As it was, Harry awoke in the late afternoon to the sound of Aragorn pacing around the perimeter of their camp. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, sending spells down his person to clean up.
"Good evening," he said.
Aragorn whirled around. "Good evening, Reviauron."
Harry tilted his head. "Had a good sleep?"
The Ranger laughed. "Very," he said, striding over. "I have not known you can do this. There are no tales that tell of you providing such comfort in the wild."
"I suppose that has to do with the fact that no one likes to appear as if they cannot handle a few nights of rocky ground," Harry grinned. " I doubt Amandil would like it be known that he sulked for a day when he had to camp alone in the wilderness."
"You knew Tar-Amandil?" Incredulous disbelief coloured Aragorn's tone.
Harry waved a hand around. "I've been around for quite some time. Númenor was but one of the places I visited."
Aragorn gaped at him.
Harry shot him an odd look. "You know that I am as old—older than, in fact—Galadriel of the Woods. Why should this be suddenly so astonishing?"
"It is one thing to somewhat know and hear of," the Ranger said slowly, "but another thing entirely note for myself."
Ah. Fair enough. That he was talking about Aragorn's (very distant) ancestors probably didn't help either. Oh well, the man would get used to that. Harry gave a half-shrug and stood up, stretching. The bed he reverted back to leaves with a negligent flick of his hand. A pause, and then he returned Aragorn's empty bed to its original form. Four stones clacked onto the floor. A movement in his peripheral drew his attention.
"Good evening Gandalf," Harry called over his shoulder.
The Istar blinked at him. "Do you wish me a good eve—"
Harry sent him an extremely unimpressed look. Gandalf paused, eyes twinkling. Aragorn tried and failed to hide his vastly amused smile.
Continuing to look very hard at Gandalf, Harry picked up his sword and conjured a simple wooden bow. "Alright, I am going to hunt," he declared, once he was sure that Gandalf would stop his various interpretations of 'good evening'.
"I shall go with you." Aragorn strapped
Harry made an 'as you wish' gesture with his hand and stepped out.
When the sun was halfway below the horizon, the mouth-watering smell of roasted fowl and rabbits permeated their camp. Sam had done most of the work, quickly skinning and spicing up the game that Harry and Aragorn brought back. It was testimony to the two hunters' skills that there was enough meat to go around and feed nine people, and the food brought with them from Rivendell was stowed away to be eaten another day.
The Company set off as soon as they were finished with the meal. Harry vanished all evidence of a fire, and reverted all beds to the stones and leaves they came from. Aragorn 'cleaned-up' the area, erasing any telling marks in the soil. The hobbits packed up, and then everyone started the long trudge.
It went much like the long hike of the previous day, the only exception being that Harry was quickly very sick of walking and flew overhead instead, sticking close to the Fellowship. He was rather hindered by the fact that golden eagles did not have excellent night vision, but the Fellowship was still warned beforehand if he managed to spot any dangers. Progress was disappointingly slow.
Normally, he would have taken some relief in the scenery, but his terrible vision, combined with the fact that there really was not much scenery, made it pointless.
At last, the sun rose, signalling that Harry's time to leave the Company had come.
"This is where I have to leave you," he said to the Fellowship as they stopped.
Pippin groaned dramatically. "Does that mean we don't get beds today?"
Harry stifled a grin. "Good to see I will be missed, if only as a bed provider."
Merry gave Pippin a not-very-subtle step on the foot.
"Anyway, I'll see all of you soon, so stay out of trouble."
Gandalf gave him a meaningful look as he stepped back. Harry gave him a meaningful look in return. Boromir approached him and gave him the warrior's equivalent of a secret handshake, Minas Tirith edition.
"Farewell, Harald," the Gondorian muttered, as he stepped back.
"Goodbye," Harry said, a little amused, looking at each member of the Fellowship. "I'll send word if I see orc packs nearby."
He shifted form and spread his wings, easily catching the wind beneath his wings and rose into the air with little more than a few flaps. Once he was above their heads, he twisted around with a piercing eagle cry (Gimli gave a start at the sudden sound) and sped north.
When the sun was high in the sky, Harry found a rather cosy crevice on a cliff some distance in the mountain range and settled down for a break, all the while regretting the wards he had created for the protection of the Eyrie.
