He was in a garden. The sky was clear and the sun shone down gently, neither blinding nor harsh. A gentle breeze ruffled through his hair, carrying a sweet fragrance in the air, and he could hear music and singing in the distance. Harry moved past the blooming flowers without noticing, his feet carrying him to where he knew there was a table and two seats.
He sat down on one and folded his arms on the table, calmly waiting. A tea set materialised before him, and Harry poured a cup for himself. No sooner had he drank a sip from it than a man arrived, dropping himself into the other chair.
"You're back," said the other, pouring a cup for himself.
"Yes. I suppose that Gandalf thought it would do me some good," Harry said wryly.
"What happened?"
Somewhere a nightingale trilled.
"Sauron. I did something stupid, but it's all Sauron's fault."
The other man sipped slowly from his cup, fair locks swaying in the wind. "Since this is where healing is supposed to take place, would you like to talk about it?"
"Not particularly, no," Harry said politely after a moment, and the other quirked a smile. "Just dragged up a few memories. Nothing too bad."
"Well then, admire the scenery. We have a new type of lily, if you are curious." So saying, the man reached over and swiped a thumb against Harry's forehead.
The dark, writhing leftover tendrils of the Ring were expelled from his mind, leaving a clean freshness in their wake. Alone, it would have taken him far longer to root out their presence. Harry smiled. "Thanks, but I think I'll look at them another time."
"Just make sure that you do. They're extraordinarily beautiful."
Harry drained his cup and stood up. "I'll be heading back now. Thanks for the…" he gestured vaguely at the place.
The other man waved a hand lazily. "Welcome. Next time you return, my brother would like to speak with you."
Harry grimaced, but he was already gone from the garden and couldn't respond.
When he next opened his eyes, it was to Gandalf watching him.
"I know what you did," he said without much heat.
The Istar looked at him. "I do not apologise for my actions. Anyone could tell that you are not well after the Council. It was the best solution I can think of."
"Lórien is very"—Harry sat up, throwing off his covers—"pretty, as I'm sure you know"—he got off the bed—"but I do not think I needed that."
He looked around. It was afternoon, since the sun was not slanting through his east-facing window.
"It has been a day," Gandalf supplied. "Today is the twenty-fourth of October. Still, do you feel better?"
"A little. I will not say that it has not been of some help, so thank you anyway," Harry said. "It was an incredibly idiot decision I made back there and I would be more thankful if you do not tell the others."
Gandalf nodded agreeably. "Of course, but I should warn you that there are two who have noticed your lapse."
Harry pulled a face. He could guess who the "two" are, and they could both be admirable mother-hens if they thought the situation required it. Elrond because he was also a healer, and there was Glorfindel, who… had no explanations for it, really. The elf had somehow gained the tendency after spending so much time with Elrond and Harry. Simply unexplainable.
"I'll tell them myself if they pursue it," Harry decided, and that was that.
Upon learning that the hobbits had small swords with them, Boromir seemed to have taken it upon himself to teach them the art of sword-fighting. Usually an elf would assist him, fond as they were of the child-like hobbits, but on this day they were alone on the training field when Harry came across them.
"No," the Gondorian was saying, "you must hold the sword like this." He demonstrated the appropriate grip to Sam, who quickly adjusted his own hold on the sword.
Nearby, Frodo checked over his own grip and attempted the manoeuvre.
"Lower, Frodo," Harry called, leaning from railing. "You're aiming for the back of the knees."
"Good morning Harald," Frodo called back, before repeating his slash.
"Hello," Harry said to the group with a nod.
Boromir turned and returned the greet. "Would you like to join us?" The man gestured at the empty field, particularly at where Merry and Pippin were fighting—or rather, banging swords.
Well, he could spare a few hours. Harry flipped himself over the railings and dropped down with a cushioning charm. Boromir put him to work at once, first as a partner to demonstrate manoeuvres and the right postures, then declaring a four-on-two practice 'match' to drill the knowledge of how to sneakily overpower a slow but larger opponent into the hobbits. By the end of it all, Harry had allowed himself to be whacked a grand total of two times with blunted blades and the hobbits were panting and groaning until ringing of the lunch bell.
