"Wake. Harry, you must wake."
Someone was shaking him. Harry did not want to wake; he was exhausted. He wanted to stay asleep. But someone would not stop shaking his shoulders.
"Wake!"
Harry peeled his eyes open. His whole body was in pain. No part of him was spared. His head felt caught in a vice, his limbs and back aching from sore scrapes and broken bones.
Arya was crouched over him, a vial of Wiggenweld clutched nervously in her hand. "Will you be able to heal your injuries?"
Harry groaned and tried to sit up. He choked off a gasp and relented; trying to sit up sent stabbing pains through his back. They were in the midst of a field of shattered wood and splinters. A chunk of wing was gouged into the ground a few feet from where they sat. Harry glanced down. Arya had spread out the medkit. It took him a moment to notice that there was an empty vial among them. One of the last two doses of Wiggenweld. He searched her face. She was pale and her veins had begun to darken.
"You gave me a dose," he realized.
Arya nodded. "You might not have lived without it. We are not so far from Ellesmera, but–" she brought something up from beside her. It was his broomstick, snapped in half. "Nor are we close. It is still some six days on foot. Maybe three or four on horseback."
Harry's face fell. It was no firebolt, but that broom had taken him back and forth across Alagaesia. This was the second time now that he'd lost a broom to a tree. And this one hadn't even fought back.
"What happened?"
Arya's expression turned bitter and self-loathing. "My own stupidity. I did not tell you this; there are wards surrounding the center of the forest. They stop magic from entering. Scrying, attacks, teleport spells, everything. I was tired and I did not think. In the time of the Riders, even dragons were forced to land and walk through the barrier; they do not fly on physics alone. They use magic to stay aloft, and the barrier strips that magic from them when they try to enter in flight."
A chill passed over Harry. What if they hadn't had the glider? What if Harry had tried to fly on broomstick alone? He'd have fallen like a rock and died. The glider had slowed their fall and provided Arya with enough protection to escape the fall in good enough condition to help him.
"You hit a couple of branches on your way down," she continued. "The first one slowed you and the second one stopped you. You are fortunate we crashed into a relatively short tree. Had we struck a taller one, you might have had several hundred feet to fall after stopping. As it was, you were gravely injured."
Harry gestured to the medkit. "Pass me that bottle. The one with the skull stopper." He popped it open and guzzled as much as he could stomach.
"I had thought it poison," Arya said. She had not escaped from the crash unscathed, either. Her face was peppered with splinters and she held her left arm as if it was broken.
"Skele-gro," Harry sputtered, wiping the awful-tasting potion from his lips. "Improvised skele-gro," he amended. "And without a core magical ingredient, so it's sure to be weak. At least if I botched it, it'll be too weak to poison me. Much."
The pins and needles were already starting. Harry took that as a good sign. "Are you going to take the last dose now?"
Arya seemed torn. "Will you be able to make it? On horseback, four days' ride."
Harry tried to sit up again, but the stabbing pains were still there. "Give me a day," he panted, laying back. "For the skele-gro to work."
She stared at the vial in her hand. "Then I will not. I will give you the directions to Ellesmera, then I shall enter a coma. Do not give me the last dose unless you are certain I will die without it."
"Why?" Harry frowned.
"Promise me," Arya pressed. Harry relented. She popped a bezoar into her mouth. "Good. Now listen closely, I will not be able to help you after this. Here is the way to Ellesmera."
Harry listened carefully and took mental notes. She gave him bearings, landmarks, and a final piece of advice.
"You may miss it by a small amount. No matter which side of the city you encounter, Gilderien the Wise will intercede and challenge your entry. Be honest, show me to him, and either he will allow you on, or summon help to bring me to the healers." Arya rifled through Harry's pockets and brought out the tent. She cast it and helped Harry up into his bed. "You are on your own now. Speed is of the essence. Longer than five days and I will die, or you will be forced to use the last dose. Good luck."
She headed out of his room and left Harry with the lingering sense that to Arya, either one of those outcomes was equally bad.
Harry dragged himself out of bed with gritted teeth. Every limb protested the movement. Madam Pomfrey would never have allowed him to so much as leave his bed in such a state. He dressed himself with conjuration.
Arya was laid down on the couch in the living room. Harry peeled off the lid of a stasis meal, then checked the drawer. There were not many left. Harry took a box of fruit and put it into his backpack. He'd ration the remaining meals and replace the calories with whatever produce he could eat without prep.
It was odd to go back to traveling basically alone. Arya was no longer there to talk to except as an unresponsive, comatose body.
Harry emerged from the tent. His gaze fell upon the splintered wreck of a glider and his wrecked broomstick.