It was one of the most secure places of Middle-earth, unplottable and protected by more than thick clouds and flashing lightning—there were very little that could approach the Eyrie unhindered and untouched. The height and the cold would be the least of worries for anyone foolish enough to attack.
Unfortunately, an amazing lack of foresight caused the place to be only accessible by wings. Only by flight. To be fair, Harry hadn't thought he would regain his apparition skills—the magic in the air when he first started warding the place was so uncontrolled, so chaotic and unwilling to submit to a wizard that only the Elder Wand had any sort of effect at all. It was only after Númenor sank that everything gradually quietened down and his use of magic was no longer restricted to just his own reserves. By then the wards had settled into a more or less permanent state, and changing it was just too much effort.
This was not the first time he regretted not expending the effort, but it still meant that he had to fly. In the midst of winter. Over a goblin settlement, with buffeting winter winds and grey clouds filled with ice. Brilliant.
Harry pulled a face—as much as his current anatomy could allow—and pulled himself in from the blizzard outside. A long journey begins with small steps, as they said. He'll get to those small steps… after the nap.
As it happened, Harry only resumed his journey the morning after, well-rested and filled with deer. He arrived at the Eyrie sometime past nightfall with ice on his feathers and half-frozen by the weather.
The Eagle standing at the ledge clicked his beak and gave a greeting whistle.
"You look terrible," Landroval commented.
Harry shook himself, flinging flakes of ice and water around. "Thank you Landroval," he said dryly, twisting around to preen some ruffled feathers.
"Meneldor has returned from a good hunt. If you are hungry, he can share."
Harry tossed his head back in decline. "It's alright, I had a deer a while ago. Anything new?"
Landroval shook his head, one of the few human gestures he picked up from Harry. "Some orcs attempted to scale the mountain. They failed."
"Good. There's something I need to ask of you and Meneldor. It's rather important."
Something about the nature of the request must have showed, because Landroval twisted his head around to fix him with a sharp look. "You?"
"With permit," Harry answered simply.
Landroval straightened and cocked his head to a side.
"You know how we scouted the south last month? It's relevant to this."
"I see." Landroval shook his wings and opened them. "I'll take you to Meneldor."
Harry followed him, rising up into the clear sky with no more than a few strokes. Within the wards, the sun was bright and the air was crisp, a great contrast to the on-going blizzard just outside. It was fantastic. He spotted Meneldor on the ledge on the other side of the mountain, stripping the flesh from a sheep (somewhere out there, there must have been a furious farmer. He should probably drop a gold coin or two to cover for eagle-damages).
Meneldor looked up as they landed, calling out a greeting with blood-stained beak.
Harry gave a whistle in response, and landed lightly on the rough surface beside Landroval. "Good hunting," he said in greeting, "There is a task in which I require your assistance and utmost security."
To avoid raising suspicion from the eyes Harry knew was watching the eyrie, Meneldor would leave first and stay around Eregion. Landroval would reach the Dimrill Dale on the tenth, and both would await his call when the Fellowship was ready. Feeling vaguely guilty, Harry resolved to do something nice for the two of them when everything was over.
With one step of the plan completed, he now had to head for Lórien and commence with the rest of the preparation. While avoiding Haldir, of course. (There was some slim hope that the elf had perhaps laid down his grudge, but Harry knew his father had a tendency to nurse grudges until they died of old age, and then mount them as trophies on a wall. Haldir wasn't an apple that somehow fell far away from the tree.)
The leagues to Lórien was easily eaten up with every downward stroke of his wings, and Harry kept a careful eye out for orc packs. He had already spotted one by the Celebrant—their bodies he disposed of in a smokeless fire and the ashes were scattered around the woods.
The orcs were getting bolder, if they dared to cross the Anduin now. He would have to do something about that. It would be utterly useless if Dol Guldur could see the arrival of the Eagles—it wasn't too far a stretch of imagination to predict the Fellowship's next move from there.
The mellryn that gave the Golden Wood its name could be easily seen from afar as a patch of bright gold and red amid green pines and bare branches. Its ethereal beauty couldn't be fully appreciated from the air, but there was a definite change in atmosphere when he entered the borders of Lórien.
Galadriel perceived him instantly and sent a little quizzical mental nudge in his direction. It was, after all, a few months yet to their next Day of Commiserating-and-Remembering-the-Good (highly subjective)-Ole-Times.
