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Chapter Text

"How long will we be apart?"

Harry picks up the spiked crown of sharp, silver sticks, bitter red berries, and fall-colored leaves. He had made it about two millenia prior as an Autumn Equinox gift for his husband. Their son had a hand in picking the berries, at his request, and was absolutely delighted to know what they were for when the gift had been revealed.

He places the crown back on the pillow of which is previously rested upon.

Quietly, he answers: "I'm unsure l...just know that I must travel west, past the mountains.

A hand larger than his own cups his cheek to turn his head so that he may stare into the eyes of his dearheart. "To be apart from you, even for a small amount of time, will bring me heartache." 

It's a harsh truth.

One they share.

Harry turns his head a little to kiss the palm. "I cannot fight this feeling I have, my husband."

His cheeks are held tenderly while a forehead presses against his own. "There is a darkness beyond these lands that will not lie dormant for much longer."

Harry moves his head up to press his lips to a warm cheek. "I know," he whispers. "And yet, I must go."

"And yet, you must go." 

When he hears Bilbo slam the door to his home shut, Harry peeks his head around the corner and watches—highly amused—as Bilbo stands still and silent for a moment before peaking out of the window closest to him. 

Harry sighs softly when he sees Gandalf's distorted face peer into the window, causing Bilbo to leap out of sight. There's an odd scratching sound at Bilbo's recently painted door before the gentle hobbit peeks out the window again and sighs in relief. Seeing now that his friend is moving towards relaxed, Harry steps into the hallway.

"May I ask why Gandalf the Grey stopped by to speak to you?"

He had sensed Gandalf miles away and choose to stay in the Shire, in Bag-End, for most of the day. 

Adjust, and then proceed as he has often relayed to others when things didn't go according to plan.

There is something strange about the wizard and he knows for certain that Gandalf would say much the same about him—two magical beings that appear very similar but are quite different.

This isn't to say he didn't necessarily trust Gandalf, just that he is cautious of the grey wizard's intentions.

Bilbo jumps rather high into the air upon being startled. "Oh goodness, Harry!"

Harry holds up his hands in a placating gesture and smiles apologetically. "Sorry, my friend. I didn't mean to startle you."

The hobbit moves towards the kitchen. "It's alright, it's alright." Harry follows after him quietly, watching as his little friend prepares tea as it is nearing four o'clock. "That Gandalf," Bilbo mutters. "Fantastical fireworks, absurd requests!" He whirls around to face Harry. "He asked me to go on an adventure with him! Me!"

Harry hums thoughtfully before waving his hand and, together, both man and hobbit watch as the teapot to Bilbo's favorite set settles near him and the teacups with matching saucers land neatly on the kitchen table. The milk and sugar dance through the air and land near the teacups. Rose and vanilla mingle in the air as Bilbo mixes his tea flavors and expresses quiet gratitude.

"I do recall quite a few stories you shared of your youth in which you went on many adventures, some even beyond Bree."

Bilbo huffs. "Well, yes..." He suddenly scowls. "But my adventuring days are over! I am a respectable gentle hobbit!" Tea done, he carefully moves it to the table and takes a seat. 

"Peace, Bilbo." Harry pours for the both of them. "If you're adventuring days are done, then they're done. Gandalf will simply have to pick another individual."

"Thank you," Bilbo says as he adds five sugar cubes and a bit of milk. Two careful sips, and then: "I just can't leave Bag-End! What would othera think?!"

Just what are you up to, Gandalf?

Hobbit cups are quite small, so Harry finishes his tea quickly.

"I will hex Gandalf the next time I see him," he tells Bilbo in a merry tone; half-joking. The hobbit stares are him with wide eyes. "For he has planted the seed of consideration within you and it distresses you."

Bilbo chuckles then. "Do not go around hexing grey wizards on my behalf, Harry."

"A little...zap might do him some good."

They finish the entire pot of tea within half an hour's time and, with the sun still up, Bilbo suggests they go to the market for meats and dry goods. 

"I would love to accompany you to the market, but it is the last Highday of the month."

Bilbo immediately nods in understanding. "Of course! I've forgotten!" He looks outside and then to Harry in alarm. "You should have left hours ago!"

"I had a late start today due to poor sleep." Not quite nightmares, but none peaceful enough to count among dreams. "Unfortunately, that means I will return late this evening. Do not feel the need to wait up for me."

Bilbo, stubborn and a huge worrywart, pursed his lips. "I shall have a delightful dinner put aside for you, in the hopes that sleep comes to you easy tonight."

Harry just smiles, his heart filled with warmth. "And I thank you, Master Baggins~"

His friends scoffs before making a shooing motion with his hands, his eyes twinkling with humor.

When Harry slides off his horse, the sun has already begun to set and a slight chill is about. He looks around at the spot atop the hill that he has silently claimed as his own, where his magic has left a mark after many trips to this particular spot. 

You are well?

Harry smiles to himself. 'Yes, my love. Only a bit tardy this evening. It happens to the best of us.'

A smooth chuckle sounds clearly in his mind, leaving behind a slight tingle in his ears. Harry puts up a barrier 20 feet from the smooth, cool rock he sits on and forms his meditative position of crisscross legs and relaxed shoulders. His horse—a beautiful, strong, and fairly large beast—trots up to him and nuzzles his cheek before moving away to eat nearby by. 

'I had intended to leave on time but Bilbo was visited by the grey wizard and he said a few things that upset Bilbo. I will likely hex him at some point for this.' Harry sighs softly to himself. 'I worry now.'

Gandalf's visits are never random.

He's trying to drag Bilbo into something. 

Concern quickly washes over him, as it often does when his dearheart feels his less than positive emotions.

I wish for you to return home.

An often expressed statement; one conveying longing but not quite a plea.

Harry closes his eyes. 

His feels his magical core tighten, tighten, tightentightentighten painfully and then relax.

'I know, my love. And I'm sorry.'

It's well into the evening when Harry begins the trek back to the Shire. Bilbo will soon have his final meal of the day and then likely plop himself down into his armchair by the fire with a book to await Harry's return. He smiles to himself when the boarder of the Shire comes into view. 

As soon as he steps foot into the Shire, Harry goes still for he senses beings that are certainly not hobbits within; the energy is stronger. There is no hostility in the air but he hastens his horse towards Bag-End nonetheless. The energy emitted by Gandalf grows stronger as he rides closer. 

When he rounds the corner of a small hill, there is a figure in the night walking along the path that leads towards Bilbo's home, a few scattered hobbit homes in-between. It stops occasionally to look at what might be a map. The figure is well-built and a bit too tall to be a hobbit, and Harry knows he is not of the race of men. This only leads to one conclusion.

The path is just wide enough that he will be able to go around the figure to get to Bilbo's home.

Still, a glimpse at a regal, clearly dwarven face has him pause. 

"Are you lost, friend?" If the dwarf wasn't on guard before, he certainly is now. And though he doesn't outwardly appear hostle, the subtle grip of his sword is enough for Harry to proceed with caution. "Peace, Master Dwarf. I merely want to help."

"Why?" The dwarf speaks in a gruff manner, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Not even the peace and tranquility of the Shire seems to have warmed him to welcome Harry's help this evening. A great shame, really. "What business does a man have among the halflings?" 

Harry chuckles quietly, despite the irritation now resting on the dwarf's face. "Why? Because if I can help, I will. As for my business, I could ask the same of you. I simply reside in the Shire for the time-being."

The dwarf returns his gaze to the path. "My business is my own."

Biting back another chuckle, Harry nods despite the dwarf no longer looking at him. "Fair enough, Master Dwarf. However, if you're lost, allow me to help you. Whom do you seek at this late hour?"

While the dwarf is still irritated, there's no malice or ill intent coming from him. Harry is confident enough to lead him on his way. While no one besides Gandalf and the occasional ranger cross into Shire these days, it's certainly possible a hobbit or two has befriended a dwarf in one of the taverns in Bree recently. 

It's silent for a moment before the dwarf let's out a frustrated sigh. "Alright." The dwarf jerks to look at Harry. "I am looking for the home of Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo has never once mentioned befriending a dwarf.

"Master Baggins is a very dear friend of mine, Master Dwarf. He has never once mentioned any dwarf friend of his in the years I've known him." Although Harry keeps his voice pleasant, he knows the dwarf catches his undertone.

"I mean him no harm," the dwarf snaps at him, openingly glaring now. "I was sent to seek him out by Gandalf the Grey, for he might be of service to me."

Harry stares at him, annoyance starting to bubble beneath his skin. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "When I see Gandalf, I really will hex him. Might turn him into a beetle and keep him trapped in a jar." He pays no mind to the dwarf's bewildered expression as he climbs down from his horse. 

The action has the dwarf tense, but the words that fall from his mouth next only has Harry nod solemnly.

"He has no idea we're coming."

"I truly doubt he—" Harry freezes as the words catch up to him. "Did you say 'we?'"

It is the dwarf's turn to nod solemnly. "My company has likely arrived by now."

"How many?" Harry asks, feeling dread for his hobbit friend.

"12."

12 dwarves in Bilbo's home. 

The hobbit must be going mad.

"Let us make hast, Master Dwarf. While Bilbo is typically mild-mannered, he does have quite the temper when his space is envaded without prior permission."

Harry takes the reigns of his horse and moves quickly with the dwarf hot on his tail. 

Chapter Text

"Tell me, my king, what troubles you so?" 

His husband turns away from the balcony overseeing the great halls of the woodland kingdom. 

There's worry, but no fear in the eyes that meet his. "Spiders have been sighted along the boarder of our realm."  

Harry moves towards him, taking his hands; chilled to the bone they must be, and leads him back into the warmth of their room. He brings his husband to the chair of their shared vanity. Harry swiftly unfastens the braids keeping the crown atop his head and places it on the pillow resting on the vanity. From there, and with great care, he alternates between running his fingers through silken hair and massaging throbbing temples for several minutes.

"A great evil is taking root in Dol Guldor," is eventually spoken quietly. "I hadn't wish to worry you." 

Closing his eyes, Harry moves his hands down to rest on strong shoulders and begins kneading them. He has experienced many a sleepless night in the recent weeks; unclear visions of dark figures and tainted magic. It has not only troubled his husband, but their people as well. Their son. 

Their worry is palpable and they have done their best to spare him of any troubles. 

Still.

"Share your worries with me. I can bear them."

Harry sighs upon seeing Bag-End, of feeling the presence of many and the strong magic Gandalf puts out, and looks to his evening walking companion.

