Chapter Twelve

….

On that dreary mountain hill-top a lone flower stands

Her soul dry and empty as the desert sands.

From the heavens he came, the king loved above,

On the earth he fell, pure and harmless as a dove.

Their eyes meet, their hands touch, a spell of doom awake,

A new fate, a new tomorrow, for love and Firstborn's sake.

For there they'll stand a decade last or more

And upon their return, the fate of Elves will change forever more.s

Grey Havens

An aged looking elf reclines comfortably on his armchair. He is quite odd to say for an elf. Compared to the rest of his fair kindred, his face is middle-aged, having deep lines of weariness on it. He also supports a very long white beard that falls to his knees and groomed meticulously. He is the Lord of the Grey Havens and one of Cirdan's lieutenants during the Golden Age of his rule.

His name is Cirdan the Shiprwright, and it is his self-deemed responsibility to make sure that sailing Elves would have ships to board on for their last journey westward.

During the Golden Days of Gil-Galad's reign,Cirdan has seen the Grey Havens prosper like never before with hundreds of Elves filling its wide streets and leaf-covered dirt roads. Noldorin Elves from Aman built stone houses and towers to satisfy their arts and places of workmanship along with many crafts of wonder. Armories and wide training fields are filled with warriors honing their craft with artisans and servants running along to keep the kingdom running.

It is a far cry to the Grey Havens right now.

Sure the walls of the once capital of Gil-Galad's kingdom is still as impressive as ever, the craft of the Eldar enduring the visages of time. Now instead of being pristine white and maintained however, large roots and vines crawl on them now. The once full roads are empty and no more merchants or traders can be heard shouting their wares for all to hear. Only one in every ten houses still has an inhabitant and the sounds of singing or residence that can still be heard are only in the main hall or at the still large Houses that has kindreds on them. All in all, the Grey Havens lives up to the color in its name, Grey, bleak and fading.

Still despite its long lost glory, the Elves that still call it home still holds a strength. The light of the Firstborn still holds true and they can be deadly when roused or offended. Put the numbers of their warriors together and they can still field an army that could best the best of Mankind at any given day despite their few numbers. The mariners and swan ships of the Grey Havens are the best at Middle-Earth and not even the famed Corsairs of Umbar can go toe to toe against them.

Add the fact also that Cirdan has on him the Ring of Fire, one of the Three Elven Rings which gives him the necessary willpower to strive on, to lead and fulfill his duty as one of the last of the Eldar in Middle-Earth. There are so few of his kin left in Middle-Earth and fewer is there to still remember the Elder Days that they cannot afford to be strangers to one another.

The sad truth still remains however that other than the Grey Havens itself and the surrounding lands of Mithlond, the authority and the control of Cirdan is very limited.

That is why Cirdan is here right now rubbing his beard worriedly at the reports currently stacked on his desk.

Ever since the Fall of Sauron and the last of Gil-Galad's people retreating to the safety of its capital here at the Grey Havens, Cirdan has known that it would be impossible for him to monitor the lands of his former liege. He has simply too little of manpower to cover the entirety of Forlindon and Harlindon. It doesn't mean however that he totally forgets about them. Only a stupid leader would casually not keep an eye on the lands bordering his no matter how safe and peaceful they might be.

This past fifty years suffice it to say has Cirdan been getting reports of large activity from Forlindon especially. He knows of course that dark beasts and massive predators have called the rich lands of Forlindon home ever since the departure of the Elves. It is simply expected due to the availability of food there.

The watch on Forlindon however reports that ever since the past years, massive activity has been seen heading South-East away from the lands. Warg packs, wolves, trolls and even a couple of Orc packs are seen vacating the border of Forlindon, passing by Mithlond. In fact it becomes so casual to see such running away groups that Cirdan has set a permanent guard to patrol the lands of Mithlond in case one of these retreating marauders that are trying to pass would decide to settle on the lands of Mithlond.