Somehow the ultimate results of the day before had slipped from his mind. He'd need to arrange an alternate form of transit. Harry rummaged through his bag for the transfigured horses and brought them out.
As they grew back to full size, the dappled one tossed its head in startlement. A spray of droplets flung from its mane. They were both out of breath. Harry kicked himself for not allowing the horses time untransfigured to recover from their initial sprint inland from the Bay of Fundor.
He was quick to set out feed and fill a conjured trough with water. While they ate and drank, Harry struggled to get Arya onto the dappled horse. Handling a limp body was very irritating, and there was nowhere convenient to hold her by that did not result in limbs lolling every which way.
Harry managed to heave Arya onto the saddle before it further became apparent that she would not stay in the saddle when she was limp and in a coma.
A rope looped around Arya's waist and the underside of the horse presented a workable solution. Harry added a few more loops to keep her limbs from flailing while the horse walked, but was careful to leave her arms and hands free so she could free herself if she woke up. Even doing that much made him feel uncomfortable.
He was aware of what kind of ideas someone might get seeing a man traveling alone with a bound woman.
Once the horses had finished their meals, Harry packed up the campsite and hopped up into the saddle of the other. He grabbed hold of Arya's horse's leads and started off.
The horses were already exhausted. Barely an hour in and they were struggling to plod along. Harry cursed himself for his stupidity. They had been 'awake' already for hours back by Ceunon. They would need to sleep.
He felt a pang of guilt at the way he'd treated them. Transfiguration made them convenient, like vehicles. He brought them out when he needed them. He'd forgotten that they were living beings.
To them, his treatment of them must be like torture. Woken up at random times, jumping back and forth through time and being teleported across vast distances, given inadequate time to rest and recover, every time he transfigured them into horse dolls, they emerged with no idea how they had gotten there or what had happened to the time of day.
It was remarkable that they still even obeyed him. He glanced back at Arya.
It would be a game changer if he were able to simply transfigure her into a doll and run with his enchanted boots all the way to Ellesmera. He simply did not know what that would do to her. Were there extra steps for human transfiguration as opposed to animal transfiguration? What would it do to her when she was gravely poisoned and already seriously ill? Would untransfiguring her work properly if she was different from humans?
It was too dangerous to risk.
Harry cast a featherweight charm on Arya to ease the burden on the horse carrying her which helped a bit, but he knew he was only delaying the time before they'd have to rest. He didn't want to stop so early in the day, but there was no other choice.
He put up camp at around noon, nestled in the gigantic roots of a tree the size of a skyscraper. Under the canopy, Du Weldenvarden felt like some sort of fey cathedral. Great arboreal pillars held up a leafy green roof through which rays of sunlight poured in, shifting with the leaves dancing on the breeze.
The trees sheltered him from the wind, creating a sort of earthy, quiet atmosphere. It felt meditative in a sense. Surrounded by nature yet shielded from the elements.
The horses settled down to sleep. Harry brought out a lawn chair and sat down, enjoying the nice weather. He rummaged for the box of fruits he'd stuck in his backpack and ate while he waited.
But he could not fully relax with Arya laid on the couch in the living room, slowly dying of a poison he was supposed to be racing time to beat. He tried to nap but it was too bright out and too early in the day for much more than laying in bed and wishing for time to pass.
After an hour, he got up and started doing meal prep, filling back up his stock of stasis meals with a couple gigantic batches of oatmeal, scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, and tomato soup.
When he was done with that, he went back outside and was mildly surprised to find that the horses were ready to go again. Did they just need less sleep than humans?
Harry wasn't one to look a pair of gift horses in the mouth. He fixed Arya to the saddle of the chestnut horse to give it a break from carrying his full weight. He broke camp and cast the obliteration charm to erase any last trace.
He was now recognizant of the fact that he was going to be the next part of party to need a break. He was already sore from riding and as the hours dragged on, his aching limbs only grew worse. He tried to heal himself in the saddle. All the abrasions, cuts, and bruises were easy enough to heal with spells, but he couldn't do anything about the bone deep aches which were almost certainly not yet healed fractures from the crash.
As the hours dragged on, the relentless up and down of the dappled mare's gait grew from merely jarring to painful spikes that shot through him with every hoofbeat. He ate oatmeal as best he could in the saddle and pressed on until he was too exhausted to be sure he was following Arya's directions properly, and the sun had dimmed far enough that continuing meant risking constant tripping hazards from roots and weeds he could not see.
Harry threw up the tent and cast the wards while half asleep. He contemplated setting an alarm. Ultimately, he decided against.
It wasn't as if he could get very far without daylight. He couldn't make light, either. This close to the elven capital, Harry reasoned, there were bound to be elves around who would notice him.