"I wish to share some advice with you, Master Dwarf. If I may?" The dwarf walking next to him turns his head a little to indicate his attention. "The people of The Shire—the hobbits—do not take kindly to being called, or referred to, as 'halflings.' They are not half of anything, but are whole beings. Should you call them as such, you'll be lectured in the most polite, but scathing, way imaginable."

Harry had made the mistake when meeting Bilbo.

Fortunately, Bilbo had been most forgiving once Harry explained his lack of traveling and knowledge of this side of Middle Earth. 

The dwarf nods. "I shall remember that, Master...?"

Harry shakes his head. "No titles necessary." His husband would vehemently disagree, as would their son and their people, but Harry doesn't care much for proprieties outside official settings. "Just Harry."

"No, you've made a mistake. I can't be...a-a wizard. I mean, I'm just... Harry. Just Harry."

"Well met, 'Just Harry.'"

At this, Harry snorts. Briefly, do they share an amused smile. Harry wishes to know the name of the dwarf Gandalf sent to find Bilbo. "And what should I call you, Master Dw—"

Blunt the knives and bend the forks!

Smash the bottles and burn the corks!

Chip the glasses and crack the plates!

Harry pauses as he massages his temple when gleeful voices proudly sing out: That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!

"I've met many dwarves in my life, many years ago," during war times, "but I've never come across dwarves quite like the ones currently terrorizing my dear friend." He speaks in a joking manner, as he knows Bilbo is the forgiving sort so long as those within his home clean up their mess, and observes the dwarf who seemed amused at the song coming from Bag-End.

"Songs such as these keep them in high spirits," the dwarf replies. 

Harry hums. "Well then, be on your way to the door." Bilbo will likely pitch a fit once he comes to know that Harry sent yet another dwarf to his door. "I will be a few minutes or so."

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;

Pound them up with a thumping pole;

And when you've finished, if they are whole

Send them down the hall to roll!

"He will be compensated should anything be broken or damaged." With that, the dwarf makes quick strides to the round green door with the glowing symbol on it. 

Meddlesome Gandalf.

It's comical, as Harry guides his horse to the back of Bilbo's property where a covered post stands, that the cheering following a rambunctious song ceases immediately with a heavy knock. Whoever this dwarf is, he's incredibly important. Not just for how he carries himself or whatever his goal may be, but for the steady—although damaged and small—magic within him. 

What if he's the reason...

Harry sighs. 

With a wave of his hand, both saddle and reins disappear and a thick blanket covers his horse. His four-legged companion butt's his hand before moving to drink some water. Harry then feeds an apple to him, ensures his food is fresh and water bucket refilled, and proceeds to bid him a soft 'good night.'

Harry turns towards Bilbo's lovely garden, notices the stone birdbath and wooden benches his friend commissioned from the Brandybucks had arrived, and walks towards them. The attention to detail by the Brandybucks would have an elven-smith impressed. If this were any other night, Harry would sit out here and enjoy the tranquility The Shire provided. 

He won't feel like this for a long while after tonight.

"I look forward to the stories you will tell."

Harry looks up from his journal to see his son walking into his study while a floating tray of tea and sliced fruit follows him. Such simple display of magic fills Harry with a sense of pride and joy, for his son may look like his sire but has obtained the gift of magic from his bearer. He feels himself smile.

His son has expressed his concerns about the travels Harry must take past the mountains but has ultimately looked at the necessity as a good thing.

For that, Harry is grateful.

"I've never been the best at story-telling."

"False," comes the immediate reply. "You keep the attention of everyone in the room." The tray lands on a clear part of Harry's desk. "Adar is not always happy with the attention you receive, especially during story-telling. And singing."

Harry pours tea for both of them as his son sits in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"Coincidentally, I feel much the same."

Cue eye-roll.

Cue wrinkled nose. 

Harry smiles behind his teacup.

He will miss this.

Bilbo moves past a window seeing into the kitchen and looks to be surveying his kitchen with hands on his hips. The dwarves have likely ravished Bilbo's pantry so, in an effort to be of use to his friend, Harry utters a quiet spell towards the garden and watches as all ripe fruits and vegetables shake free of dirt and start to dance their way towards him. He transfigures a stick into a large basket for them to fall into. The harvest is bountiful and will hopefully raise Bilbo's spirit, if only by a little bit.

Without delay, Harry strolls up to the backdoor and let's himself inside.

The first thing he notices as he puts the basket down is the missing kitchen table and chairs. The second thing he notices is the mess of crumbs on the counters and floor. Goodness, his poor friend. Harry is unable to notice much more as a small body collides with his, arms holding him tightly.

"Dwarves," his hobbit friend whispers. "There are too many dwarves in my home." When Bilbo pulls away, he glares up at Harry. "And you sent another my way!"

Harry smiles apologetically. "He was heading your way with or without my help, my friend." Then, softer: "Perhaps a good thing since it seems they've settled down for now."

Bilbo fidgets nervously. "The last one seems very important."

Harry gestures to the basket and feels himself grin when Bilbo's face lights up.

"Oh?" There is something different about the dwarf he spoke with as opposed to others he's met. 

"Oh, yes," Bilbo replies quietly as he grabs the basket to place on the counter. "A name like Thorin Oakenshield carries weight, wouldn't you say?" 

"Oakenshield," Harry mumbles to himself as he racks his brain for information. 

Uncommon surname. 

Strange magic presence.

Vaguely familiar.

Durin's folk.

Harry freezes.

"Erebor is lost."

Harry reaches out with weak fingers, grateful to have strong, capable hands hold his.

"How?" He whispers.

"The depth of gold in the mountain attracted the last of the fire-drakes." 

Harry looks down to where bedsheets pool at his waist, eyes closing to fight back tears. "Dale has been lost too." His chest hurts and his head hurts and his heart too. "Were there...survivors?"

"Yes," comes the quiet response. "More dwarves than the people of Dale." 

"Did you help them?"

Those strong hands release his own and reach up to gently cup his cheeks, tilting his head up. "Harry, there was nothing our people could have done against a dragon." Thumbs stroke over his cheeks tenderly before those hands pull away. "I turned away when I realized nothing could be done to reclaim the mountain."

Elves live long but they are not invincible.

Harry inhales, exhales, and nods. 

"I did send aid, but that is all. I will not risk our people in a battle I know the outcome of. Not them. Not our son." 

"I understand," Harry tells him even as his heart breaks for the dwarves of Erebor.

"There is hope, though. The line of Durin survived and there are other great mountains."

But nothing will ever compare to Erebor and they both know it.

"Harry? Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. Of course."

Bilbo looks unconvinced. "I'm going to make you and Master Oakenshield a hearty meal. 20 minutes and it'll be done!"

"Always a good host despite the circumstances," Harry lightly teases. "Did Master Oakenshield mention me?"

"He referred to you as my friend. Correct, of course, but I think he's a bit cross with Gandalf."

"I'm a bit cross with Gandalf," Harry replies easily.

"And myself makes three. That's an unlucky number." Bilbo putters around the kitchen then, getting his stove going as he starts to separate fruits from vegetables.

Knowing his friend needed a bit of a break from the chaos Gandalf sent his way, Harry exits the kitchen and heads toward the chatter. He passes Bilbo's largest pantry and shakes his head. Bilbo had filled it only three days prior. Rounding the corner into the dining room, Harry silently observes the group of dwarves as they talk amongst themselves.

A handful of them look like proper warriors, but Harry knows not to underestimate any dwarf at anytime. 

Rather than announce himself, Harry waves his hand and a chair from the down the hall shoots towards him at amazing speed. He catches it with ease and places it on the ground with a solid thump, spins it around, and straddles it. The impact of the chair hitting the ground gains everyone's attention. 

A bulky, bald-headed dwarf stands immediately; his expression equal parts annoyed and suspicious. "Who are you?"

Harry whistles in mock disappoint and addresses Thorin Oakenshield: "We go on a nice little walk, have a nice little chat, and you don't mention me properly? That offends me."

The lips upon a serious face twitch in mild amusement and Harry counts that as a win for some silly reason. 

He turns back to the dwarf who spoke to him. "My name is Harry. Just Harry. And it's my understanding that fine dwarves such as yourselves have been terrorizing my dear friend on the behest of Master Oakenshield, urged to come here by Gandalf the Grey?" 

Thorin Oakenshield scowls at him but does not disagree with his words.

Gandalf cannot hide his surprise quick enough. 

Harry merely grins.

Chapter Text

"Another story!" 

Harry shares an amused smile with his dear husband before quietly laughing as he brings their son into his arms and holds him close. The sun set about an hour or so ago and, while elves don't sleep in the way men do, rest is quite important for a child. Large, vibrant blue eyes stare up at him in a pleading manner. 

The bed for their son is a large one, not appropriate for his small size, but certainly perfect for cuddles and snuggles and extended story times. 

Big enough to fit two indulging parents.

"I suppose one more story will be alright," he says quietly. "What would you like to hear?" 

"One about you and ada! Please?!"

His husband tucks a fair lock before a tiny pointed eat before handing their son his favorite stuffed toy; a white stag. "You've heard a great many stories about your emel and myself." 

"What kind of story about us would you like to hear?" Harry adds, feeling content to be with his little family like this.

"Happy story!" Giggles, giggles, giggles.

Harry hums and then, smiling at his husband, nods thoughtfully. "I know one." He nuzzles a soft cheek. "Kind of sad, but it's a good one." He rests his cheek on his son's head. "The day your ada first told me he loved me was the day I realized a broken heart could be mended."

A kiss is pressed to his temple.

"It was the start of winter and I was quite stubborn..."

"Before we get ahead of ourselves, I feel as though introductions are in order. As I've stated, I'm Harry. We all know him," he points at Gandalf, who doesn't meet his eyes, "and I've met Master Oakenshield. If you would kindly introduce yourselves, I'd appreciate it." 

There's a few moments of silence, so quiet that Harry could hear Bilbo cooking away in his kitchen, before whom he assumes is the youngest of the group speaks: "I'm Kíli!"

"Fíli," the fair-headed dwarf next to him immediately follows with, body turned slightly in a protective gesture.

Harry grins. "Kíli and Fíli. Now those are some fun names." This earns him a beaming smile from Kíli and a much smaller one from Fíli. "Nice to meet you."

The next youngest of the group, Harry assumes, pipes up with, "I'm Ori and these are my cousins, Dori and Nori." He sits between a silver-haired dwarf and one with his brown hair styled to mimic a star. 

"Dori, Nori, and Ori. Great names, if I'm honest. Nice to meet you."

Ori blushes a bright red while the other two merely nod at him; cautious.

"Bifur, Bofur, and I'm Bombur," the largest of the dwarves says, pointing to the dwarf with a literal axe in his head and then one with a funny hat. 