A month passed by, taking with it the last shreds of autumn. The scouts sent out when the leaves were still green returned to bare branches and chilly winds in early December. With them came news from Ettenmoors to Tharbad, Rhosgobel to North Downs. Harry himself had left Rivendell for three weeks as he expanded the scout area, calling forth his feathered kin from the eyries of the Misty Mountains to help. Celegor by his lonesome had gone to Mithlond with news of the Ring, and then sped across the lands between Emyn Uial and the Blue Mountains. Landroval came on swift wings and between him and Harry, they covered the southern lands. Only the threat of arrows had prevented them from crossing into the dark lands of Mordor, but Harry could feel the heavy gaze of a watchful eye as he crossed into the Dead Marshes.
Eight steeds of the Nazgûl were found, dashed against the rocks of the rapids below the Ford. Harry assumed the one yet accounted for was the Witch-king's, but had seen no sign of him, and even of the other eight, no presence were felt. In the South, men of desert origins could be seen coming together in force while wargs and wolves hunted along the Anduin, steadily heading down from the north.
Grey clouds were gathering, a cold breeze was blowing. Harry only hoped that the others could stand firm in the hurricane about to arrive.
In this darkening period, the hobbits had adjusted well, content with each day (save for the few hours where Boromir ran them into the ground) and taking pleasure in every meal and song within the halls of Rivendell. Their cheerful spirit was like a blazing fireplace, emitting comfort and hope to all those in the city.
It was approaching mid-December when all the information had been properly organised and a semblance of a plan was thrown together, that Elrond finally summoned the Council once more, this time inviting all of the hobbits to partake as well. They had tarried long enough—each day they spent without action was a day the Enemy could grow stronger without impediment.
It had been a grey day, overcast and cool, and a light dusting of snow covered the land. The hobbits came in (barefooted. Harry wondered how they weren't cold), accompanied by Aragorn, mere minutes after the bells had rung. Boromir arrived shortly after with the Elves and Dwarves, and they all sat in their original positions.
"The time has come," Elrond began. "If the Ring is to set out, it must go soon. Do you still hold to your word, Frodo, that you will be the Ring-bearer?"
"I do," said Frodo. "I will go with Sam."
"I cannot help you much on your road, of which I foresee very little, but you will have companions to go with you, as far as they will or fortune allows. You must not count on your errand being aided by war or force, and you will pass into the domain of the Enemy far from aid."
Frodo looked hopelessly lost.
"Do not be discouraged," Gandalf said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo, as long as it is yours to bear."
Without hesitation, Aragorn came forward. "If by my life or death I can protect you, I will." Sincerity was in every word he spoke as he knelt down. "You have my sword."
"And you have my bow." A clear voice rang out, and Legolas stood, every inch a prince.
There was a low 'humph' from the dwarves, and Gimli stood up. "And my axe."
There was a glint in Glóin's eyes, clouded with worry, but full of pride nonetheless, as he watched Gimli move to stand beside Gandalf.
Boromir glanced around. "If truly, this is the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done. The Halfling will have the valour of her people."
"We are going too!" Pippin declared loudly, to the raised eyebrows of all present.
Harry could just see a look of worry flicker across Elrond's features before it was smoothed away as Merry nodded. "You will have to lock us in prison, or send us home tied in a sack to stop us from coming."
There was silence as they moved to stand beside Frodo. Elrond stepped back, considering.
They had debated this point before—Elrond was not in favour of sending the other hobbits, even if they were to volunteer, while Gandalf had spoken long and loudly about the benefits of friendship. Eventually the argument boiled down to: if—if—Merry and Pippin wished to join the perilous quest and would not be discouraged, then they would go.
It seemed that they were going.
Harry surveyed the group, and wondered how others would see them. What a motley crew they were, and yet the hope of Middle-earth lay upon their shoulders. How very odd they must look.
"Eight companions… Nine Walkers, set against the Nine Riders that are evil. So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."
"…If the High Pass is watched—which a possibility—then the Fellowship should take the Pass of Caradhras."
Harry looked doubtfully at where Glorfindel is pointing. "It is winter, and it will still be winter when the Fellowship reaches the mountain. Weather upon Caradhras is going to be the harshest at this time."
Gandalf, the only one in the group who was a member of the Fellowship, grimaced. "And yet to go further north would hinder our speed, while further south would bring the Ring too close to Saruman. The Gap of Rohan is closed to us."