Harry conveyed back a sense of help required–urgent task–neutral news, and dropped his altitude to skim just above the trees. He scanned the telain below, giving Caras Galadhon a quick circle before he spotted Galadriel. She stood at the edge of a talan, holding an arm out in invitation when she saw him. Harry angled down and landed lightly on her forearm, shielding his talons with magic to avoid slicing through cloth and skin.
"Gi suilon Reviauron," she said with a smile, taking a step away from the edge. "What brings the wanderer here to these humble woods?"
"The same thing that has Elrond going sleepless for," Harry said, straight to the point. He watched the other carefully. "A small ring."
Galadriel stilled and her eyes darkened. A heavy silence fell upon them.
"The One," she said at last. "The Fellowship will come to Lórien."
It was not quite a statement, so Harry dipped his head in confirmation. "They will come to Lórien. Can you do it?"
He did not wish to ask the question. To do so would raise doubts, create suspicions, but he knew her and he wondered. The One called more strongly to those who bear the others, after all. Galadriel took a step back, and Harry raised his mental walls against the rising storm of emotions. If Galadriel fell to the temptation of the Ring… He shuffled his wings, waiting for her answer.
It took some time in coming, but…
"Yes." She looked at him, and all was calm. "I can."
Nenya sparkled on her finger.
They would have to talk about this later. For now, the Fellowship takes priority.
"I plan to fly them to Rohan."
The statement was followed with a rush of memories. Galadriel nodded, her eyes gaining a far-away look as she accepted the flood of information Harry sent her way.
"Three Eagles will bear them to Eastfold from your realm, so I ask you to allow them through the wards."
There was a pause, and then Galadriel refocused her gaze on him. The distant look in her eyes disappeared, and Harry felt the slight change in the air as the wards shifted to allow the entry of Great Eagles.
"How do you intend to avoid the eyes within Dol Guldur? More orcs gather in that stronghold every passing day."
Harry tried and failed to grin. Beaks were rigid like that. "You forget that I have means."
Means which involved a lot of disillusioning charms, and a reduced spy population.
"Behind!"
Calandil ducked, and the orc behind him staggered back, blood spurting from its neck. Harry paused to check that the elf was uninjured, and then whirled around to block an axe-swing. An incoming arrow lodged itself firmly into the back of the orc's neck, and Harry stepped aside to let the body fall.
"Is that the last of them?" Gelion asked.
"For now," Calandil said, and swiftly put another arrow into a still twitching orc.
Harry surveyed the battlefield. Twenty orcs had died in the encounter. No elf was injured. Fantastic statistics. He looked eastwards, where the fortress of Dol Guldur loomed over the forest, and grimaced. It was fortunate that Dol Guldur yet remained largely unused and the gathering orcs were too preoccupied with each other to organise themselves, or it would be a lot harder. Harry didn't expect the current situation to last long.
He flicked his wand at the bodies on the floor and watched them turn black and break into fine powder.
"We are done here," Harry said. "Go back and rest, Gelion. We won't be doing this again tomorrow."
Gelion nodded, and the Portkey around his wrist activated, sending the elf back to Caras Galadhon. Calandil gave Harry an expectant look.
"Well?" he drawled, adjusting his quiver. "Where do we go next?"
"Feel up to provoking the hornet's nest, mellon nín?"
"Ever do I miss your mad schemes, Reviauron."
Harry grasped his arm and they disappeared with twin pops.
The orcs reacted swiftly and in force, but both intruders had long ages of experience behind them. They seemed to have arrived in the middle of a spat between three orc groups, judging from the bodies already present on the ground. Yellow flashed in time with silver, and the orcs learnt why they should fear the axe-wielding elf with gold-spun hair and the wizardly creature that killed with lights.
When the orcs recovered from their surprise and started countering in earnest, falling upon them in droves, Harry brushed against Calandil and activated both their Portkeys, purpose accomplished. They returned to Lórien in a spray of blood.
Celeborn was not amused. It might have something to do with the orc Calandil decapitated mid-teleportation and the spray of dark orc blood that brought.
Calandil took one look at the Elf-lord's face and started cackling.
Sometimes Harry wondered about him, really. Then he would look at himself and shrug. Birds of a feather and all that.