Harry laughs a little. "Wonderful. Nice to meet you." 

Bifur thinks he's some sort of vagabond while Bofur just grins at him, swaying a little in his seat.

The oldest appearing dwarf then speaks up. "I am Balin and this here is my brother, Dwalin, and our cousins, Glóin and Óin. Very pleased to meet you." His tone is friendly enough, with a touch of diplomacy.

Dwalin, the dwarf who confronted him minutes ago, continues to stare an him in distrust. Glóin looks at him curiously and Óin acknowledges him with a nod. Balin smiles kindly but even Harry can tell that he is as much thrown for a loop as them all.

There was no reason to believe someone else would be in Bag-End aside from Bilbo.

"Is it custom for dwarves to have names that rhyme?"

"In many ways, yes," Balin answers. "Between close kin."

"Why not remove your cloak, friend of Master Baggins?" Dwalin demands more than questions as Harry goes to speak again. "Let us see the face of a friend."

Harry bites the inside of his cheek to prevent laughter from falling out of his mouth for he knows his husband, son, and their people would not stand for such disrespect. Suspicious and secretive, dwarves are. Often tense in places that aren't their homes. Harry can't say he blames them.

With a shrug, Harry pulls down the hood of his cloak. There's some surprise seen on a few faces and frowns on others. Thorin Oakenshield is among those who frown. Harry pulls his hair, a long curled and wavy thing, from beneath his cloak and drops it over his shoulder. 

"And now you property see my face, Master Dwalin."

Said dwarf snorts but settles back into his seat. "Clearly a man but looks like a tree hugger."

"Unfortunately for you, I'll be taking those words as a compliment."

There's a round of scoffs, but Harry pays them no mind. He suddenly claps his hands, startling the younger dwarfs. Certainly not improving his favor with Dwalin. "Right. So. Dwarves in The Shire are rather uncommon. And as you are now well aware, your host was unaware and unprepared of your arrival this evening." 

Thorin shoots Gandalf another glare while Balin frowns at the grey wizard.

"Ransacked his pantries and re-arranged his furniture," Harry continued. "Thus, this must be urgent business." He folds his arms over the back of the chair and rests his chin upon them. "Am I now allowed to ask what business you may have with my friend?" He directs this comment at Thorin.

"It only concerns Bilbo—" Gandalf begins.

"And seeing as I am Bilbo's friend, I would argue that it concerns me as well." He doesn't snap at Gandalf but it's a near thing. "As you are certainly aware that I am quite protective of those I call friend."

If his husband were here, Gandalf would be on the receiving end of some very unkind words.

"Where is Master Baggins now?" Thorin asks before anymore can be said.

"Preparing a meal for you and I," Harry replies. "He's an excellent cook and takes cooking very seriously. You will be impressed."

Thorin stares at him and Harry meets his gaze head on. "No more will be said about our reasons for being here until Master Baggins has joined us." 

Harry sits up, tilting his head to the second slowly until he hears a satisfying pop. "Fair enough." He stands. "I'll leave you all to it for now. Gandalf," he says, knowing his smile is sharp, "a word, please."

The wizard sighs, appearing very put upon, and moves to follow after him. 

In the secret language of the dwarves, Harry hears the one known as Kíli joke about Gandalf being in "serious trouble."

Harry walks to the end of the hall, his room within the cozy hobbit hole, and enters; the lanterns in the room come to life as the door closes behind Gandalf. He cases the imperturbable charm to ensure their privacy before he removes his cloak. Harry looks at the mirror near his bed, his appearance is well-kept.

He is a man, yet he would not blend in with the villages and cities of men. Frozen in time, he is. Beautiful, his husband would whisper. Otherworldly. And other kind or flowery words. Not an elf but could have certainly descended from one.

"Speak plainly," he orders quietly while sitting on his bed to unlace his boots. "Because I'm inclined to turn you into a beetle and lock you away in a jar. Or hex you. You've greatly upset Bilbo this evening."

"The company of Thorin Oakenshield needs someone like Bilbo Baggins to aid them in their time of need."

Harry barely manages to not rolls his eyes. "In what way, Gandalf?"

"He is...small and not as easily seen by others."

Harry pauses in pulling one boot off. "You need him to be a spy?"

"Not necessarily, although it would help." The wizard has a twinkle in his eyes that uncomfortably reminds Harry of another old and meddlesome wizard. 

"Speak plainly," Harry repeats sternly. "I doubt Bilbo will be in an agreeable mood this evening."

"It is imperative that Erebor be reclaimed," Gandalf states firmly.

For a moment, Harry does nothing but breathe slowly and continue to remove his boots. When his feet are bare, he stands up to face Gandalf, the grey wizard gazing at him unblinkingly. "What of the dragon?" He asks quietly. "How are 13 dwarves, one hobbit, and a wizard going to manage that?"

Gandalf goes to speak but a knock on the door prevents him from saying more.

"Harry? I've placed your supper on the table. Is Gandalf still with you?" 

Harry silently dispersed the privacy spell for his room. "Just a couple minutes more and I'll join you. And yes, Gandalf is with me."

"Alright." And Bilbo's retreating steps fade slowly.

"Thorin Oakenshield will explain his intentions thoroughly. Let Bilbo decide on whether he will join or not. He is far more capable than you think."

Harry barely holds back a scoff. 

He is well aware Bilbo is more than meets the eye.

"If I may ask a question now?" Gandalf continues.

"It's only fair." Despite his feelings on how this evening is progressing. "Ask away."

Gandalf hums for a moment and then, "May I ask why the Elvenking's consort is staying in The Shire?"

"You will not take any of these?"

Harry turns away from his pack to see his dearheart standing by their shared dresser with a small row of beautifully woven, dark wood circles rests upon gold-thread pillows. Should he be wearing one and come across another elf outside of the woodland realm, they would immediately know who he is even if they have not seen his face. 

But Harry doesn't want to be noticed. 

"I cannot risk drawing attention to myself."

His husband walks towards him as Harry pushes his pack away to sit down. His heart feels heavy with each day drawing closer to his departure. If not for this unending urge to travel west, past the mountains and the realm of men, he would not leave. Separation has always been a hard-lived experience between them. 

"Have you packed enough provisions?" 

Harry runs a hand through his hair, catching on a few tangles that he tugs roughly through. "Yes." He smiles up at him. "Our son ensured of that." 

His husband takes the space next to him, taking his hand after he settles. There's a white gold band sitting on Harry's left ring finger and it's twin rests on the same finger  of his beloved. One thing Harry is deeply grateful for is the embrace of some traditions from his previous life, even if he only mentioned them in passing.

"And this?" His wedding ring is gently twisted back and forth.

Harry easily turns his hand over so he can lace their fingers together. "I swore to never take it."

"I'm seeking answers to questions I don't yet know."

Gandalf looks at him in a considering manner. "Your presence cannot be a coincidence, your majesty."

"I've realized that myself," Harry replies quietly. He's not going to unpack that right now. "And, as I've said, it's just Harry. It would be wise to not refer to me as anything other than that, especially in the presence of Thorin Oakenshield and his company." If only his husband could see him now.

"It would be for the best," Gandalf agrees. "Is Bilbo aware of your...status?"

Harry wordlessly summons his socks from the drawer across the room, catching them easily when they fly his way and slips them on quickly. "He has an idea but nothing more. He's been most generous with allowing me to stay, so I have not stressed him out with anything...serious."

Gandalf sighs. "He, at least, should know. You've been here long enough." His tone almost has Harry frown.

It's a strange and unwelcomed, almost disapproving parental tone.

"We've wasted enough time speaking." Harry moves past the grey wizard to leave his room. "Leave my friendship with Bilbo alone." The smell of food calls to Harry, something like comfort food that makes him miss home. 

The dwarves and Bilbo have settled into quiet conversation, which is to say that Bilbo is conversing with Balin while the others sit around chatting amongst themselves. The place at the vacant end of the table is set with a large plate of beef, baked potatoes and mixed vegetables, and a glass of water. 

Harry smiles to himself as it's likely Bilbo hid the beef when he realized more than a few guests would be joining him this evening. 

The only other plate on the table is empty; Harry hopes it was at least somewhat enjoyed before being inhaled. 

He's barely sat for five seconds before Thorin begins speaking: "Master Baggins, it you could provide more light."

"O-Oh, of course."

Harry begins eating regardless because he knows a long night is about to become even longer. 

"The map?" Thorin looked at Gandalf expectedly.

A rather large map is suddenly placed in the center of the table. Harry chews on what is possibly the most tender meat he's ever had as the dwarves and Bilbo peer closer at the map. Whoever drew a dragon at the top of the map definitely had too much time on their hands.

Overkill, he thinks.

"The Lonely Mountain," Bilbo reads out loud but none of the dwarves pay him any mind, much to Harry's annoyance.

Oín, if Harry recalls correctly, then says, "Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain as it was foretold: when the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end."

"Beast?!" Bilbo looks around flabbergasted.

"Well, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire-breather, teeth likerazors, claws like meathooks. Extremely fond of precious metals." 

Bilbo huffs. "I know what a dragon is, thank you!"

Balin smiles sympathetically at the hobbit. "Reclaiming the mountain will be a difficult task."

Kíli let's out a boisterous laugh. "You're forgetting we'll have a wizard with us! Gandalf must have killed 100s of dragons in his time!" 

Harry chuckles at Gandalf's caught-off-guard expression. "Yes, Gandalf. You must have killed 100s of dragons in your time~"

He's on the receiving end of a very mean glare.

Chapter Text

"She is a child."

His husband, sitting at his desk covered in reports, doesn't pause in his writing as he responds with, "She stabbed you."

"Her parents have likely passed on and we do not know how long she has been alone." Harry walks over and lightly touches his husband's hand. "I cannot fault someone so young for trying to defend themselves when they are frightened."

At this, the writing stops. "You are too kind at times, my heart."

"The wound has healed, as it always does." Harry pulls away his husband's writing utensil to take his hand. He presses it to the lower, left side of his abdomen. "I am not in pain. There is no damage." He uses his free hand to tilt a regal face up to look at him. "Tauriel will flourish in Greenwood, if only she were given a chance." Then, softly, "Please give her a chance."

His husband averts his eyes, his lips forming a frown. "Tauriel? You've given her a name?"

Harry merely smiles, both hands coming to cup his dearheart's face; the action having those beautiful eyes on him once again. "Fitting, don't you think?"

"Barely a day and you've already grown attached," is stated quietly. 

"She has a fire in her heart that reminds me of myself, from a lifetime ago."