Cirdan of course has been concerned at first and for good reason. Either something extremely dark or something terrifying settled somewhere at Forlindon (he guesses, dragons at first due to the so near propensity up North). The Ring of Fire however gives no such indication that it senses Evil up north. He also knows based on experience that such evil cannot contain itself in the shadows for so long. Thus he simply fortifies the borders of Mithlond and alerts the border guards to be more aware.

Fifty years and nothing happened giving Cirdan a brief sigh of respite. The unwanted migrations from the North are slowly lessening in number and he can't be more thankful. He has in this past year alone have eighteen incidents where Orc bands attempt to attack homesteads of Mithlond. A mountain troll even tried to settle at a nearby hill where he himself is forced to go and kill before it squashes someone else.

Thus color Cirdan surprised when a messenger out of nowhere bursts through his doors panting and huffing. One look at him makes Cirdan know immediately that he is one of the border guards at Forlindon's area. He mentally groans already. The last thing he wants to hear today is another Orc pack attempting to fight off whatever that is left of his people.

He never expects the words coming out from the Messenger's mouth though.

"A message from the Kingdom of Gondolin my lord,"

Is it really a surprise that Cirdan chokes on his own spit the moment he sees the seal on the letter? Suffice it to say that it causes almost an international incident since the Elves of Mithlond has to revive their fallen Lord when he collapses at the choking accident of his own making.

…..

Outside the Gates of the Grey Haven

"…..and I tell you that when the stones are down and at the end of the day. It all comes down to strength. You have to grapple their fur with your own bare hands and beat them with everything that you are….," Maedhros promptly tunes out the rest of the conversation of his guards with the rest of the Elven Escort of Mithlond Elves.

He has expected this of course for his people. The moment he divides them into their different cities and homes, it is simply impossible not for them to develop traits and attributes that would make them differentiate themselves with one another. A friendly rivalry that would be a challenge for them to make themselves better.

The Elves of Minas Tirith for example are master brawlers and hand to hand fighting. Their bitter experience with the werewolf packs simply jumpstarts this culture of theirs. The need to be able to fight even without weapons becomes an integral part especially on the younger generation.

The Elves of Doriath are the Masters of Horses. It is not surprising seeing the simple fact that Doriath commandeers the largest region out of all the cities and that includes the Gap South. They are the friendliest of all cities however, having great friendship with the House of Beor.

Vinyamarin Elves are the Masters of the Sea. Of the fifty years of starting everything from scratch, they have now finished the havens completely able to host large number of ships. At his desk is still pending their request to finally send their ships up North where they plan to establish presence on the islands there either for trade or colonization.

The Elves of Himring are the hardiest of all city Elves. Seeing that it is a fortress city and where the hammer stroke might fall hardest, it is only to be expected that Beleg, the overparanoid Royal Bodyguard place every measure of defense he can throw at it.

The Elves of Nargothrond on the other hand are the most skillful when it comes to the crafts and skills of everyone in Gondolin. With most of them coming from the Noldorin kindred, their close friendships with the Dwarves up North gives them rare skills that put them head and a half taller compared to their other kin. It is their skill actually that forged Maedhros' crown during the coronation and the entirety of his armor apparel in the next few years.

The new cities of Falas and Eglarest down South is still ongoing their settlement efforts and have not made their mark yet.

It has been fifty years since the coronation. Fifty years of consolidating the lands of Forlindon to belong once and for all to the Kingdom of Gondolin. Due to the great pacification efforts especially those upon Doriath, nearly the majority of the wild beasts and roving bands of orcs, bandits and goblin marauders are now fully driven off the land. Of course it's not fully safe, nowhere really is. The Wild after all is still the wild. Still it is lessened by a great degree that one walking from Vinyamar to Gondolin is at least eighty percent sure that they won't be waylaid by a Warg pack along the way.

Of course on the course of those fifty years, Maedhros consolidated his power. He still keeps the Council around since only a fool would leave himself with no advice but his own self. He also installs his father as Steward of Gondolin in the event that he would be incapacitated or unavailable. That is what it officially says in paper at least. In truth Maedhros just does it since he doesn't want to deal with the paperwork all by his own. The death glare his father sends him every now and then at the sight of the mountain of logistical paperworks still makes him completely amused until now.