Harry was not entirely clear on why Arya wanted to sneak all the way to Ellesmera, but he would respect her wishes. Unless he thought she'd die otherwise. Then he wasn't opposed to the idea of sending up sparks and seeing what happened.
He fell asleep that night and dreamed.
A dozen elves and humans sat arrayed before Galbatorix, separated by a countertop. Towering over them, seven dragons sat a row back. Five massive gemstones took the remaining spots, glowing as if they were stuffed full of lightbulbs. Harry's attention seemed drawn to a colossal dragon of a lighter purple color, and the elf man that sat in front of it in particular.
"...so I am asking, nay, begging for another chance." Galbatorix's voice was strong and reasoned. Between the dragons and Riders, there was an air of contemplation and emotion. Some had visibly been moved by Galbatorix's recounting. "Please grant me another egg."
Nobody moved or spoke visibly, but Harry could see the signs of conferral. Expressions changed, Riders reacted, dragons shifted slightly in their places. Harry kept glancing over at the giant gemstones. Maybe they were placeholders? The real dragons could be sending their thoughts in over a distance. They were conspicuous for how they seemed to unbalance the room, standing in for towering, majestic creatures.
Harry looked back at the Riders. They were much easier to read than the dragons. He sensed serious disagreement. One in particular was frowning now, staring straight at Galbatorix.
"We will need to confer," the one in front of the purple dragon interrupted. "You may wait here; this should be brief."
The Riders filed out of the massive audience chamber through a door behind the counter.
Harry felt a sense of vertigo as time rushed past. The Riders returned and seated themselves.
"We have reached a verdict," the Rider of the purple dragon announced. "You are owed transparency in such a personal decision. The vote was 15-9 against."
Harry felt plunging devastation alongside Galbatorix. However evil he became in the future, Harry had some scant sense of how awful that decision was for him. The council had snapped his wand. They'd chucked him back to the Dursleys. Galbatorix's life of being special was over, and no one was going to replace the bleeding wound left in his heart.
"Oromis, if you'd like to give closing words?" The purple Rider turned to a tall elf with long white hair who sat beneath a golden dragon.
Oromis inclined his head. "Dragons are not dogs or tools or symbols of office. We do not replace them when they die. We all have immense sympathy for you, Galbatorix." Harry felt the words linger in the air and realized Oromis had switched to the Ancient Language. "You bear the Gedwey Ignasia, you graduated your training and excelled in your studies. You are a Rider as surely as Indlvarn are, no matter that your partner is gone."
His stately face softened with sympathy. "It is a great adjustment. Morello has offered to speak with you after–"
Galbatorix stood. He threw out an abrupt, jerky sort of nod of acknowledgement, then left.
"Would that he told us what happened," the purple Rider murmured.
Oromis shook his head. "The seeds of resentment are already planted, Vrael. Let us not water them until we are certain the wind will not blow them away before they take root."
"You do not call this watering?" a male human Rider said incredulously. He sat before one of the five gems, his a very pale green.
"Precautionary," Oromis said. "He blames us, Morello. But I would rather make an enemy than doom an innocent hatchling to be raised in all things as an inferior replacement for something gone before it ever hatched."
Morello's expression turned tragic. He sighed deeply. "He was so promising."
"He still is," Oromis refuted. "If he overcomes this, he still will be."
As the dream faded away, Harry thought he caught a whiff of something sour.
The next day went a bit better. The horses were well rested and fed and Harry wasn't quite as sore as he'd been yesterday. The pain in his limbs had not subsided completely, he was certain he still had fractures, but the pain was tolerable and over the course of the whole day, the horses ate up miles loping along.
His dream was illuminating but expected. He knew Galbatorix was going to ask, and it seemed unlikely the Riders would give him another egg. From what he'd observed of Eragon and Saphira's bond, it was irreplaceable. He got the sense the dream was not telling him about Galbatorix so much as introducing new characters. He often did not learn the names of the other people who featured in his dreams. Not unless they were important.
Last night he had gotten three new names. Vrael, Oromis, and Morello.
Now that he was in all likelihood miles from anyone else who might see him, Harry toyed with an object that had been weighing on his mind. He rolled the pebble back and forth between his fingers, feeling its smooth texture, but being careful not to turn it over.
Harry felt apprehension at calling her. He felt as if he were about to speak to a professor and receive awful marks for a bunch of tests he'd failed. Several of the disasters that led to this moment were preventable if he'd prepared more, applied himself more, or knew more magic.
The spotted mare cantered beneath him. Up and down, up and down. The forest crawled past. Rays of sunlight rolled over him. Around Harry, wildlife wandered boldly in the open. A couple of deer walked almost right up to him, curious about the horses and their riders.