Harry is effortlessly pulled sideways into his husband's lap, a lingering kiss pressed to his temple. 

"She may stay."

Harry turns his face to tuck comfortably into the offered warmth. "Thank you."

When Bilbo is given the contract, Harry remains silent as the hobbit starts reading through it out loud.

"Terms: cash on delivery, up to, but not exceeding one-fourteenth of total profit, if any. Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by or sustained as a consequence thereof, including, but not limited to: Lacerations? Evisceration? Incineration?"

"He'll melt the skin right off your bones in the blink of an eye!" Some of the dwarves laugh like it's funny.

Harry glares at Silly Hat Dwarf—whose name he refuses to remember in that moment—as Bilbo bends forward a little in attempt to regulate his breathing. 

"Bilbo," Harry calls gently.

His hobbit friend looks at him but, before he can speak, Kíli interjects with: "Think furnace with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, then - POOF! You're nothing more than a pile of ash!" The booms of laughter that follow do nothing but ensure the terrified look in Bilbo's eyes would stay for the rest of the evening.

"That's enough," both Harry and Thorin snap simultaneously.

Gandalf himself looks just as frustrated with Thorin Oakenshield's company. 

But the words have hit Bilbo strongly and, with a clear, "Nope," he drops to the ground in a dead faint. 

Harry dives forward to catch him before his head can collide with the ground. Without another word, Harry scoops Bilbo up and carries him to the closest place of comfort—his beloved armchair inside his study. He remains silent as Thorin lectures his group with strong words which would impress a once strong and proud headmistress he knew from way back.

Still.

Harry decides to give a lecture of his own once Thorin's words come to an end.

"Terrorizing the very person of whom you seek to join your quest of their own free will is a very foolish—if not outright stupid—thing to do and you should be ashamed of yourselves."

Kíli, having already faced Thorin's steely wrath, sinks into his sit. Fíli is positioned next to him, hand on brother's shoulder, but he keeps his head bowed. The other dwarves watch him warily as he begins to pack the fireplace with what little wood there is.

"Your kingdom faced a dragon and lost." His blunt statement has even Thorin looking at him with narrowed eyes. "And that is devastating," he says as he places the last of the logs inside, six in total. "And I am so deeply sorry for your lost. I also know humor is often used to cope with grief."

Gandalf places a blanket over Bilbo, carefully tucking it around him.

"But Bilbo Baggins is a hobbit and hobbits very rarely experience great and terrible things; like dragons. The last horrific devastation of The Shire was the goblin attack that took place nearly six centuries ago."

Harry then points his finger at the fireplace and says calmly says: "Incendio." The moment the wood catches fire, all the dwarves are on their feet in alarm. "I, on the other hand, have experience with dragons and beasts even more foul than dragons. Ones that can suck out your very soul while making you relive every worst memory and fear you carry deep in your mind." 

"What are you?" Ori asks. The, admittedly, kinder dwarf of the bunch takes a few brave steps forward despite the silent protests of his kin. "Are you a wizard like Mister Gandalf?"

Harry almost snorts. Of course, bypass all else he has said to ask such a question. He could explain later if asked.

"I'm many things," Harry replies. "A man. A warrior...and a wizard, but not like Gandalf."

Another goes to speak, but Gandalf interrupts this time. "Harry is not of the five Maiar, like myself, and thus does not abide by the laws sanctioned by The Valar." 

Great job, Gandalf.

"You make it sound as though I'm a troublemaker, Gandalf," Harry draws out with a tone that has even the gruff and buff dwarf, Dwalin, look uncertain as he stares between Harry and Gandalf. 

"You hold a gru—"

"Irrelevant." He stares coldly at Gandalf before turning his gaze back to the group of dwarves. "You will not gain Bilbo as a willing participant if you are careless with your words." And, frankly, he doesn't like the idea of Bilbo running off with a bunch dwarves who may treat him poorly just because of who he is and how he lives his life.

Harry turns his back to them so he may gaze at the fire. "I don't agree with how this evening has gone, but I mostly blame Gandalf for that. Though, you are all at fault in a way as well." He stares at the flames as they flicker back and forth. "Putting my friend in a position where he might feel obligated to go on a journey he may not come back from. The travel between The Shire and Erebor is a long one and not without hardship." 

"You doubt our abilities," Thorin states bitterly, as if Harry is like everyone else whom knows of Thorin Oakenshield's quest. 

Looking away from the fire, meets the eyes of a dwarf willing to risk anything to reclaim his home. "I do not doubt your love for you home nor your determination to reclaim it or willingness to do what you must in reclaiming it."

"And yet?"

Harry  gestures to the map left abandoned on Bilbo's dining table. "And yet even you know that will not be enough for the task you've set out to accomplish."

Determination. Willingness. Heart. 

Desperation.

Just how unprepared is Thorin and his company?

"How do they fair?"

Harry glances over his shoulder, smiling just a bit, before nodding his head towards the training ground below the balcony. "See for yourself, my love."

He is immediately hugged from behind, a chin resting upon his shoulder, and the soft hums of consideration sing sweetly in his ears.

"Has our son turned any swords or arrows into twigs or bubbles yet?"

Harry laughs quietly. "No. He did, however, accidentally change Tauriel's hair color from red to blonde. It didn't quite suit her, in my opinion."

Tauriel has beautiful, bright red hair that matches her personality perfectly. Where Legolas is relatively calm, relaxed, and studious; not one to go looking for trouble most of the time, Tauriel is rather the opposite with her ability to convince Legolas to partake in mischief, and she speaks her mind without sugarcoating her opinions.

They balance each other out.

Of course, Tauriel and Legolas are still children and their personalities can change with the passing of time.

"The bow suits Legolas rather well."

"A skill he has certainly got from me," Harry says with a playfully pompous sniff. "And Tauriel is doing very well with sword training."

There's a huff of amusement felt against his neck. "I suppose you will say she gets it from me?"

"My dear, you are the one who took it upon yourself to begin her training."

Tauriel manages to disarm Legolas of his sword but their son is quick to recover, sending Tauriel tumbling to ground with what seems like a painful kick. 

They're circling each other just moments later, forgoing weapons in favor of hand-to-hand combat.

"Their determination is strong."

"Yes," his husband agrees easily. "However, determination alone will not make them great warriors."

Harry leaves the dwarves to converse amongst themselves while he prepares tea for Bilbo in the kitchen—he knows his hobbit friend will wake soon. He tries to not scowl when Gandalf enters the kitchen shortly after him. Harry sets about using Bilbo's favorite tea set and boils vanilla bean and rose petals, creating a favorable aroma. With a little bit of milk, it's the perfect comforting drink.

"Would you consider going in Bilbo's place?"

"The audacity to even ask that," Harry mumbles beneath his breath as he makes quick work of giving the two of them privacy with his magic.

Gandalf continues, a touch pushy. "The company of Thorin Oakenshield will have to travel through Mirkwood in order to get to The Lonely Mountain."

"Do you truly think I can sway my husband to allow dwarves on a suicide quest to pass through his forest?" 

He has already caused his beloved enough stress as is.

"Yes," the grey wizard replies confidently. "Despite not knowing them, you care for these dwarves and you are sympathetic to their misfortune. You can plead their case. The Elvenking will listen to you above anyone else."

Harry turns to level a glare at Gandalf. "Care and sympathy mean nothing in the face of stubborn dwarves," he snaps. "And how do you think they will react when they learn of who I am?!"

Wizard against wizard, they stand there as a sweet aroma fills the kitchen. 

Finally, Gandalf sighs. It's a bone deep, tired sigh Harry feels within himself. "If Bilbo agrees, what will you do?"

"Go with him as his protector." Such an obvious answer.

"And if he remains? You will return to your home eventually, will you not?"

The audacity.

Harry turns back to the brewing tea. "Go check on Bilbo."

There's movement behind him and then Gandalf leaves the kitchen, but not without giving a parting remark. "You must know by now why you've been drawn here."

When he is alone, Harry braces himself against the counter. 

"Meddlesome old thing," he whispers to himself. "Planting seeds without a care." 

But he's right. 

He remains silent for a few minutes. 

Once he retires for the evening, he will take comfort in a much needed chat with his husband. 

Shaking his head, Harry prepares the small, beautifully painted tray when the tea is finished brewing and carries it to the study where Bilbo likes to sit in his armchair and read by the fire.

Not much reading this night, however.

Bilbo is awake, as Harry suspected he would be, and he's appears overwhelmed by the amount of dwarves apologizing. 

They back away upon seeing Harry.

"What happened?" He asks as Harry holds out the tray for Bilbo to prepare his tea how he likes it before setting it on his desk. 

"They received a tongue-lashing from Master Oakenshield and then something of the sort from me."

Bilbo stares at him with wide eyes. "Truly?"

"Thorin Oakenshield doesn't seem the type to invite jokes about something he is serious about." Harry smiles. "And I would never tolerate someone upsetting you to the point of fainting." Although his friend is red-faced from his words, Harry only smiles kindly. 

"This is brewed to perfection, Harry. Thank you," the hobbit says after taking a sip. "I'll be alright," he reassures Harry. "Just let me sit quietly for a moment."

And he gets that, for all of five seconds, then Gandalf opens his mouth: "You've been sitting quietly for far too long. When did doliles and your mother's dishes become so important to you?" His dead mother's dishes, Harry almost snapped. "I remember a young hobbit who was always running off in search of elves in the woods. He'd stay out late, trailing mud and twigs and fireflies." Bilbo looks ashamed and Harry feels anger start to boil beneath his skin. "A young hobbit who would have liked nothing better than to find out what was beyond the borders of The Shire."

"Gandalf," Harry says, fighting to keep his voice level. "That's enough."

"The world is not in your books and maps. It's out there," Gandalf pushes on.

"I can't just go running off into the blue! I am a Baggins of Bag-End!" Bilbo glares at the grey wizard.

"You're also a Took!"

Harry places a hand on Gandalf's shoulder to pull him back. "I said that's enough."

"Can you even promise that I will return to Bag-End safely?"

Gandalf deflates, but Harry doesn't let go of him. "No. And if you do, you will not be the same." 

Bilbo huffs a bitter sort of laugh. "That's what I thought. I'm sorry, Gandalf, but I can't sign the contract. You've got the wrong hobbit."

"Bilbo—"

Harry tightens his grip on Gandalf's shoulder. "He gave you his answer. Stop pushing." 

Gandalf looks at him, then back at Bilbo, before shaking his head in disappointment and pulling away to leave Bilbo's study.

"He'll get over it," Harry tells Bilbo quietly

Bilbo nods slowly, slumping into his armchair. "Right, right. Of course."