As for why he is here right now inside the territory of the Grey Havens, Maedhros has finally deemed it right the time to introduce his kingdom to the outside world. Its cities great and massive, its territory safe (for the most part), and its population booming, Gondolin is more than ready to take on the rest of Middle-Earth.

He personally chooses Mithlond however since it would be a trial run before he takes on the rest of the known world. If this is a game, making formal friendship overtures with the Elves of Mithlond would be the Easy level. He knows through the original Maedhros' experience that the people of Middle-Earth are more inclined and friendly to those belonging to their own race, Elves in particular. They even labeled kinslaying as one of the worst atrocities in their entire history, making it a black mark for everyone to remember. Compared that to humanity however who can't give an ass' fart ever since one ape slapped another, the Harry Potter in him is…impressed.

Both Maedhros and Harry inside unfortunately does not have the best of diplomatic skills. The former tends to be war-like preferring to raise his sword and clubbing whatever or whoever it is along the way; while the latter would happily erode a mountain to whoever his opponent is, consequences be damned as long as the end result in his purview is positive. That is why Harry Potter in his mature years is labeled as one of the most Maverick Aurors of his time before he steps up as Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Fortunately it seems that the first overture on making friends with the Elves of Mithlond is off to a success in Maedhros' eyes. His retinue has been allowed to pass through without much question by the border guards of Mithlond. In fact if Maedhros is going to be more honest, they let them pass way too easily, something which no kingdom should not have done for strangers, at least without proper interviews, checking and a hundred other things for verification.

It seems that he has underestimated the value of kinship for the Elves. All that his herald needs to do is shout out that A.) He's the king of Gondolin, B.) He's here to establish alliances with Cirdan C.) They come in peace. Next thing he knows, Maedhros finds himself riding openly with a few other guards assigned to his fifty Elf retinue to the Grey Havens.

"They are way too lax with their security," comments Beleg Strongbow riding at his side.

Maedhros just wordlessly nods as he sees Elves for the first time that either has seen the Blessed Realm itself or descendants of such Elves. In eyes Elves only can see, Maedhros can see it, an inner light that intertwines with their fea that connects them to the Blessed Realm. A strength and purpose greatly diminished as it is though that is still present. Before his coming, the three kindreds of Gondolin might have been deemed lesser than them in all ways. Now however they are not. They've been exposed to a lot of his magic after all and Gondolin is not only built by stones and mortar but also runes of power carved by Maedhros himself for the city to be strong and able to sustain itself. If any dumb Orc goes against the walls or main houses of Gondolin, they'll be hammering at it with catapults for a century and they'll be happy if they can even get a dent on it.

"They are tired," the comment again from Beleg makes Maedhros wordlessly nods in agreement to the Captain of the Royal Guards.

While he can clearly see the brightness of their Fea, that brightness is dimmed and flickering, like a candle with too little wax and too much the fire. No wonder the Eldar is sailing West little by little. They are barely hanging on as it is already. What is needed would be one more major push and Maedhros would bet his kingdom that they would sail away from this land en masse.

Despite the flickering of their fea however, he can feel another presence, one that makes him almost hiss in anger. It is of magic most foul and one that Maedhros only felt once before in his previous life as Harry Potter. Whoever is here, has an access to a Soul Anchor, a horucrux, or at least a fragment of it. Ironically the Horucrux he feels is emanating confidence, strength and fortitude of all things. Long studies of the dark arts to understand what he is facing, makes Maedhros aware that Horuxcruxes naturally affect the world around them. He just doesn't expect such positive aura and essence coming from the blasted thing. Idiots who mess around with Soul Anchors are usually unnaturally evil which makes positive auras from their soul anchors null and void. To see such an aftereffect on a Horucrux presence is…..surprising.

He can see it affecting the rest of the Elves here, strengthening their weary souls like fires in the darkness. In a way it is affecting everyone positively and while Maedhros would not say anything to anyone, he would keep an eye on things. Horcruxes are nasty things to deal with at the best of times and despite its good intentions, he knows that at the end of the day, what is birthed by evil would always be dark inside.