"It is best if the Fellowship heads to Lothlórien," Harry said, glancing at the map. "Though Dol Guldur lies rather close by."
"It does not matter. So long as Lady Galadriel remains within the woods, the Enemy cannot penetrate Lórien."
The Elven Rings at work, Harry thought but did not say. He tilted his head, considering.
"If the Fellowship does go to Lothlórien," he said slowly, "I can possibly provide transport to Eastfold. Gandalf, do you think you can get the Fellowship there by, perhaps"—Harry did some quick calculations—"January 11th?"
Gandalf frowned thoughtfully. "Should all goes well, I daresay we can reach Caras Galadhon by the thirteenth, latest. What transport do you speak of, Reviauron?"
"Eagle flight," Harry said absently, turning to face the window as he tried to work out his plan. It was possible, but he had to gather the Eagles before their enemies could suspect that the Fellowship had entered Lórien.
From there, with the Elder King's permission, he could bear the Fellowship to Rohan. Eastfold was far enough from either Isengard or Mordor, that with a little bit of luck, the secrecy of the quest would be kept. Landroval would insist on helping, once he heard about it, and perhaps he could prod Meneldor into action, so it would be the three of them on a three day flight. It would be a tiring trip, but the journey the Fellowship would have to travel by foot would be more than halved…
It was bright outside, and the blanket of snow sparkled in the sun's cold light. Bare trees swayed in the wind. A lone cloud shaped rather like a bird drifted into his vision, moving rapidly to the mountains. Harry blinked.
"But why not have the Eagles fly the Ring to Oro—oh."
Harry gave Glorfindel the flat look that comment deserved. "Arrows, wind, sorcery, or perhaps a combination of all the above. Fly into Mordor? Where would you land? What after?"
The elf had the grace to look sheepish. Gandalf was still frowning faintly.
The next hour was spent on the details and all the ways the plan could go wrong (which was to say, a lot). What if Dol Guldur spotted the Eagles? What if Sauron sent flying beasts to intercept them? What if the Nazgûl—? What if, what if? The window of opportunity was brief. The Fellowship would have to leave within the day the Eagles arrived, as any longer and there was no guarantee that they could leave unspotted. Harry thought back to the Eagles. It would be a tiring flight, but they could stop in Fangorn—the Ents wouldn't mind.
If that didn't go well, Plan B was to boat down the Anduin for as long as possible, preferably reaching a Gondorian outpost and set out from there. But this method would take two weeks more than flying, and there were many concerns about orcs, Nazgûl, Dol Guldur, and the capriciousness of people.
"I shall depart with the Fellowship on the twenty-fifth," Harry said, when the discussion finally ended in the evening. There was much to do.
Harry was besieged by hobbits, in the afternoon on the second day after the Fellowship was formed. It was rather a surprise—one moment he had been walking down a corridor, and then he was suddenly pulled (and pushed) into a room (Frodo's) and the hobbits unleashed the saddest kicked-puppy expression ever seen.
"Why aren't you coming with us?" Pippin asked, clinging onto his arm. "Don't you want to travel with us people of intelligence?"
There was a chorus of agreement from Frodo and Merry, neither of whom let-up on their doe-eyes.
Harry chuckled. Good attempt by the hobbits, but it failed to surpass the standards set by a toddling Lily. "Fret not, my hobbitish friends. I will be setting out with you in the evening, and only part ways on the twenty-seventh. We'll see each other again, I promise."
"What will you be doing?" Frodo asked, curiosity in his tone.
"I am going to be organising your transport."
Merry 'ooh'-ed. "So we're not going to walk all the way to Mordor?" he asked, looking rather relieved.
"I certainly hope not," Harry said, looking down at the hobbits' bare feet. Walking on rocky ground, barefooted—as was the way of the hobbits—sounded very uncomfortable. Sure, the hobbits had really tough feet, but still, they had to be feeling sore after long distances and uneven ground. "Though you do have to walk a fair distance."
Shrugs travelled around the group, in a what-can-you-do-about-that manner.
"Why did you not become part Fellowship?"
Harry mentally winced at the faint accusation in the tone, and looked at Frodo, bending down ever so slightly so he was less looming. "I believe the Fellowship is important, and your goal is pivotal in ensuring Sauron's fall," he began, "but he will not be idle in his tower as you travel to Mordor—already he is a plague upon Gondor and Rohan. If I join the Fellowship, it will restrain what I can do. There are many things at play here, and the Fellowship is but one of them." (And I fear that if I go with you, there will be a new Dark Lord in lieu of Sauron.)