Bilbo retires to his room not long after he finishes his second cup of tea, eyes filled with conflicting emotions.

The dwarves begin singing.

Harry stands by the largest window in Bag-End, listening silently.  

The anguish Harry felt for the dwarves of Erebor when he learned of their fallen kingdom comes back tenfold.

Far over the Misty Mountain cold,

To dungeons deep and caverns old,

We must away ere break of day,

To find our long forgotten gold.

Chapter Text

Harry wakes to the dwarves quietly leaving Bag-End. It's surprising, if he's honest, how they manage to not go stomping around the hobbit home collecting their various belongings and, thus, waking Bilbo.

Harry, clothed in a silk robe, opens the door as the last of the dwarves walks by. Balin, if he recalls correctly. The white-haired dwarf pauses at the sight of him, offering a small smile followed by a nod.

"We'll be on our way now." He bows at Harry and Harry returns the gesture with a dip of his head. "Please give Master Baggins our sincerest apologies for evading his home last night."

Smiling a little, Harry nods. "I'll be sure to relay your words to him." Harry glances pass him to see Dwalin standing by the open front door. "I don't believe this will be the last time we meet."

Balin tilts his head; curious, but doesn't verbally respond. With another bow, he turns around and follows after his brother. Harry watches until the front is securely closed. For a moment, he just stands there and waits.

The sun is barely peaking over the hills and Bilbo will be up soon enough. Harry goes about preparing breakfast for himself and Bilbo. Toast, eggs, sausage, sliced fruit, porridge, biscuits with butter and jam, bacon, and tea. 

Food from Bilbo's secret stash beneath the floorboards.

It isn't long, just as the sky is turning blue, before Bilbo comes stumbling into the kitchen, led by his nose.

Harry hides a smile behind his napkin. While Bilbo sleepily piles food onto his plate, Harry's plate consists of toast, fruit, and eggs. He has never been much of a breakfast eater, much to the worry of his family and friends.

And, since coming here, to Bilbo.

"I had the strangest dream last night, Harry."

Grinning, Harry begins buttering his toast. "Do tell, my friend."

"Dwarves," Bilbo mumbles. "They came to my home and made a mess of everything. Ate me out of house and home. Absolutely ridiculous." Bilbo reaches for the jam, taking a fair scoop, and slathering it onto his biscuit. 

Harry raises an eyebrow when Bilbo wrinkles his nose after taking a bite. "Is something wrong?"

"I made this cherry jam too sweet." He finishes his biscuit despite complaining and slides out of his seat. "I'll go get the blackberry jam. Less sweet. Kind of tangy. I made it not but two days prior."

Having an atrocious sweet tooth, Harry pulls the open jam to himself. "I have no complaints, Bilbo."

Bilbo only huffs a laugh and says over his shoulder as he leaves the kitchen: "You do love Hilda Bracegirdle's sugar pies."

"Fruit pies!" Harry corrects him, playfully snobbish.

But he receives no response. 

Harry finishes his eggs and fruit in the time that Bilbo is gone. He's adding a couple of strawberries when feet starts slapping against the wooden floor and Bilbo bursts back into the kitchen. Harry holds back a laugh at Bilbo's expression.

"It wasn't a dream," his hobbit friend exclaims. "They were actually here! They—They ransacked my pantries and dirtied my floors with their muddy boots and then sang that horrible song while throwing about my dishes!"

"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates," Harry sings cheekily.

Bilbo's look of betrayal causes Harry to chuckle. The humor Harry feels is shortlived when he realizes Bilbo is clutching the contract in his hand. The same hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart. 

"Did they—Was there—," Bilbo sighs in frustration. "I went to bed before the rest of you. Was there...any food left for them to pack for their journey? At least to...to get them started?"

"They took the rest of your dried meat and remaining loaves of bread. I'm not sure if they took anything else."

Bilbo worries his bottom lip.

Harry patiently waits for his friend to collect his thoughts. The dwarves are likely just passing The Shire boarder now, if in a rush to seize the day. He watches Bilbo glance at the contract clutched tightly in his hand. 

Bilbo then grabs it with both hands to look at it. "I'm not a warrior, Harry. What...real use would I be to them?"

"You are an excellent forager, you do not lose your way beneath ground, your eyesight is beyond that of a man's best, and you are a quick thinker. You can fish and place traps. You know how to whip together healing salves with few ingredients." All this, Harry says quickly and sincerely. "You are a wonderful storyteller and singer. On journeys such as these, a steady moral is just as important as one's ability to fight."

"What do you think I should do?"

Harry shakes his head. "I'm not going to tell you want to do, Bilbo. This is your choice and you have my full support in whatever decision you make." 

"I can't just—I mean, what would folks say?!"

"What haven't the Sackville-Baggins said at this point?" Harry questions, somewhat amused.

Bilbo huffs. "Lobelia has been after Bag-End for years. Decades!"

"I would never allow anything to happen to your home, Bilbo. I can assure you of that."

The hobbit is clutching the contract with such strength, Harry is genuinely surprised it hasn't torn. "They've likely passed the boarder now," Bilbo mumbles, more to himself than anything. "If they left early enough."

"Indeed. You'd either have to run like mad or ask if anyone can lend you their horse." Harry leans back in his seat as his friend contemplates. 

It's silent for a few minutes.

Bilbo turns to look out the kitchen window. "My mother wouldn't hesitate to do this. Not only for the thrill, but because she would be helping someone. Helping many."

"You would have to traverse harsh climates with the liklihood of facing creatures darker and more dangerous than a Sackville-Baggins." Getting up, Harry walks to Bilbo and drops to one knee. His places his hands on tense shoulders and carefully meets the hobbit's eyes. "Gandalf was not speaking lightly last night, Bilbo. If you do this, nothing will ever be the same. You will absolutely perceive the world differently."

"I'm scared of what may happen to me," the hobbit admits, eyes lowered in shame. 

"You are far braver than you think," Harry states with conviction. "And you are not a coward should you choose to remain in The Shire."

Bilbo inhales deeply and exhales slowly.

"I would like to help," Bilbo whispers. "If I can." He looks at Harry with cautious determination. "Harry, it's not fair for me to ask...you've been a dear friend—But I would—Of course, if you say no—You are more experienced than myself—"

"You are my friend. That is reason enough. And I swear, on my magic, that I will do everything I can to ensure you return to your books and garden."

Bilbo looks teary-eyed for a moment before he suddenly slaps his cheek. "Ink! I need ink and a quill. I need to pack! I need—"

"I've already packed for us last night," Harry interrupts gently. "In the event that you decided you would aid Thorin Oakenshield and his company."

Stay or go; Harry did his best to help Bilbo.

"A miracle, you are!" Bilbo rushes out of the kitchen. "I just need to sign this and speak to Topper Gamgee about my garden, stop by Hardlocks to ensure he is paid timely each month, and we can be off soon enough!"

"I'll contact Mister Gamgee," he calls after Bilbo.

With a wave of his hand, the food on the table is now within a travel container and the dishes are washing themselves in the kitchen sink.

Harry quickly casts his patronus. "Mister Gamgee, I apologize for disturbing you this morning. And for this abrupt request I have. Bilbo and I will be leaving this morning and are unlikely to return for at least two years. Hopefully less. I will take care of Bilbo's home, allowing no entry, but would you please watch over Bilbo's garden? He would not want the fruits and vegetables to go to waste." 

"We will stop by Hardlocks to ensure he is paid for his service if he says yes!"

Harry chuckles. "Please response as soon as you're able to. Thank you." And his sends Prongs off into the morning.

"—as ada's elk!" Legolas exclaims. "Bigger!"

Tauriel nods rapidly in agreement. "And it guided us back to the path!"

Harry smiles at his son and ward, crouched to their level while holding two handful of small forest finds; primarily little white and yellow flowers, acorns, and fall-colored leaves.

Galion offers a small smile when Harry looks at him. "It was quite big," he confirms. Then, he frowns a little. "I'm sorry for losing sight of them, my lord." 

"I'm fairly certain Legolas and Tauriel made it difficult for you to find them," he reassures the elf. "Am I wrong, children?"

Legolas slumps a little. "We only wanted to play a little."

"We didn't mean to make anyone worry," Tauriel quickly tacks on.

"But then we got lost," they said together.

Harry hums. "Which is why you are meant to stay with your caretaker when outside of our home, correct?"

"Yes, emel."

"Yes, sir."

"I believe you both know what you must do now," Harry says, gentle but firm.

"I'm sorry, Galion," the elflings speak simultaneously. 

"No harm done, young ones," Galion, ever kind and forgiving, replies gently. 

Harry nods towards the stairs leading to the closest washroom. "Clean yourselves up. It will soon be lunchtime." As they walk away, Harry turns to Galion. "Thank you for taking them out."

Galion places his hand over his heart and bows his head. "It's my pleasure, my lord."

A large stag in the forest? How strange...

Prongs returns within 10 minutes, just as Bilbo finished changing into somewhat more appropriate travel clothes and Harry is lacing up his boots, and nuzzles Harry's cheek the moment his appears through the wall. 

"You gave Marigold and I quite the fright, Mister Harry! But you and Mister Bilbo needn't worry about the garden. I'll be taken good care of it! Marigold will keep ol' Lobelia away as well."

Bilbo is smiling as he comes into the kitchen with his pack and Harry's. "My pack is quite light. Thank you."

The light weight spell has been nothing but a blessing in Harry's opinion; especially since the start of his life in these once unfamiliar lands.

"Of course, Bilbo. There's food in your pack. In the blue bag. Most of it is what I picked from the garden. While you head to Hardlocks, I make a quick stop at the market. Some stalls will be open." He had prepared what he could for Bilbo, carrying food for his friend in his own pack as well.

The home of the Hardlocks is close to the market, so a quick stop shouldn't take more than 10 or so minutes.

"Thank you, Harry." Bilbo's face is a few shades lighter than his red jacket.

Prongs disappears after a gentle nudge to Harry's knee. "Of course." 

Bags grabbed, they walk out of the backdoor of Bag-End together. Harry's horse looks at them expectantly, neighing quietly in a sort of greeting. Harry reaches him first, giving a few firms pats to his thick neck.

Bilbo holds out an apple when he joins Harry at his side. "Good morning." 

The apple is eaten and Bilbo receives an appreciative nudge in return.

"Be good to my friend," Harry says as he removes the blanket. "He's a little...unsure off his feet for long." 

Bilbo huffs quietly next to him. "We must hurry, Harry."