He took a couple strawberries in his hand and offered it to them. The doe ate them without concern or guile. Harry grinned as its lips and tongue scraped across his palm. He got out another handful and offered it to the stag. Its magnificent antlers lowered as it looked down to eat from his palm.
A thought occurred to him. Harry drew his wand and tried to put himself in the right frame of mind. He tried to focus on the person he'd been and the parts of him that had changed. He tried to slip into the shoes of the Harry Potter he'd been over a year ago and cast the spell.
A radiant white stag leapt out from the Elder Wand, cantering in circles in the air as if in search of evil to vanquish. Harry beamed. It had worked.
He made his intentions known to the patronus. The ethereal creature seemed to understand. It stepped onto the ground and walked up to its flesh and blood kin, cantering alongside the horses.
The deer were struck still. One glanced at the other as if to say 'are you seeing this?'
Harry covered his smile. "You two are very brave," he managed. "No fear at all. Did the elves train you?"
But there were no collars or tags or signs of ownership. As Harry examined them, the doe grew more insistent in trying to figure out the strange luminous creature before her. She tried to boop it with her nose and made a sound of startlement when the patronus's lack of physical presence let her pass right through.
Maybe the deer really were just that bold.
He dispelled the patronus and headed on.
They came across a gully with saplings growing from the damp banks. It was wide enough that the horses wouldn't be able to simply step right over it. Nor did Harry have confidence in his horseback riding abilities to take the gully at a galloping hurdle. Harry dismounted and levitated both horses across in turn. They whinnied and panicked when lifted into the air by magic, eyes wide with fear.
Harry made sure to keep them as low to the ground as possible as he floated them across. When it came time for him to walk over the natural ditch, his boots sank into the mud with each step. He hosed them off on the other side with conjured water.
He pressed on.
The sun began to set later in the day. Harry's stomach growled, but he deferred dinner until daylight was gone and he could no longer continue safely.
Sliding off the saddle and letting himself fall back into the couch felt divine. At last a break from the constant aggravation of riding on broken bones. He brought Arya inside and fed her while she was comatose, pouring warm tomato soup and water into her mouth with a conjured funnel.
The logistics of caring for somebody when they were unconscious proved a bit more than that, and embarrassing for all involved. Mercifully, magic made several tasks far easier and more dignified. Unsurprisingly, her condition continued to deteriorate. Harry prepared Arya's comatose form better for the next day and prepared for sleep.
This time, Harry was determined not to miss any daylight. He conjured a cot outside the tent and slept under the leafy sky so that when the sun rose, he would wake up immediately and cover the most distance.
The next day, Harry set out with nerves on edge. He pushed the horses harder today. He was still a novice rider; he couldn't be sure what Arya's estimated pace on horseback expected. A constant, sustainable pace or to push as hard as he could, both the horses and himself, to cover the maximum distance.
He was so uncertain. The idea that he would soon run into the capital city of a race of superhumans seemed absurd. He was walking through deep, untouched wilderness, expecting to run into a hospital. There were no signs of an approaching city. No people, roads, cell towers, farms, nothing. Nothing but gigantic trees and wildlife.
It was hard to keep pushing himself. He was alone with nobody to spur him on. Going at a gallop hurt a lot more than a canter. He kept finding himself slowing down to ease the pain, glancing back at Arya's paper pale skin, and speeding back up. The horses must have sensed his discomfort too, since they were trying to ride easier for him.
The hours dragged on for eons. Nothing seemed to change about his surroundings and they shifted so much slower than Harry wanted. There was nothing to do but walk and ruminate on how miserable he was.
Harry brought out the stone again. He turned it over thrice.
"It's been over a month and you call me out of boredom?" Morgan glided in front of the horses, who seemed unable to see her.
"I haven't been alone until now," Harry protested.
"You can teleport."
"I couldn't leave Arya while she was poisoned." Without him there to give her the Wiggenweld on the boat, she'd have died crossing the Bay of Fundor.
"You got captured while she was poisoned," Morgan sniffed. "Clearly she can take care of herself. You?" She gave him a scrutinizing look. "-are doing better," she admitted grudgingly.
Harry's brows shot up. "Really? I thought you'd think it was all a train wreck."
"You showed growth. You made and executed plans, adapted when they required it. You needed to go to Gil'ead for bezoars. While in hindsight the risk of going into the city itself was foolish, your supplies were dwindling and real gear to enchant would make a significant difference." Morgan's ghostly form sat on top of Arya on the other horse.
"Your reasoning was sound; Durza should have had no way to identify you, and the guard gave you no choice but to use magic to evade capture then and there. When circumstances force you to make bad decisions, mistakes are a matter of perspective. How else could you have stopped the guard from reporting you?"