Meneldor chose to settle close to the Glanduin, and Landroval had arrived exactly when he ought to. Harry had already checked on both of them, and was rather pleased. As a result of Harry's systematic attacks, Dol Guldur, still without an appointed leader, dissolved into chaos. It would take a few days till someone regained control and that was a large enough window for the Fellowship to arrive and depart upon feathered backs.
With the plan coming together nicely, it was only to be expected that the most crucial part would go wrong.
The eleventh of January came and went without sign nor sight of Gandalf or the Fellowship. So did the twelfth. A feeling of growing unease settled down in Harry. It was not the first time Gandalf was later than he said he would be, but there was always a good reason why. The Istar was never late on a whim—something must have delayed the Fellowship's journey. Given the item they protect, it was certainly not a surprise tea-party.
When noon came on the thirteenth, Harry thought he ought to go investigate. He bade Celeborn and Galadriel a quick goodbye, and left immediately after lunch, heading northwest from Caras Galadhon. The Fellowship had not crossed the mountains from the High Pass—the flocks of crebain hiding on either side of the path gave a clue for the reason.
Neither did they manage to pass Caradhras. Harry drifted lower, scanning the snowy ground for signs. The weather was mild and the sun was out—why did the Fellowship not manage to pass the Redhorn Gate?
Light snow drifted down, dazzling under the sunlight. Harry squinted, trying to make out details in the overwhelming brightness. There was a furrow in the ground, about a person's width, that stopped abruptly. Harry flew even lower, suddenly realising that the snow was far deeper than he had thought—the height of the snow on either side of the trail was as tall as a man. Caradhras had not been kind to the travellers, it seemed. He glanced darkly at the forbidding peak, and followed the trail west.
So the Fellowship saw that the High Pass was unsafe and went for the Pass of Caradhras. Caradhras tried to bury them in snow, so they went back. Where now could they be? There were far less ways to cross the Misty Mountains by foot now than there used to be… Four, to be precise.
Oh dear. Harry ignored his disquiet and hurried south.
They're going to Moria.
Damn Caradhras. Damn Saruman. Damn the weather.
There were wolves nearby. Their howls carried in the wind and echoed around the cliffs like an eerie, mournful song. The lake below was darker than the night that had fallen, reflecting nothing of the moon or stars above. Something pale and skeletal skulked on the mountain side, little flashes of white beneath dark shrubbery that vanished when he flew overhead. On the other side of the slope was a large precipice, and at the base of it was the Fellowship.
"Finally!" Harry said in exasperation, avoiding holly branches to drop down lightly beside Legolas.
There was a curse, many startled jumps and multiple splashes.
"Harald!"
Multiple cries merged together to form the one word of exclamation.
Gimli gave him a dirty look and lowered his axe. Legolas tilted his head to look at him, laughter dancing in his bright eyes before he went back to conversing serenely with the holly tree. Elves. There was the soft ringing of metal sliding on metal as Aragorn sheathed Andúril and sat back down on his rock.
"Hello," Harry said belatedly, amusement in his tone as he watched Pippin hurriedly apologising to Boromir, both of them almost knee deep in the dark lake. A noisome odour arose from the disturbed waters, causing many noses to wrinkle in distaste. His amusement quickly dissipated, and he vanished the stench with a grimace.
"Where have you been?" Merry asked, once he had helped pulled Pippin back on land.
Harry made a circular gesture. "Up north in the Misty Mountains, eastwards, around. Tell you more later."
Merry pulled a face at his sketchy description, and gave a reluctant nod. Harry was disinclined to say more, not while they're so exposed.
"Reviauron, do you recall what is the password of this gate?" Gandalf asked without turning his head. He appeared as if he was attempting to reduce the Doors of Durin into pebbles, what with the way he was glaring at them. The ithildin embedded in the stone glimmered merrily back at him.
Harry looked up at the words on the door. "Ennyn Durin aran Moria, pedo mellon a minno," he read, raising an eyebrow at Gandalf. "Is not the password 'mellon'?"
At the word, the star of Fëanor flashed with an inner light, then lines appeared silently down the sides, outlining a doorway that split down in the middle. With the barest whisper of air, the doors swung open until both lay back against the wall. A shadowy stair could be seen climbing steeply up into gloomy darkness.