Prior to this point, Harry would transfigured something into a sort of mini-staircase so Bilbo could climb onto their four-legged friend himself, but Bilbo said they were in a hurry—Harry promptly picks Bilbo up and plops him on the back of his horse. 

"Wha-Harry!"

"We're hurrying, my friend~"

"That was very undignified!" Bilbo crosses his arms over his chest.

Harry holds his hands up in peace. "I'm sorry, Bilbo. I was only teasing. It won't happen again without your permission, I promise."

Bilbo eyes him in suspension, but nods nonetheless. "Let us be on our way!"

"Yes, Master Baggins! Right away, Master Baggins!"

Harry receives a swat on the shoulder for that.

Slow the company you ride with, Gandalf. 

He can almost smell the tobacco through the mind link.

We are coming. 

Thank you, your majesty.

It is not I you should thank.

"I think I'd like to travel Middle Earth at leisure one day," Harry states quietly while he slowly brushes his hair. 

It has not been long since he seen the children to bed; reading Legolas a story about an unlikely friendship between an elf and dwarf and singing a song about moonlight and stars to Tauriel. 

"When the darkness is gone and the free people are at peace," he continues.

The brush he's using is taken from his hand and the act of brushing proceeds by his beloved's hand with long strokes.

"I suppose it would be pleasant to see once glorious lands restored. One day, perhaps."

Harry chuckles, tilting his head back. "One day, perhaps," he repeats.

A kiss is pressed to the crown of his head. 

Chapter Text

"One might consider this a bad omen."

Harry looks over his shoulder for but a moment before returning his gaze to the freezing rain.

He had awoken to a downpour, to a loving but silent husband, had walked into the banquet hall to see far too many concerned faces looking at him, had knicked his finger on the wooden table.

His husband did not attend breakfast.

Yes, some would consider this a bad omen.

"We all suspected rain for days," he says as he turns to face his son. "And I've received multiple splitters from that table over the course of many, many years. Traveling in rain is easier. And bandits are more likely to stay away."

Legolas smiles, although it is small. "We will miss you.

"So will I," Harry replies softly as he turns to face him. "So very much." Harry does not know when he will return to their home, as the feeling deep in his heart calls to something important past the mountains. "Try to keep your father from retreating into himself." 

Legolas sighs. "I will try my best. Ada...he accepts that you are leaving today but he does not accept the distance you will be from him once you leave."

Harry smiles sadly. "I know." 

"The same can be said for me. And Tauriel, if she were here now." 

"You will have each other, but my heart will always be here, with all of you."

Harry buys what one may consider an absurd amount of bread, dried meats, cheese, and some of Hilda Bracegirdle's fruit pies if they are not a hobbit. He casts preservation charms on the food, such as he did with the other food packed for travel, and places them in his own purple pouch. While Bilbo may not partake in pie-eating, he will enjoy other simple goods.

"Make sure you're takin' care on the road," Thumper Bracegirdle, sweet Hilda's equally sweet husband, calls after him as he leads his horse out of the market area by the reins. "We be hearin' a great deal about dark and evil things from the men over in Bree."

Lovely.

Harry smiles over his shoulder. "Thank you for your concern. I'm sure Bilbo would say the same!"

He spots his hobbit friend at the end of the path ahead of him, pacing back and forth, contract gripped tightly in one hand. 

"Bilbo!" He calls out. "Is everything in order?"

"As much as it can be in a short amount of time." Bilbo looks him over. "Did you manage to get some food?"

Harry grins. "While we'll need to cut down to five or six meals a day for you, I still got a decent amount. Practically bought all of Pippy Took's cheese."

Bilbo flushes a little. "Oh, Harry. I didn't consider—"

He raises a hand to stay his friend's words. "This is small in comparison to all you've done for me since I met you in Bree. Truly, do not worry."

"If you are...certain?"

"Absolutely." Harry heaves himself onto his horse in that moment before transfiguring a stone into a small stepping tool so Bilbo can climb on behind him. "Do not worry about how the dwarves may act or what they say during this journey, Bilbo. I will take care of everything."

Bilbo climbs the stepping tool and situates himself behind Harry. "Thank you, Harry." It's spoken quietly.

"Do not thank me, my friend. I am glad to do it."

When Bilbo's arms are securely around his waist, Harry leads his horse into a mild gallop. They past many hobbit children playing out in the gardens of surrounding homes. Some of the older hobbits acknowledge them with a wave and smile, some of the older children try to chase after them. 

Harry cuts through The Shire as opposed to going around it. He uses the paths forged by adventurous children, much to the annoyance of a farmer or two, and silently cases a spell to fix drooping stocks as an apology. The company of Thorin Oakenshield is outside of The Shire, on a path meant to lead them straight past Bree according to Gandalf. 

As they leave The Shire behind, dark clouds appear in the distance. 

"One might call that a bad omen," Harry hears Bilbo say. 

"Mr. Bilbo, Mr. Harry, where are you two off to?!" Old Master Worrywart calls out as they pass his wagon.

"Can't stop now, I'm sorry!" Bilbo shouts back. "We're already late!"

"Late for what?!"

It's Harry who replies next. "We're going on an adventure!"

"I won't hurt you." The dwarf, muzzled and breathing heavy, glares suspiciously at Harry. "You have my word." 

Although the dwarf cannot speak, the tension in his shoulders eases a little when Harry lowers his sword. He has already freed the dwarf's wrists and ankles. The condition of the dwarf is nothing short of horrific.

Harry is as gentle as can be as he feels along the muzzle, internally wincing as he touches crusted over blood and raised scar tissue, until he finds the lock at the base of the dwarf's neck.

Carefully, he gathers all hair to put over a single shoulder. Wand sliding into his hand from his wrist holster, he whispers a simple: "Alohomora."

The lock clicks and Harry barely manages to lean back before the dwarf is ripping the damn muzzle off his face. Thin lines of blood drip down his face as a result of the forceful removal. Harry is deeply sympathetic.

Harry removes his water skin from his hip and wordlessly hands it over.

The dwarf greedily drinks it all gone. "M'thanks." 

"I am not at full strength, Master Dwarf. I can only repair some damage done to you by that dammed thing."

The dwarf's voice is raspy from lack of use. "Mouth," he manages and then breaks into a coughing fit. 

Harry summons more water into his water skin, handing it back over, and then gets to work doing what he can to heal the torn and scarred skin.

"May I ask your name?" Harry asks after he sits back to give the dwarf his space.

There's a faint tremble to the dwarf's hands as he lightly touches his own face. He's blond, tattooed, and with a beard that will certainly stop at his waist if he were to stand. Harry hasn't seen a blond dwarf is a very long time.

"Frerin, Son of Thráin, Son of Thrór."

Harry will never, not ever, unsee the funny image of a bunch of dwarves riding on ponies. 

"I see them," Harry informs Bilbo.

He feels his friend perk up. "Wait!" He shouts as he leans around Harry. "Please wait!"

The dwarves pause as Harry urges his horse to move a bit faster towards them. He stops his horse next to Balin's pony where Bilbo hands over the contract. Balin, to his credit, merely smiles despite the quiet snickers from the closest of dwarves at Bilbo's enthusiastic handover of the contract. 

Balin pulls a pair of eyeglasses out of his chest pocket and reads over the contract. "Everything appears to be in order. Welcome, Master Baggins, to the company of Thorin Oakenshield."

"Thank you," Bilbo says, though it's clear it's unnecessary gratitude.

"As for you, Master Harry—"

Harry holds up his hand. "You need not worry about me, Master Balin. I have not need for gold of any amount. Or glory. And while I do hope," expect, "you and your companions to treat Bilbo well, I can and will look after myself."

"I see."

With a small smile, Harry adds: "I come as Bilbo's friend on this quest."

"Indeed," Balin replies, matching Harry's smile. 

"Move out," Thorin orders once Balin secures the contract in his pack.

Aside from the occasional short conversations between Balin and Bilbo, the group moves in relative silence. Harry is keenly aware of their surroundings, regularly letting his magic reach out to the forest they're moving through for signs of danger. They have long since passed Bree and, from a distance, a few settlements of men. 

When Harry hears the telltale sniffles of Bilbo's mild horsehair allergy, he glances over his shoulder to speak softly to his friend.

"Check the outer pocket of your pack. You'll find that I packed a few of your handkerchiefs there."

"Thank you, Harry." The response is equally as soft. 

The sky is a dark grey when the first rumble is heard. There's a series of groans from some of the dwarves when a much louder rumble immediately follows. Harry had long since casted an anti-rain, protection spell on himself, Bilbo, and their four-legged carrier. 

He considers, for a moment, letting Gandalf and the dwarves face the rain head on. After all, he is still somewhat upset with the happenings of last night. However, Bilbo's small nudge and silent question regarding the rain has him extending the spell over the entire group to prevent any of them from becoming wet. 

None, except for Gandalf, seem to notice at first. Harry can't say he blames them for not realizing yet. The branches of the trees above them are thick with large leaves. 

When they pass beneath a much thinner tree, it is Kíli who notices or, at least, says something first.

"I don't feel any rain!"

A few dwarves make similar statements following that.

"Is this because of you, Master Harry?" Ori, if Harry remembers, correctly.

Harry is amused by the eye toll Gandalf sends his way. "A little rain never hurt anyone."

"But it would be unfortunate to have soggy packs of clothes and food, wouldn't you say?" Harry then addresses the dwarf who questioned him. "Yes, this is my doing. I much enjoy the rain but I doubt many here share the same feeling."

"One could argue it builds character," Gandalf states, though he seems to still be enjoying rain-free smoking. 

"One could argue you're jealous," Harry replies, just a touch cheeky.

"You mentioned Master Harry isn't like the other wizards of Middle Earth," Kíli pipes up. "What are the other wizards like?"

Harry loses interests in the conversation for now. Saruman the White is not someone Harry particularly likes. While the wizard is powerful and will come to aid when necessary, there's an underlying darkness about him that needs to be watched. He met one blue wizard, Karuth, rather accidentally some 800 years ago or so and they haven't crossed paths since. The blue wizards keep to themselves down in the south of Middle Earth. Harry is, however, admittedly fond of Radagast. In some ways, he reminds Harry of a magical, creature-loving half-giant. 

"—keeps a watchful eye to the vase forest lands to the east—"

Harry looks to the sky, what he can see through the trees, and sighs.

This forest is dark and gloomy, but the vegetation is healthy. Harry misses what was once known as Greenworlod. Before the darkness. Before the spiders. Before a foul evil took root in Dol Guldor.

"—arry? Master Harry?!"

Shaking his head, Harry realizes that the entire company of Thorin Oakenshield is looking at him, including Thorin himself.

"I apologize. I was lost in thought." 