Harry frowned and thought back. It seemed like ages ago it'd all happened. "Gone along with him and ducked out later?"
Morgan made a moue of disappointment. "Maybe. In all likelihood, that would simply defer the time when you were forced to act. I meant kill him."
The matter of fact delivery caught Harry off guard, and it took his brain a moment to catch up. He set aside the moral argument.
"That would also take magic."
Morgan rolled his eyes. "How do you think muggles get it done? They've been killing each other just fine without our help. Use a knife!"
"And somehow that would get less attention? Harry was incredulous. "Just whip out my sword and run him through in broad daylight in public?"
"It would get you a different sort of attention," Morgan argued. "And you could have followed him and waited for a better moment."
"I am not going to kill people just for getting in the way," Harry declared. Dismembered and blasted bodies swam across his vision. "I still haven't decided if I'm going to kill people at all."
Morgan rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. "What is it going to take to teach you this lesson?"
"Nothing!" Harry yelled, suddenly frustrated. It was like everyone around him was too dense to understand. "Why should I take the most precious thing someone has from them when I could possibly avoid it? There are so many ways to win a fight without killing with magic. I don't understand why you, who should know better, keep pushing me to kill when you know that's not necessary in a wizard's duel."
Turbulent emotions rose up in him. He felt the ghost of the blasting curse's shockwave on his skin, the smell of dirt and dust in his nose. Harry swallowed. His voice was raw. "I killed twenty people because I didn't want to risk a thirty second detour to an unguarded part of the wall. Those guards died for nothing at all but the crime of being in my way."
A strange emotion crossed Morgan's face. Sympathy. "That's not how war works, Harry. You never get to know the best course of action. You make decisions with the knowledge you have at the time. That's all anybody can do. Self-flagellation like this is pointless. The situation was too complex and too dynamic for you to make accurate reflections. You might have tried to take that detour and found your way obstructed, or the guards may have caught up with you, or you might have taken an arrow to the head. You might have been faced with an even worse circumstance. It might have been an innocent family you had to kill to get through the wall, instead of guards who signed up to fight."
Morgan's red hair and dark, intense eyes stared him down. Harry was reminded that whoever Morgan really was, she would almost certainly consider even him sheltered by the standards of the life she lived. He swallowed again.
"Do you get what I'm getting at, or do you think I'm being stupid?" He asked. "I can't fix a dead person. But I can fix a stunned one. Why should I kill when I can avoid it?"
"But can you?" Morgan pressed on the heels of that challenge. "You couldn't in Gil'ead. No matter what excuses you make for yourself after the fact, that much is true. If you want, do not kill unnecessarily." She paused and shook her head in disbelief. "You are so very different from me. In my time, I killed wherever I could because my enemy would return to fight again if I did not. I would think you are simply not invested enough in this current war, but I know you refused to kill even that Lestrange woman after she slew your godfather. It comes down to this, Harry: every time you hesitate, every enemy you spare another moment, every mercy you show, that is another opportunity for you to lose. And unlike you, your enemies will be prepared to kill without hesitation."
Harry did not give his answer. It felt wrong. Killing on a chance, based on uncertainty, as a contingency, it was a repulsive idea to him. He doubted Morgan would accept 'feelings' as a reasonable answer, so he kept his piece.
"Could I safely do human transfiguration?" he asked instead.
Morgan blinked. She gazed down at Arya's comatose form beneath her. "Now, with no extra knowledge? No. You have the requisite transfiguration skills, but human transfiguration was simply not done in my time, not unless you wanted to risk horrific deformities and likely death. It was not until an accurate understanding of the human body was reasonably common among the educated that it became safe enough to teach."
"So I shouldn't try to use it," Harry surmised.
"I didn't say that. Only that you were missing knowledge. That is something I can help you with."
Harry nodded. "Now?"
Morgan gave him a bemused look. "You may want a pen and paper."
He waved it off. "Something else then. You're right that I'm bored."
Shrugging, Morgan asked, "What do you want to know? That wooden contraption of yours could have benefitted from some charms. There is as good a place as any to start."
Harry sat up a bit in the saddle. This was exactly what he needed, something to keep his brain awake.
They discussed the glider. Harry managed to squeeze the admission from Morgan that she had never seen or heard of airplanes. He relayed his rudimentary understanding of planes to her and she described the magic she thought would have improved it.
"There is a spell to keep the wind from touching something," she told him. "We did not use it ever; it killed whatever it was cast upon. It became known later as the asphyxiation curse, but it was initially conceived to keep the wind out of the way of riders on horseback."