"My lord, we are here," the voice of Beleg brings Maedhros out of his musings as he turns to finally see that they have arrived at the main house of business for the Grey Havens, which is surprise, surprise , a shiphouse modified by a hall glued beside it. It seems Cirdan the Shipwright really lives on to his name.

"My lord," an old looking elf with the most spectacular long beard that Maedhros has seen approached his retinue. Dressed in Dark Greens, he looks like a kindly old grandfather figure.

"I'm sorry for not receiving you at the gates befitting your station. I have been recovering from an untimely illness. I am Cirdan, Lord of Mithlond. On behalf of everyone here. Must I say how glad and surprised I am of your presence my kin. A kingdom that I do not know of, it is of most joyous news, declaims Cirdan.

"You will address him as your majesty!" the sudden answer from Auriel nearly makes Maedhros groan. The she-elf has literally bullied her way to be part of the entourage right now.

Don't get him wrong, Maedhros likes Auriel. Beautiful, strong-willed, confident and taking no shit from anyone, who can't like someone like that? Unfortunately the elleth tends to have a very big stick on her ass when it comes about rules, respect and propriety.

"That is enough Auriel!" Maedhros snaps making her immediately bow in silence at the rebuke.

Now confidently sure that his subordinate won't cause a diplomatic mishap, Maedhros turns at a smiling Cirdan who is giving him a knowing look.

"My apologies for that Lord Cirdan. My guards can be quite protective of me and tend to speak without knowing," apologizes Maedhros shooting Auriel one more glare making her flinch.

"No apologies needed young one. I understand your friend's passion and reaction. You are a king after all and needs to be addressed at your full title. I apologize for my impolite reaction though. It's just seeing the two of yours' interactions remind me of a time when we are new to Middle-Earth and seeking new realms. We are so full of passion and dreams then believing we can take over the world with just a wave of our hands,"

"Thank you…..I guess," replies Maedhros unsure of how exactly to reply to that. He is saved on that problem however by the old elf gesturing at him.

"Come, get down from your horses and my servants will see to them. Today you are my guests and I believe that we would have a lot to talk about,"

Suffering himself to be led, Maedhros nods for the rest of his retinue to stand down. Immediately Mithlond Elves swoop in to relieve them of the reins of their horses, muttering words of wonder at the finely bred stallions of Doriath. He can't help but roll his eyes at the puffed out chests and smug looks of his retinue from the Fenced City at the appreciation of their estuarine companions.

The hall of Cirdan is as expected of Elven architecture, lithe, graceful and full of arches and light. A great long table of oblong design sits at the middle with beautifully crafted chairs made of white and brown are at the sides. It is big enough to accommodate at least a hundred guests.

So far the Elves of the Havens show no signs of hostility at them, not even an ounce though many it seems to be eyeing him specifically. Normally he would have chosen to start diving into minds but Maedhros holds himself back. Elves it seems have a natural built immunity when it comes to magic affecting, especially those that are foreign. He has tried that once or twice in a random citizen of his kingdom. While he can still successfully peer into their minds like anyone else, they can notice his presence however.

Thus the last thing that Maedhros wants is to be poking into someone else's brain here and causing an international incident. As his father loves to say: "He has to work his kingly charm".

With a clap of his hand, servants begin pouring out of the sides of the halls bringing every kind of meal and wine to the table. To say the least as he expects it, Maedhros finds himself being questioned by Cirdan about his kingdom, how it came to be, its territories and borders, their way of life and especially how in the world do they successfully keep themselves hidden, or at least the capital.

He is only to happy to share. Gondolin's success is something that he is extremely proud of and no reason to hide. If he plans to gain the friendships of the Elves of Mithlond, he needs to show them who they truly are. Friendships are built by trust and as he said above, the Elves value kindreds above all.

The meal while splendid with many varieties of dishes of seafood (expected since the specialty of the Grey Havens lie on the sea) are acceptable for the vistiing dignitaries of Gondolin (No one is stupid enough to say that the fare is bland and cold compared to the ones of their home). Maedhros himself makes no comment about it. While the Havens show signs of being impressive once probably, it is now a decaying glory barely hanging on. No need to put himself in a pedestal and compare his slowly developing kingdom to an old one.