"Speak 'friend' and enter," Frodo said, sudden realisation on his face. "It was a riddle."
Gandalf looked as if he would like to smash his head into the door, if such an act wasn't so completely beneath him. A snicker came from Pippin. Harry turned around, suddenly reminded. He dried the hobbit of the filthy lake water with a poke of the Elder Wand, prompting a grateful "thanks!", and did the same for Boromir, who was wringing out his cloak by a rock.
"The answer has been staring us in the face all along," Gandalf said with a grumble, standing up. "It is too simple for a learned lore-master in these suspicious days."
Harry coughed. "Senile."
This was rewarded with a knock by Gandalf's very-much-in-reach staff. "Go forth and pardon yourself, Reviauron. If I am going senile, then you must be very much soft in the head."
Laughing, Harry batted away the staff, and lit up his wand with a silent lumos. "Perhaps," he called over his shoulder, stepping into the shadows of Moria. "Let us head in. I do not like the feel of that lake."
No sooner had he stepped onto the dusty steps of Moria than when Frodo gave a cry. Harry swung around, a hand at his sword, and saw Frodo sprawled on the ground. The waters of the lake seethed and tentacles erupted from within, pale-green and slick.
"Help!"
One had twisted itself around Frodo's ankles, and he looked up at them in a single, split-second moment of complete horror before he was completely pulled into the lake. Sam gave a furious, horrified yell and lunged forward.
"ACCIO FRODO!" Harry roared, raising Caladui and slicing through the waving tentacle beside his head.
It fell to the ground with a disgusting plop. Harry stepped over it, another curse leaving his lips even as he swung his sword over his head to sever another.
Frodo's head resurfaced, but more sinuous tentacles had wrapped themselves around his body, coiling around his arms and torso. Gandalf gave an unintelligible shout, cutting down anything that came to close to him as he advanced towards the hobbit. Gimli approached the mess of writhing tentacles from another direction, diverting the creature's attention from the furious Istar. Harry send a cutting curse into the water at the base of the tentacles and foul, inky liquid erupted like a grotesque fountain. There was a shrill sort of bubbling noise and then the mass of tentacles shrank back. Andúril flashed of a cold white light in the distance, and then Frodo was free, stumbling from the chaotic fray as Boromir quickly pulled him from the lake and ushered him into the mine.
There was a shudder, and then more tentacles rose from the depths—far more than they could handle. Harry managed to catch a glimpse of Aragorn from between flailing appendages and they shared a look—better quit while they're still ahead.
"To the mines!"
Legolas shot one last arrow at an approaching tentacle and turned, following closely behind Boromir as the company ran into the shadowy darkness of Moria, pursued by luminous green. A loud creaking noise came from behind them and Harry chanced a look behind, halting at the doors. The holly tree outside the West-gate, planted when the Rings of Power were little more than ores in the ground, was bending, the wood groaning and protesting as the entire tree was slowly uprooted by the great mass of tentacles coiled around it.
There were multiple cracks, and then the tree became horizontal, held in the air by the tentacles. It tilted.
And then holly flew.
Harry raised his wand. "Protego."
The tree slammed into the shield, causing pale blue ripples to spread across the surface. Harry slid backwards on the stone steps at the force, but the protego held and the tree dropped with a ground-shaking thud, forming a formidable wood wall less than an arm's length from the Doors of Durin.
Harry grimaced at it and turned to Gimli, who stood just behind him. "Do you want to clear it now, or do you want to wait until someone else comes along?"
This chapter. At last. Finished. I had the ending completed for weeks, but everything above that refused to be written :/ If you looked closely, you may see the exact point in time when I went 'screw this' and just typed out whatever came to mind. Apologies for inconsistencies, weirdness, substandardness and other whatnots. Really don't want to see this chapter anymore until I go over it during rewriting sometime in the distant future.
Really sorry for the lateness, but I was overseas for the entire month and there wasn't much time to write. Completed this on the plane flying back. Expect the next chapter tomorrow or the day after, because doc manager hates me.
Telain: the plural of talan, which are the wooden platforms (flets in Westron) used a lot in Lórien. Tar-Amandil: technically Númenor's third king, but actually the second. Calandil: Cala, S. light, and -ndil, friend (of).