If cast on the plane, it would lower wind resistance, wouldn't it? Depending on how the spell worked, it could potentially zero it. It was Newton's first law: An object in motion stays in motion. Without air to slow down the plane, what was to stop it from reaching arbitrarily high speeds?
Propulsion.
Towing the glider with a broomstick was a crude solution, and Harry recognized that by flying in front of the plane, he was probably screwing up the aerodynamics with his body. Not only that, the plane was limited by a broom rider's top speed. Harry knew muggle planes went much faster than that. The normal passenger ones went hundreds of miles an hour. The fighter jets, over a thousand.
He understood propellers well enough. It was just like a bunch of boat oars sticking out in a circle, swimming through the air. But those were not what the big planes used. There was some kind of tube thing bolted to each wing in all the pictures of the airliners. Turbines. They had fans in front like propellers, but that could not be it. There had to be some mechanism behind the fans that drove the plane. He just didn't know what it was or how it worked.
Morgan didn't know either.
Harry also recognized that just because the muggles did it one way, did not mean wizards had to do anything remotely like it. For all he knew, there was a rocket propulsion charm waiting out there for him, or a charm that simply directly added forward momentum to its target. Muggles were subject to the laws of physics, practicality, and economy. Harry was under no such restrictions.
Morgan suggested unbreakability charms. For once, Harry was glad he'd forgotten to cast them on the glider. He suspected the plane being able to break apart had saved Arya's life by softening the crash. He could have impervioused the windshield or added cushioning charms to the inside.
Eventually, the conversation stalled when it became apparent that Morgan and Harry together simply didn't have all the knowledge required.
"Why don't you ask?" Morgan asked. "An expert. You must know the name of someone famous to do with planes. If they don't have the answers, they will surely know the name of someone who does."
Harry shifted in the saddle. The sun was setting. The day had gone by so much faster with Morgan around. And it had kept his mind off his aching limbs. He felt conflicted about calling someone in particular.
"They don't get to choose if they answer or not, do they?" He asked. "I've been doing this 'cause it gives you a choice. You don't have to answer the call."
Morgan sighed. "You really are different. To force someone to answer, you must use their full given name. When you use the stone while expecting me to answer, I do feel a draw, but I can ignore it. Much as your parents and friends must have felt when you called them in the Forbidden Forest. The more you identify with the name, the stronger the pull."
"Is that why you won't tell me yours?"
Morgan smiled. "You're catching on. Despite my best efforts, your constant referring to me as Morgan has connected me to it somewhat."
It got too dark to press on safely. Harry dismounted and set up the campsite. Hermione's wards had become second nature. He hardly had to cast them as individual spells; they all blended together in his tired mind.
"Will you ask around?" Harry asked Morgan as he brought Arya inside to feed and clean. "For someone who wants to speak with me."
She crossed her arms. "I know nothing. I wouldn't know where to start."
"The Wright Brothers," Harry decided. "Them and Amelia Earhart. Those are the only people I know in aviation."
"Fine. And Harry?" Morgan looked back.
"Yeah?"
"Spirits choose who we are visible to." She nodded at the resurrection stone. "You do not need to worry so much. At worst they'll think you're mad."
Harry did not call Morgan the next day. Instead, he devoted all his energy to pushing himself through the final stretch, and to making sure he spotted all of the landmarks Arya had mentioned. He skipped breakfast and ate in the saddle for lunch. The elf was not looking good. She was paler now than when she'd stopped breathing on the boat. Harry was constantly checking on her while he rode, pulling the lead on her horse until he could reach over and feel breathing from her mouth. He'd given her another bezoar. While his supply of those was not infinite either, they were at least replaceable and he knew where to find more.
He'd taken to carrying the last vial of Wiggenweld in his pocket, just in case. He was constantly paranoid that she would stop breathing and he wouldn't notice until she was dead. Constant vigilance, he supposed wryly.
He knew he was getting close. By the time the shadows were starting to get long, the trees had turned gargantuan, as wide around as a modest house. He also got the sense that his presence was no longer a secret. He could never pinpoint a watcher and he did not dare use hominem revelio for fear he would certainly reveal himself if he did. But he felt the undefinable weight of attention on him.
Finally, he came across a path that featured in Arya's memory. Harry gave up the pretense of secrecy and began to follow it, pushing the horses to nearly a gallop.
Ahead, a ray of sunlight fell in the middle of the path. It was too conspicuous to be unimportant. A literal beam of light in the middle of a shady forest, too bright and at the wrong angle for the evening sun. He slowed down and rubbed the smudges from his glasses.
There was a man in the shaft of light.
He rode up.
"Gilderien?" he asked.
The elf twisted his hand over his sternum. Harry tried to mimic the motion. The elf seemed amused by his attempt.