"So now that we are watered and fed, I believe that you are here to establish a former alliance with us, young king?" asks Cirdan looking at him through the cup he is holding.

"Yes, I am. As see in our current affairs, our influence in Middle-Earth is slowly dying my lord. We are a diminished people in our current set of affairs with settlements like Rivendell and Lothlorien as the only ones still remaining where our kind can be found in greater numbers. The Greenwood after the fall of their king Oropher at the battle wants little to nothing to do with the rest of the Elven Realms with Oropher's son, Thranduil leading them,"

Cirdan only gives him a sad smile at that. "It is to be expected your majesty. This age would be the last one for our people. As you might have already known, our people are leaving these shores. That is why me and my people here at the Grey Havens devoted ourselves into making the ships that would sail our kindred away West where we belong,"

Maedhros tries his best not to cringe at the words of the Lord of the Grey Havens. For some reason the Elves here at Middle-Earth seems to buy that reason of sailing and leaving Middle-Earth. Well this is one elf that is not going to bamboozled by that notion, and he will make sure also that none of the Elves of his kingdom fall for it also. First things first however.

"So are we in accord then? A formal alliance between Mithlond and Gondolin?" says Maedhros.

"We are in accord," answers Cirdan shaking Maehdros' hand. "And do not call it an alliance. We Elves, we are all kindred with one another and would remain as such till the end of time. I'd rather call it a friendship and I mean that with all that entails to that word. Your enemies will be our enemies and I'd expect the same favor from you,"

"Of course," answers Maedhros. "Then friendship it is. As such I would like to open my kingdom to everyone of your people. As long as you follow the laws when inside our lands and respect those that dwell on it, you are free to travel our lands and conduct your affairs there as you see fit. My friend, Lirion here would stay today and serve as an ambassador between Gondolin and the Grey Havens."

"And he would be welcome and treated as such," replies Cirdan before smirking knowingly at him as he leans on the backrest of his chair. "I must say Maedhros, for someone who is reborn. You do look nothing like your old self, nor are you hot-headed and pompous when I first have known you. What changed Maedhros? What prompted you to be so wise in this second rebirth of yours?"

Maedhros only smirks at that as he drains his cup of wine. "Death brings a lot of change Lord Cirdan and but nothing can change perspective other than the opinion of a friend which stays at your side all the time,"

…..

Harlindon, Somewhere, somewhere on the dense forests.

Power, so much power that she has no idea what to do about it. For Fleur it as both confusing as it is terrifying. One moment she knows, she is dying on her own rocking chair, next thing she knows she is awaking in these shores with vague memories of staying in a beautiful garden, meeting a strange looking lady who has the brightest of smiles. She remembers agreeing to some kind of deal but it seems some kind of fog covers her mind which makes her want to shout out to the air into frustration.

Now here she is living among these beautiful people on their tree houses. Being a Veela Fleur is rather used to being the center of attraction. When she's around, it always seem that the world is grey and dull. Now as she lives and breathes with beings who seem to radiate beauty from every pore of their skin, Fleur finds herself rather unused to it.

Her latent magic it seems has also been amplified a thousand fold. Veela magic is so potent and leans a lot on life. That is why a lot of males are attracted to it. Long term bigotry earned it its name, Allure which attracts members of the opposite gender back home. Many view it as evil and hideous, but at its core Allure is just the natural way of life amplified, the desire to preserve the species and to ensure the generations for the future.

Now her Allure is in full blast and it not only affects the Elves around her. When she first arrives at Harlindon, the forest here is sad and grey like a wounded warrior of renown bereft of the glorious end it has been promised. With her arrival, it seems like someone supercharged the forest. Grey dead leaves turn green again, animals propagated and become lively. The gloom and mists that seem to spook every corner of it disappearing like leaves in the wind. Surprisingly even the trees it seem become affected. Wild enraged ones calm down and awaken again making them walk tall, proud and tall once more at her touch. Ents they call themselves, the guardians of the forest, tree-herders, trees that move. Down South a branch of Ent like things also appear, only more feminine. Compared to their rather masculine counterparts who favor large tall broad trees, they prefer more gentle ones, like poplar, apples, pears, trees with a hundred and one colors of different leaves. They do not prefer the enclosed forests of the Ents but rather the open spaces behind the streams where smaller plants of beauty grow.