"We want to know more about your magic, if you'd be willing to share." This is spoken by Balin with similar sentiments coming from Nori and Glóin.

"I am not yet comfortable to reveal all about my magic. I hope you can understand. I can say that my magic manifests differently than Gandalf's. Such as keeping us dry. Much of it is what I learned is from a long time ago, in a place that no longer exists."

Thorin calls for them stop at a burned down farmhouse. The sky cleared of grey clouds shortly before the sun began to set. Harry received a few vocal gratitudes from some of the dwarves with the rest simply nodding their thanks in his direction. 

He wordlessly transfigures a stick into a small staircase for Bilbo to reach the ground, paying no mind to various gazes in their direction. There's a muted smile on Bilbo's face when his feet touch the seemingly soft grass—of which he wiggles his toes and casually walks around a bit. Harry slides off his horse and leads his four-legged friend to be with the ponies in a grazing area near the camp Thorin ordered to be built quickly before they are without light.

"If you gather the wood, I'll light the fire," Harry tells Fíli and Kíli. 

They do so, and quickly, without a word. Dwalin and Ori dig a fire pit while Dori and Bifur gather rocks to go around the outside of the fire pit. It's not necessary but Harry doesn't voice that. 

Much as he said he would, there's a fire in seconds after a good amount of wood is added to the fire pit. 

"I'll get a pot going," Bombur declares. 

"I can go see what I can forage for you," Bilbo asks more than states.

Bombur, although mostly silent since Harry and Bilbo met him the previous night, sends a grateful smile towards Bilbo. "That would be real nice of you, Master Baggins."

Eager to make himself useful, Bilbo goes off into the forest with Harry following him on light feet.

Chapter Text

Harry walked along the river, feet bare on plush green grass. He had left the Woodland Kingdom behind not but three hours ago in search of peace of mind; his anger causing him to feel numb. Another disagreement with his husband has left them both in sour moods. 

He had not listened to his husband's advisors, nor his guards, on taking precautions before leaving; simply apparating away before he could hear another word. 

Darkness is steadily claiming Greenwood, in such a way that it leaves Harry exhausted for days after fighting against. He cannot explain why his magic is faltering the way it does. There had not been a single issue since arriving to this land.

Until now.

Try and try as he might, there is nothing that can be done when he falls ill from the infected air. 

Harry knows seeing him vulnerable—exhausted, weak—only increases his husband's worry and overwhelmingly protective gestures. 

It's suffocating.

His every move watched. His every word taken with a grain of salt. Made to stay in bed even when fully recovered. "Rest more. Build up your strength. I will do it." Like a sickly child incapable of caring from himself.

It led to a disagreement, words not heard by the elves in the kingdom, thanks to a silencing charm, but his expression was enough for many to keep their distance once he stormed out of his husband's study.

He needed to get away, for his own sake.

Three hours is a long time to be away, he can grudgingly admit after some time, when galloping can be heard from a distance. Harry turns to face the sound, boots in one hand and pretty stone he found by the river earlier in the other. His husband, on a horse rather than his elk, comes to a stop about 10 yards away.

King and consort stare at each other, but neither calls out to the other.

Bilbo is quick to find savory mushrooms, wild garlic, and grapes. There's a great deal of it, so much so that Harry transfigures a few leaves into sturdy baskets and they set about gathering all they can. It's a fantastic find given how thick the trees of the surrounding forest are.

Harry could use his magic for the gathering, but he knows Bilbo will want more independence now that they have begun this journey.

He carries only one basket to Bilbo's two and, when they return to the camp, the dwarves and Gandalf are already gathered around the fire. There's no food served, much to Harry's relief, as he and Bilbo bring forth the hobbit's findings. Bombur looks delighted upon seeing the baskets.

"You really found all of that," Dori asks, looking at Harry. His disbelief is heard clearly. Bilbo looks away at his tone and Harry scowls.

"It was Bilbo," he states bluntly. "He's an expert at foraging."

Ori is quick to nudge his brother, smiling apologetically at Harry. "Thank you, Master Baggins!" There's a few more spoken gratitudes sent Bilbo's way.

Seeing as Bombur easily welcomes Bilbo into a light conversation, Harry moves to sit next to Gandalf on a fallen log. "The journey has only begun, yet you find yourself already at odds with some of our company."

Harry cocks an unimpressed eyebrow at him.  "I've been at odds with them the moment you disrespectfully invited them into Bilbo's home." Somewhat true, to an extent.  "I'm just more willing to bite my tongue... for the most part."

"Bilbo is doing them a great service. Your protectiveness is not unfounded." Gandalf smiles a bit. "Your type of magic will be very beneficial during this journey." 

"You felt the shields go up," Harry states.

Gandalf hums softly. "Extraordinary magic," the grey wizard says. "Something not I, nor the other wizards, nor the elves, can do."

"I gave you several opportunities to ask me questions, but you prefer to be difficult."

Gandalf pulls out his pipe, stuffs some tobacco in it, and then nods towards it with a smile. "Help an old wizard out?" Harry blinks at the pipe and smoke starts drifting from it. "You merely don't like how I phrase my questions."

"I suspect not many do." Harry looks to the sky.

"Some of your magic requires incantations or movements with your wand while other means of magic require nothing of the sort. Wandless magic, you have mentioned." Gandalf puffs and puffs his pipe.

Harry smiles a little. "I'm still a puzzle you can't solve." 

"Indeed," the grey wizard agrees. "Fortunately, I'm very fond of puzzles."

Harry looks to the leader of their company as Thorin orders Fíli and Kíli to go check on the ponies. Both dwarves seem put upon by the order but do as told. They treck into the surrounding forest, disappearing from his line of sight.

His own horse was grazing with the ponies, seeming happy to be around many of his own kind. 

"We'll be eatin' real soon," Bombur announces with glee. 

"It smells delicious," Harry replies with a smile, looking away when Bombur suddenly appears bashful. 

A hearty beef stew at the start of such a journey is certainly a good choice. Bilbo comes to join him and Gandalf, pulling out his own pipe as well. Harry gets it going soon enough and Bilbo is quick to make three rapid smoke rings.

"Did he use anything you found?"

"The garlic," Bilbo replies. "According to him, dwarves aren't too fond of mushrooms and I don't think grapes pair well with beef stew. Maybe as a snack later?" 

"A little sweet and a little healthy, I suppose." 

Harry stands off to the side as the dwarves and Gandalf eat by the fire. His bowl of stew is cooling off on the log he sat on with Gandalf and Bilbo earlier. It really smells amazing; something Alonnen—the head chef of home—would give praise to. 

Bilbo had taken upon himself the task of bringing Kíli and Fíli their meals. 

These two dwarves sort of remind him of a red-headed best friend and his younger sister; prideful and stubborn as all mighty, loyal and brave and good-hearted moreso.

Harry hums quietly to himself as he walks around the clearing's border, observing a scattering of fireflies.

"Bilbo should be back by now, shouldn't he be?" Gandalf quietly muses.

Harry narrows his eyes at the grey wizard's nonchalant tone. "Indeed," he states firmly. "I'll go check on him," he adds when no one offers to go check on him—or their fellow dwarves. 

But as he heads across camp in the direction of where the ponies and his horse are grazing, Fíli and Kíli burst into the camp.

Bilbo is not with them. 

"Trolls," Kíli heaves out. "Three of them."

"They took four of our ponies," Fíli adds.

Before anyone can say anything else, Harry is quick to ask: "Where is Bilbo?"

Kíli turns back to where he and his brother just came, pointing in that direction. "We—He—Freeing the ponies?"

Harry storms pass him. "Is that confirmation or a statement?" He snaps.

His magic is wrapped around the campsite as several types of shields, including the small meadow where they left the ponies, but if the ponies moved outside of the meadow—He shakes his head, trying to keep his anger from boiling over.

"Careless," he mumbles. "Careless, awful dwarves. Careless, stupid me."

Harry slows to a stops when he hears, "—over the fire! Make him squeal!" He pulls out his wand as he peaks from behind the tree. Bilbo is in the clutches of a troll, dangling upside. 

"Do something!" 

"What?!"

"Anything!"

Rustling comes from behind and Harry doesn't react in time to prevent Kíli from dashing by him, sword out as he gives a mighty yell: "Drop him!" The dwarf hacks at the troll's leg. "I said drop him!"

Another troll, carrying a gigantic ladle, tries to smash it down on him.

"Swish and flick."

"Wingardium—

"—Leviosa!" Harry shouts.

The ladle stays in the air when the troll tries to swing it down again. The trolls pause in confusion, even Kíli, but the rest of the dwarves burst into clearing and start going at the trolls with extreme prejudice. Harry shoots forward when the troll holding Bilbo let's him go. 

He catches his hobbit friend with ease, leaping back when he realizes the ladle started falling down.  

Angry for his shaking, frightened friend, Harry looks to the dwarves and trolls. The company of Thorin Oakenshield manages to get one down to it's knees while dodging furious swipes from the other two. Harry scowls at the lot of them. 

He points his wand to the sky. "Lumos Solem!" His voice booms across the clearing as intense sunlight explodes across the sky, as far as the eyes can see. The damage it causes is swift.

The trolls scream in agony as their blue-ish grey skin turns to stone.

He places Bilbo on the ground, reassuring himself that he is okay aside from troll snot covering most of his upper clothes. A simple flick of his wand has him clean and color returning to his cheeks. Bilbo offers him a shaky smile in gratitude. "Rescue your ponies," Harry tells Fíli firmly, turning his back to the dwarves and walking away with Bilbo at his side.

"You are the most stubborn elf I've ever had the misfortune of meeting," Harry snarls into the face of the newly crowned king.

"Do not take that tone with me," said elvenking of the Woodland Realm commands, voice cold. "Not when I've prevented your death at the hands of your own foolishness." 

Harry laughs, falsely cheerful. "And now your stuck here with me, o' great king. Injured, like me."

His wand is safely tucked away in his room back at 'home' and he suspects he's concussed, so wandless magic is not ideal. 

Harry flinches when a cold hand tilts his head up—even in such circumstances, he cannot help but find such cold, blue eyes to be unfairly beautiful—as just as chilly fingers prod at the split skin along his hairline.

"Hold still," comes the quiet demand when large hands gently but firmly cup his face. 

Breath caught in his throat, he does as told. As expected, a healing song falls from lips so close to his own. It's a song he recognizes as one that has been used on him in-between consciousness during his first few days in Middle Earth. Simple, but powerful. 

When the dull ache fades considerably, he releases a sigh.

"Rest." It's a firm command; no arguments will be tolerate, and Harry feels compelled to listen.