"Arya said I'd have to get you to agree to come into Ellesmera. Please." Harry leaned aside and gestured to where Arya was slumped over her horse. "She's been poisoned and she's very weak. The poison is called Skilna Bragh and she needs Tunivor's Nectar as soon as possible."
Harry felt a presence touch his mind. His irritation at the intrusion and his unhappiness at the idea of someone reading his trustworthiness out of his very mind were overridden by urgent concern for Arya.
He expected a much more intrusive examination. If Gilderien wanted to be certain he was Galbatorix's enemy, he'd have to look through memories and feelings. But his presence was light and he only bothered to make sure Harry was telling the truth about Arya before receding.
Gilderien gestured behind him with a welcoming smile.
"Thank you," Harry said. The elf did not move away from his spot. He simply vanished, as if he was an illusion drowned out by the sunbeam that fell on the path. As Harry passed, he felt the same presence touch his mind again, this time giving information instead of taking.
He saw the path ahead, then a timelapse of running down the road as if in fast forward. A series of turns, then a sort of fairyland building made from mostly wood with stone and moss and vines, banks of vibrant, colorful gardens surrounding it.
Go there. Quickly.
Then the presence receded again.
Harry took hold of the reins and urged the horses into a final gallop. With secrecy thrown to the wind and an actual path to follow, he was relieved to finally be moving with speed again.
It was not dark yet, but the shady trees meant things got dimmer under the canopy much quicker. He did not have time to appreciate the elven city; he rode with single-minded purpose along the directions Gilderien had given. But it was impossible not to notice the beauty of Ellesmera. Lanterns and fairy lights began to turn on around the paths, revealing a city built into the trees and hoisted on branches in the air.
Elves had come out of their treehouses or stopped and moved aside on the roads to let him gallop through, watching as he passed. He only had a second to catch a glimpse of them before they were past him. While there were a lot of elves, Harry had expected something very different from the term 'capital city.' He was thinking London, Ellesmera was more like Hogsmeade.
The building Gilderien had showed him was up ahead. The horses were panting below him.
"Almost there," he urged. "Right up there."
He led the horses up the path between flower beds and gardens towards the treehouse castle. Treecastle. He slowed down to avoid trampling any flowers or running down anyone caught on the paths; the road had switched to 'path' some time along the way, even if it stayed curiously wide and tall.
Inside the massive open doors were even more gardens. The path turned to paved stone and then wood. A pair of massive, curved staircases led up to a balcony. Up ahead, a group of four elves had gathered. One of them had a cot propped up with her.
"Whoa," Harry tugged back on the reins. The horses puttered to a stop. He dropped out of the saddle, wincing as the impact sent lances of pain up his legs. "Are you guys here to help? She's badly poisoned, she needs Tunivor's Nectar right away. Gilderien sent me here–"
The woman in the front seemed petrified, so an elf man on the left stepped forward.
"Peace," he said. "Nuanye, Cin." The elf lady with the cot and the guy next to her sprang into action, freeing Arya from the saddle and transferring her to the cot. They made to leave but Harry called out.
"Wait!" he fished out the last dose of Wiggenweld. "She really didn't want to use the last dose, but if you think she's not going to make it, give her this. It heals the damage, but doesn't stop the poison. Only if you think she'll die without it." Then, in halting Ancient Language, "The truth. I swear."
The woman took the vial with her on the way out.
Throughout the whole exchange, the woman in the lead had stared at Arya, struck dumb with emotion. She swallowed and looked up at Harry before finding her words.
"Thank you." The elf came forward and clasped his hands. "Thank you. Words will never be enough. I had thought my daughter dead. I am forever in your debt."
The pounding adrenaline faded. Harry shook her hand awkwardly. The woman seemed taken aback by the gesture. "Oh. Sorry," he said. He tried again to replicate the gesture Gilderien had made, this time from memory.
Apparently it was wrong enough for some humor to crack through the tearful gratitude on the woman's face. "Hullo. I'm Harry. Harry Evans. It's, um, it's nice to meet you."
The elf twisted her hand in a graceful motion Harry knew he was not replicating at all. "I am Islanzadi Dröttning." She looked very stately. Harry was beginning to get the sense she was someone important, given how the other elves seemed deferrential. Now that Nuanye and Cin had taken Arya, it was just her and the elf man. Islanzadi wore a woven gold belt and a cloak of feathers over a red shirt. Her hair was as black as Arya's and she had the same stunning beauty that hit him over the head whenever he saw her.