Frodo nodded, a sad sort of understanding dawning in his eyes. "I see," he said softly.
Harry gave him a comforting smile and looked at the others. "Have you all thought about what you'll be bringing? It's an awfully long journey."
Apparently hobbits weren't the only one who thought he would have joined the Fellowship. Boromir sought him out almost instantly after he left the hobbits, and asked him the same question.
There was no accusation in his question, only an odd sort of disappointment. Harry wasn't entirely too sure why. "The Fellowship does not pass through many lands," he said, leaning back on the railing and looking at Boromir, "and I have many duties in many lands. I will not promise to journey with you because I may have to leave suddenly for a long time. As much as I seek to destroy Sauron, I cannot pledge myself to the Fellowship. We will meet, certainly, and I will travel short distances with the Fellowship, but for the most part, I will be aiding from a distance."
Boromir frowned, but nodded and left it at that. The conversation turned to the Gondor, and that awful portrait hanging in the eastern hall. Harry winced. It was the one depicting the Battle of Fornost. Quickly, he changed the subject and began lecturing to an intrigued Boromir on wards, particularly the wards of Minas Tirith.
A bell chimed thrice, which meant, as Glorfindel had once put it, "Reviauron-get-here-now", so Harry excused himself and left for the forge.
There, elven smiths presented their newest work, the Sword of Elendil reforged. Harry tested it out against his own blade, and the smiths were pleased to see that it managed to hold against Caladui. There were a few more tests, and then the smiths were finally satisfied. Aragorn was summoned via another set of bells, and Elrond presented to his foster-son the sword-that-was-no-longer-broken.
The light of the sun and the moon shone brightly and coldly within the blade, and the King-to-be beheld the sword with a look of reverence and wonder. Thus Narsil of Fire and Light became Andúril, Flame of the West.
Harry spent the next few days enchanting brooches. It sounded much more interesting than it actually was. The silver he bought from the smiths, after which he had to etch minute runic script into the slender twists. Then he borrowed the forge to soften the silver, liberally applying magic to shape it into the form he wanted. That done, he poured magic into the runes, activating each one of the nine. The end products were nine gleaming feather-shaped breastpins that could theoretically allow the owner to walk, unarmed, through a horde of orcs and come out alive. Theoretically. But he was confident that it would work, anyway. It was his gift to the Fellowship.
Elrond, on the other hand, was preparing something different.
"We may not be able to physically follow the Fellowship along their journey," he explained to a curious Bilbo, "but we can monitor their wellbeing with these. Reviauron, you have what we need?"
"Yes," Harry said, pointing at the strands of hair he had carefully wrapped in silk.
"What do they do?" Bilbo asked, looking at the strands. "This one is Frodo's, and Sam, Merry Pippin, Boromir?"
The last was said uncertainly, and Harry nodded in affirmation. Elrond tapped the glass phial resting on his desk. "When done rightly, this should be the result."
"Wait, is that mine?" Harry picked up the phial incredulously. There was a mass of wispy greyness in it, as if someone had bottled up a cloud of smoke within.
"Indeed, Reviauron. For my peace of mind, at least."
Harry shook the phial but the grey mist continued to swirl in the centre, unaffected by the movement. "When?"
"Before you left. I suspect that your magic plays a part in its longevity."
He was a little perturbed, Harry admitted, placing the phial back on Elrond's desk. He said as much aloud.
Elrond smiled, shifting the bottle into its original position. "You understand now, Bilbo?"
"Yes, yes I do," the hobbit said, looking from the phial and back at Harry. "What a strange magic it is. How can I help?"
"And," said Harry, moving towards the door so his 'deathness' won't interfere with the procedure, "this is where I take my leave. Good night."
Feeling peckish, he was on his way to the kitchens when he saw a dark figure slipping into the gallery connected to the courtyard. He recognised the man as Boromir, and Harry's curiosity was promptly piqued. Boromir was not prone to sneaking about in the shadows, much less acting so shadily. What was he doing?
He followed the man, staying a distance away so he could leave without disturbance if the man was seeking privacy. Aragorn was already in the courtyard, his face unreadable as he gazed upon the statue of Gilraen.
