the river as it bore them away.
When the water receded, nothing was left.
Yay. Chapter out, and it's not even a month 8D
Reviauron: Sindarin, meaning Old (male) Wanderer, from revia (to fly/wander/sail), iaur (old) and -on (suffix indicating male). The other little bits of Sindarin: Yo! (in a more formal manner), Oh heyy! (in a more formal manner), dude (ellon being a male elf) and Welcome back! (in that exact manner).
[4/1/16: Added dialogue, edited language a little bit.]