Harry was suddenly uncertain. Maybe Gilderien had only let him in to deliver Arya and they were about to kick him out? Or maybe the elves didn't think he'd be able to keep the secret of Ellesmera's location and they were going to try to keep him there? At the same time, all the fatigue of the past few days' relentless riding caught up with him. With the exhaustion, the pain of riding on broken bones suddenly intensified. Harry leaned against the spotted mare.
"Sorry. We've been going as fast as possible since Ceunon," he apologized to Islanzadi. "I've got food and a tent if there's somewhere I can set up–"
Islanzadi waved him off with a stern look. "You are an honored guest now. Tialdarí Hall has many apartments for guests. Since the Fall, they have all been empty. Dathedr, will you show him to one? I must see Arya."
The other elf, Dathedr apparently, nodded. Islanzadi strode off.
"We'll arrange for your horses to be taken care of," Dathedr gestured. "You look exhausted. Everything else can wait until morning. A meal will be brought to you."
Harry let himself be led up the grand staircase and down a short hall to the first of a hallway of rooms, all presumably empty. Dathedr opened the door for him.
"Our washrooms often confuse those unfamiliar with them. There are nozzles here in the wall which draw from a reservoir fed by a stream and a system of pulleys. Typically we heat our own baths with magic. The guest rooms are set such that we may keep a separate reservoir of hot water, but I would ask you to be considerate and remember that an elf is warming all the water you use."
Harry yawned. "I'm a wizard. You don't need to send anyone to warm the water."
Dathedr blinked. "I'll let them know. You understand how the nozzles work? The drain works similarly, the wastewater is piped away."
He nodded blearily. "I'm familiar with indoor plumbing. Thanks, Dathedr."
The elf bowed. "It is the least we can do for your returning Arya. We would like to hear how it came about, but that can wait until morning."
At that moment, an elf came up the hall behind them with a covered platter. Dathedr thanked the elf in the Ancient Language. "This is Cirin," he said. "A meal for you."
Harry thanked Cirin. He wasn't certain of the elf's gender; they looked androgynous and lacked defining characteristics either way. They had long platinum hair that reminded Harry of Lucius Malfoy, but without so much of the arrogance written across their pointy face. With a polite smile, they left down the hall.
Dathedr lingered at the door as Harry entered. He seemed to be assessing Harry. "If you need a healer," he realized, "I can have one sent up."
Harry shook his head. "Maybe tomorrow. It's nothing serious. I'd rather sleep."
The elf smiled. "Then I shall leave you to it, Harry Evans."
Harry nodded. "Thanks, Dathedr something."
Dathedr's smile turned amused. "I am of Silthrim."
"Dathedr Silthrim." That amused him even more, to the point where Harry suspected if aristocracy did not ooze from his every pore, the elf would have laughed out loud.
"Good night." Dathedr Silthrim bowed and left.
Harry turned back to the covered platter and took off the lid. Some kind of soup, a heavy bread, and a bowl of fruit. It was among the best food he'd ever had. It was hard to measure up to Hogwarts, but it seemed 'elf' elves and house elves both had a secret something to back up their cooking skills.
He was unsurprised by the lack of meat; Arya had prepared him for that. He was surprised that it felt like a full, hearty meal. Harry often wished he had something more substantive when he was eating all the stasis meals prepared without meat. Whatever was in the soup and bread, it filled that hunger.
When he was finished, Harry examined the bed. It had layers of beautifully quilted bedding with intricate designs he was somewhat nervous to note had to be handwoven. It seemed wrong to lay down on something which so much labor had been invested in.
The sheets were sinfully smooth and soft and cool and despite his anxiety and worry for Arya, Harry fell into an exhausted slumber.
AN: There is a hint in this chapter at one of the bigger mysteries in this story.
Also, it is really awkward to write about basically human not-humans. The English language doesn't really have the words to describe this. 'Human behaviors,' 'the human condition,' 'humanity,' 'man,' 'woman,' there are a lot of really important and useful words that all imply human as a disambiguation of species, when I'm trying to use them to describe 'intelligent biped' and not necessarily 'explicitly of the human race as opposed to dwarves or elves.' Thus I will unapologetically use man and woman instead of male elf or lady elf unless the disambiguation is required.
I'm hoping to get back into a quicker rhythm for posting chapters. I'm not exactly drowning in inspiration to churn out chapters for this story and my writing efforts are split a couple of different ways, but I am committed to keep getting chapters out for you guys.
I also wanted to ask about the travel scenes. Have you gotten bored of them yet? When you want your audience to feel how long it takes to do something, you write more about it so it takes longer to get through. The faster travel gets in the story, the less time I'll spend covering it, but I recognize that the past three chapters now have been almost entirely travel. It's unavoidable that I do some more for Brom and Eragon's POV but please, let me know if you're getting bored.