Boromir approached uncertainly, and the Ranger looked up with a guarded expression.
"Good evening," he said stiffly.
"Good evening, Aragorn," Boromir said, a little awkwardly. "As we are to journey together in the foreseeable future, I would like us to leave without grudges. I have said some ill words to you in the Council and I am sorry. I have overstepped my boundaries as a Steward."
There was silence. Harry shifted. This was a matter between the two men. He'd better leave them to it.
As he left, he heard Aragorn say "I will forgive your words," before he passed out of earshot.
The next morning, Harry saw Boromir and Aragorn walking together down a corridor as he headed to Elrond's study. There were nine new glass phials arranged neatly beside his own on the desk. Harry gave them a cursory glance before Glorfindel engaged him in a friendly discussion on the benefits of wearing some colour other than blue, grey or black, because Reviauron, that's the only colours I have ever seen you in. You need some reds in your life, friend.
In the morning of the Fellowship's last day in Rivendell, Harry went around the place interrupting packing and handing each of the Fellowship a brooch. It came with explanations and words of caution (such as, "Don't take it off," and "If you toss it and say 'ruinaur', it explodes, so make sure you throw it far enough.") Gandalf had raised an eyebrow when he was presented with one, but attached it to his shabby travelling cloak nonetheless.
He saved Frodo's pin for last, and found him in Bilbo's room exchanging soft words. Harry hovered at the door, unnoticed, and waited until they seemed to have finished before giving a gentle knock. Both hobbits startled, and spun around. Bilbo waved him in. "Come in, come in, Master Reviauron."
"Sorry to interrupt," Harry said, stepping into the room, "but I've got some things to give you, and I thought it best to do it while we're still in Rivendell."
Bilbo looked at him, turned to look back at Frodo, and excused himself from the room despite his evident curiosity. Harry would thank him later.
He took out the pin from his pockets. "This," he said to Frodo, "is something I have enchanted. As long as you wear it, no arrow will hit you and no sword will cut you. I have made it to last till the end, but if it ever feels cold and dull, then know that its protection is no more. Even so, save it until you're in a tricky situation."
Harry put it down on the bed. He hesitated for the briefest moment—should he really?—and took off his cloak, holding it out before him.
"This cloak… I've worn this cloak for more ages than you could think of. It has served me very well. Now I lend it to you such that you may be hidden from unfriendly eyes."
At Frodo's suddenly uncertain look, he added, "It does not take the wearer to the Unseen realm, Frodo. It doesn't work like the Ring. You'll be invisible to those who live in the Unseen as well. Nothing can detect you when you pull the hood up. Not even the Great Eye can see you even if you stand on Barad-dûr. However," Harry turned grave, "you still exist in the physical world. Orcs and wargs can both hear and smell you, and beware that the dust about your feet does not betray you."
So saying, Harry draped the cloak around Frodo's shoulders, and fastened it at his neck with the breastpin. Where the hobbit should have been swimming in cloth, the cloak shrank and fitted him properly. When Frodo reached out his hands, the sleeves ended at his wrists. He stared at it, mouth agape and amazement in his eyes.
"I—I cannot thank you as I should, Harald, for this and for saving me at Weathertop. Lord Elrond has told me the fate you have saved me from, had you not removed the shard. To become a wraith and serve the Enemy." Frodo shuddered. "I am ever in your debt, it seems."
Harry patted Frodo on the back. "Don't bother with debts. All I ask for is that you would accept the Gift of Men only when you should and not a moment sooner."
Frodo gave a humourless laugh. "I'll try," said he.
And that was all Harry asked for, really.
It was a bleak evening when they set out, dark and cold. The chilly east wind was streaming through bare branches and hurrying ragged clouds in the dusking sky. Harry cast a distasteful look at the weather and followed Gandalf to where the Fellowship was standing.
The Company took little gear of war, since the Fellowship's hope was in speed and secrecy, and Harry had no need for such items where he was headed. Boromir blew once on his war-horn to announce their impending departure, startling elves and wildlife alike. Harry was rather pleased to see that the runes he had placed on the horn was still functioning perfectly.
Elrond came with words of caution and advice, and a particular warning that Frodo was not to hand over the Ring to anyone else, even of the Fellowship, save in the direst of situations. Each was reminded of their task, and Aragorn looked particularly solemn when Elrond came to him.
"Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens," Gimli muttered, leaning upon his axe.
"Perhaps, Gimli, but to let he who has not seen the nightfall, vow to walk in the dark is foolish." Harry murmured, earning a surprised glance from the dwarf.
"Good luck!" cried Bilbo from where he was supported by Lindir, "I don't suppose you'll be able to keep a diary, Frodo my lad, but I shall expect a full account upon your return. Don't be too long! Farewell!"
The Company departed in silence, winding slowly up the long and steep paths that led out of Rivendell. At the cliff's edge, Harry took one last glance at the elven city twinkling below them and strode away into the night.
Gandalf took the lead with Aragorn, while Harry and Legolas became the rearguard. They passed the Ford of Bruinen before midnight, and then left the road and went on narrow paths that led southwards.
It was dreary work, and the east wind was cold and biting without the sun's warmth. Harry discretely placed warming charms on the cloaks of the heavily clad Fellowship. There was little talk amongst the group—everyone was preoccupied with their thoughts and the large task ahead, and a silence fell over them, broken only by soft pants.
When the first of the sun's rays emerged over the looming shapes of the Misty Mountains in the distance, they had made good progress and the valley was far behind them. Gandalf called the group to a halt when dawn came.
"This is as far as we will go for now," he said. There were relieved sounds from the hobbits, and Merry sat down on a rock, face flushed and panting.
"We can camp within the bushes there," Aragorn said, pointing at a tangled mess of vegetation a distance away. "It will be hard to spot anyone under those."
"Ah, my dear Ranger," Harry said, sliding down onto the ground. "You forget you have me in your midst. Tomorrow, you may sleep under plants, but today—today you can enjoy a good sleep on soft beds, secure in the knowledge that you will be safe."
It had been a long while since he had walked this far. With legs like these, Harry did not intend to spend the his night—day—cramped under leaves and greenery. He'll get used to these distances again in a few days, but today was not that day.
Spells and wards came up, hiding them from the senses. Legolas poked at the air above the line Harry had drawn but found nothing. With a dubious expression on his face, he stepped out of the boundary and turned around.
That was the best expression Harry had ever seen on an Elf. Pippin laughed, sticking an arm out experimentally. Aragorn raised an eyebrow, and took a step outside the line, so that he was a foot away from the boundaries. He turned around and just stared.
From outside, Legolas took two steps. Instead of coming into the camping area as most expected, it was as if he walked into a curved wall and was gently pushed to the side. The Elf traced his way around the line, until he ended up at the opposite side of where he began. A subtle misdirection in the spells prevented him from noticing that he was, essentially, walking in circles.
Gimli shouted, but Legolas failed to hear it. That was an accomplishment, as Gimli was less than a foot away, and was bellowing rather loudly. Legolas turned around and met Aragorn's eyes, bewilderment on his face.
Feeling that the two had enough fun, Harry lifted the wards on the eastern side and stuck his head out. "If the two of you are done admiring my work, I'd appreciate it if you could come in now."
Aragorn started. Harry supposed he looked rather odd as a disembodied head hanging in the air. Legolas walked another round, murmuring under his breath and ducked where Harry indicated. Aragorn took a little longer, waving a hand through where he perceived the ward to be (it wasn't), before he too was back within the boundaries.
"How did you do that?"
"Hmm?" Harry turned his attention to the hard ground beneath their feet. Rocks and fallen leaves became soft beds. "Magic, Legolas, is an amazing thing."
He paused, surveying his handiwork. It was a little too bright to sleep in… Harry cast another spell, and the sunlight became filtered, as if they were in a shade of a large tree.
Good enough. Task done, he collapsed face-down onto a bed with a sigh. "Wake me when it's time to move again."
Eh. Abrupt ending, because I wasn't too sure where exactly to stop, and it seemed alright over there. Thanks for reading :]
Celegor: Swift-swift XD From lagor (S. swift) and celeg (S. agile/swift). Ruinaur: Fire-fire ...Well, it's one word no one would say normally, so there's no risk of exploding yourself. Ruin, which is fire and blazing/fiery red, and naur, fire/flame.
... /does not think Sindarin is done like that, but oh well/
[7/1/16: Scene additions everywhere because why not, apparently.]