In her fifty year presence on the wide woods of Harlindon, the more and more things change for the large forest. With Fleur's coming, many magical creatures from her old word start to appear. Moon gazing centaurs who love to spend their time with the Entwives, dryads, hamdryads, and of course the ever beautiful Nymphs and fairies. Giant owls, satyrs, basilisks, faerie dragons, water dragons, river, wild hippogryphs, river serpents and once, even a Nemean Lion call the magical woods now their own.

The Elves whom she lives with are also affected by her magic. Her coming restores whatever it is that is wrong with them. The weariness settling on their soul disappears as it is replaced with the power of her presence. Thus on the past fifty years since she arrives, their population potentially exploded, new elflings now fill the woodlands dancing with satyrs or playing with many of the magical beasts who regarded the Elves of Harlindon as one of their own. Don't get her wrong, the forests of Harlindon is wild and dangerous for any outsider, yet for the Elves there it is home and thus they call themselves the Asrai, the Elves of the Wood, and their culture revolve around interwined families with an Elder at its head. While the Asrai considers Fleur their goddess and queen, they are mostly ruled by their own Council with the Maia barely making any commands, just requests.

Despite the blessings and the produce brought by the blessings of her presence, one can say that Fleur is unhappy. Despite the joy and increase at the woods of Harlindon, she dwells mostly alone at the Hill of El-Amluth where a small grove of trees grow. Here she sits as she contemplates the world around her. After her rather bright entrance, she has taken the form of the Asrai in thanks to them accepting her. She is dressed in the most beautiful emerald dress which clashes correctly with her blonde hair. Her face is elvin turning her once borderline illegal looks to otherworldly. Her youth is also restored, an addition to her new heritage.

Yet for all that she is given, all that she is, Fleur feels sorrow and alone. She misses Victoire, her daughter, she misses her family, Gabriel, her parents, the familiar Weasly Clan who supported her unconditionally when Bill finally succumbs to his curse, she misses the teachers at Hogwarts. She is beyond perfect right now and she has never felt so alone in her entire life.

Fate it seems really love her for her rather peaceful solitude of staring at the beautiful woods blankly is disturbed at the sound of a familiar CRACK of Apparition and a red-headed Elf slams face first at the space right in front of her with a scream. Wincing, Fleur casts her own magic at the bloodied face of the male Elf who is having anime ducks circling his head. One look at him makes her aware immediately that he is no Asrai, his armor and outfit is resplendent with silver and diamonds, not counting the circlet at his brow which looks expensive enough to buy Hogwarts five times over.

Now fully healed, the groaning elf stands up dusting off the leaves and dirt as he pulls himself together.

"Greetings fair maiden. My apologies for appearing in such a manner but-FLEUR?!" his sudden exclamation catches the reborn Maia by surprise at the recognition. Here at Harlindon, they only call her the "Flower of Yavanna" never her name. To know it as such….

Immediately Fleur allows herself to fully delve into her new heritage as her inner eye pierces through armor, flesh and bone to see who this person really is; and just like that she sees who really is standing in front of her.

"Harry?" her voice is barely a whisper as she raises a hand as if to make sure that she is not dreaming. His hand reaches up to touch hers entraced and the moment their fingers intertwine, their fates are sealed, for ten years they would stand there simply staring at one another enchanted by a spell that is greater than time and death.

….

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait. Ive been very uninspired lately so Im having trouble writing. Anyway hope you enjoy this part guys. Kudos to those who can recognize another Silmarillion reference.

For the haters, I won't even entertain the time and effort into mentioning you since it would bring me to your level.

Again English is not my first language but Im trying my best okie?