He doesn't understand.

Why hasn't he been dismissed from Greenwood?

"Wingardium—Wingardium—what was it?"

Harry ignores the poorly hushed whispers coming from the opposite side of the fire. He had built it back up upon returning to the campsite and sternly told Bilbo to eat what would have been his portion. Gandalf wasn't present when he and Bilbo returned and, if he's quite honest with himself, he doesn't care where the other wizard has wondered off to.

"Leviosa-aah," Ori states, looking rather pleased with himself for remembering. Harry, however, catches the quick look of uncertainty flash across his face.

"It's Levi-oh-sa," he corrects not unkindly. "Not Leviosa-aah." He likes Ori.

Dori shifts closer to Ori, eyeing Harry with caution, while Nori adjusts his sitting on the ground so he body is curved towards Ori.

Harry feels like laughing. 

"Leviosa," Bilbo mumbles beside him. "I don't recall you telling me the translation of that spell."

"I don't know the direct translation, only that its a levitation spell. Many spells were created in a language I cannot speak fluently."

"Why is that?" Bofur asks. 

Harry looks at him. He can count on one hand the dwarves that have made an effort to speak to Bilbo. Of course, they're wary of him and keep their distance. But either Bofur has horrible self-preservation—not that he would harm any of them without just cause—or he just doesn't care.

Whatever.

"The majority of them were created several 1000s of years before I was born. The language, known as Latin where I'm from, is considered a 'dead language' anyway. Only the names and titles of spells and objects remain. Also medical and law-based." He's not actually sure if that's completely true but it doesn't matter.

"Dead?" Kíli repeats. "How can a language be dead?"

"It's no longer a first language or used for everyday communication by a community of native speakers. Therefore, it's a dead language."

This gets the dwarves going instantly. With the exception of Thorin, Balin, and Bifur, the dwarves start talking over each other about the importance of having a language, their secret language, of course, and commenting about how ridiculous it is to not keep a language alive.

"I do believe they disagree with the idea of a 'dead language,' Harry," Bilbo states, somewhat amused.

Harry shrugs.

"What happened?" Galion asks as Harry is supported into the healing room by the elvenking, a group of guards trailing after them. "Your majesty, let me look at your—"

Harry can't see it, but he knows a hand was raised to stay the rest of Galion's words. 

"Our wizard has been injured. His head, left shoulder, and lower back," comes the smooth voice. "Take care when examining his head. He may lose what remaining intelligence he has if you move him around too much."

"He's probably right." Harry sighs when he's lowered onto thick, soft sheets. "Mostly, I just need a nap and I'll be right as rain come morning."

"You will not do anything strenuous for the remainder of this week." The elvenking looks at Harry, expression something he can't quite place. "Ensure that he follows this very simple order to the best of your abilities."

"Yes, your majesty," the surrounding elves chorus; some sound amused.

Harry closes his eyes. "I'll think about it," he mumbles sleepily. 

Fingers brush through his hair. "Do not be stubborn, Harry."

Chapter Text

Harry drops to his knees, gasping for breath, as a round of polite applause surrounds him. While he had learned much of blade and bow over the course of a year, it will likely take several more just to reach an acceptable level for his age and height. Long range currently suits him best.

The tip of a blade settles beneath his chin and, to avoid being knicked, Harry tilts his head up when the steel presses into delicate skin.

"Do you yield?" A regal face, unfairly beautiful, the face of a king, peers down at him.

Harry swallows, feeling heat travel up his neck and settle over his cheeks, but shakes his head. He swore he would not use magic, even leaving his wand on the table off to the side. The royal guard, the palace guard, advisors, cooks, healers and such, have gathered to the training ground to witness their king spar with their wizard.

Grabbing his fallen sword, Harry gets to his feet. The elvenking twirls his own lazily, nodding as he and Harry circle each other. Honestly, Harry doesn't care to win. 

He really just wants to knock the elf off his feet. Knock him down a peg. Make him acknowledge Harry beyond just being a man; a wizard, something worthy of his place among the immortal people.

Harry chuckles lightly. "I hope you are aware that I do not care about winning." He barely manages to block a powerful swing to his side.

"What is your goal, then?"

Harry bites his tongue.

He had been the one challenged.

Rather than answer him, Harry darts forward suddenly, not bothering to gloat when he sees genuine surprise, and aims for a leg. It's blocked easily and, as comments were made from the side, Harry drops down in a spin with his leg out. The contact gives the desired result.

There's a stunned silence.

Harry knows he will never be able to do that again.

Probably.

Gandalf rejoins them in the morning but neither Harry nor Bilbo are at the campsite to greet him along with the dwarves. Instead, Harry ensures Bilbo enjoys some tea with cheese and beard while he feeds the four-legged companions of the company. He takes his time giving each pony a good brush as they eat from floating bags of oats. 

His own horse stands next to Bilbo, eating from a patch of lush green grass, while the hobbit sings a sweet song about butterflies. 

(1)I’ve watched you now a full half-hour;

Self-poised upon that yellow flower.

And, little butterfly, indeed

I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless!–not frozen seas,

More motionless! and then,

What joy awaits you, when the breeze

Hath found you out among the trees,

And calls you forth again.

Harry hums along. This is a song Bilbo has sung many times when tending to his garden. The butterflies are in abundance during the blooming of spring flowers. The Butterfly Festival is celebrated for weeks in The Shire; all sorts of songs, poems, and dances are sung for endless hours. Butterfly kites, pastries, and clothes are seen everywhere.

Sensing the approach of a few dwarves, Harry is quick to wave away the remainder of the food on the little table he transfigured from a twig for Bilbo. Only his pot and cup of tea, which had been brewed on the early morning fire, remains. Bilbo's surprise quickly morphs to understanding when Dwalin, Bifur, and Nori appear at the edge of the small meadow. 

"How be the ponies?" Nori asks as he walks towards Harry.

"Fed, brushed, and certainly more happy than almost being troll food last night."

Nori and Dwalin simultaneously snort in amusement, but Bifur only grunts and roughly gives two ponies a pat. The ponies just nudge his hand with their muzzles. Harry passes the brush over to Nori while he turns to Dwalin.

"Did you come to retrieve the ponies?"

Dwalin nods. "Aye. And Gandalf returned too."

Harry hums. "Did he say where he went?"

"Scouting," Dwalin replies.

In a somewhat surprising show of amity, they both rolls their eyes and share knowing looks of disbelief.

Gandalf likely did do some scouting but, well known among the elves, he often just went off to find a place to have long internal monologs. 

"Let's get these ones back to the company," Nori says. "Thorin wants to head up the side of the mountain and find where the trolls may have come from. Not sure if he told Gandalf that yet."

Harry looks to the mountain side, to the thick trees with large green leaves, and nods. "There's likely a cave nearby."

"A cave could mean a quicker route," Bilbo pipes up.

"Or a dead end," Dwalin gruffs. "Either way, let's get a move on."

The three dwarves take two ponies each and the other ponies and stallion easily trail after Harry once Bilbo's tea is cleared away.

Upon returning to the camp, Harry notes two things: Thorin is frustrated and Gandalf is radiating a nonchalant aura. 

Gandalf smiles at them, offering his pipe to Bilbo so he can take a pull, and then sends the hobbit over to wait by the dwarves. The grey wizard focuses on Harry, eyes twinkling in a way Harry does his best to ignore as he attempts to move by Gandalf. An equally grey magical staff casually blocks his way. 

Harry looks at the staff, then at Gandalf, and then crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes, Gandalf?"

"I'm told you created sunlight despite the moon high in the sky?" 

"Yup." You and every other living creature nearby saw it.

"And kept a troll ladle frozen in air?"

"Yup." Wish you had seen that, don't you?

Gandalf laughs. "Despite your attitude towards our company, the dwarves are warming up to you rather quickly."

"That's nice."

The grey wizard laughs louder. This attracts the attention of the company and Harry, ready to get back to it, bodily shoves past the staff and head towards his horse. "Ignore him. His mind isn't as it once was." 

Several dwarves nod; in agreement or amusement, Harry isn't quite sure. Perhaps a combination of both. Bilbo grins at him and Harry offers one of his own. After both wizard and hobbit settle on Harry's horse, a thought pops into Harry's head.

"Bilbo, do you want your own pony?"

Bilbo's reaction is immediate. "No, thank you. I—No, that's not necessary."

"They must have come down from the Ettenmoors," Gandalf says suddenly. "It would have taken them months to do so."

Thorin, who still seems upset with Gandalf, looks to Harry. "Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?"

"Not for a long, long time," Harry replies.

Gandalf adds: "Not since a darker power ruled these lands. In any case, they could not have moved in daylight."

Harry looks to the mountain, notes the large gaps between rock he hadn't thought much of prior, before looking back to Gandalf. "There's a cave nearby, one close enough that trolls were able to snatch a few of our ponies for a late night meal." He gives his horse a firm pat. "We're going to find the cave?" He asks Thorin this, already knowing the answer thanks to Dwalin's earlier statement.

The leader of their company responds with a single nod.

"It would be worth our time," Gandalf throws out.

The music is fast and loud, the elves in high spirits, and the wine is flowing as free as a waterfall. Harry stays in the corner, swaying to the music, and politely declines any offers to dance. 100s of years—1000s—and he still can't dance.

"You've declined every offer this evening."

Harry shrugs before he can think about who is talking to him. "Rather that than embarrassing myself and potential dance partner in front of everyone."

"Are you not the one who has—on multiple occasions—said 'practice makes perfect?'"

Harry turns to look at the elvenking. He's dressed handsomely in dark green and gold, complete with cape. His crown is made of green and gold leaves. His hair, normally straight and down, is dawned with braids and pulled half up.

He looks like a fairytale dream.

Harry wants to bite him.

They, of what he strongly hopes to be a coincidence, match in color. Harry is not wearing any fine jewelry or done up his hair in any fashion. He had barely been convinced to attend in the first place.

"Don't throw my own words in my face," he says while turning his face away, a bit of a pout accompanying the words.

"Be a man of your words," the king's tone is smooth and confident, "and dance with me."

If he had been drinking wine, he would have cartoonishly spat it out. Eyes wide, he looks back at the elf. "There are many a handsome or beautiful elf here tonight—who can dance—that would serve as a better partner to you than I."

"If I wanted to dance with any of them, I would have asked." 

Harry really looks at him, expecting a quick jest to follow or some mocking comment, but the elf stares at him, patiently waiting for him to say something.

"I really don't know how to dance," he whispers after a moment of silence. 

"I'll guide you," comes the reply.

Simple as that.

Harry looks to the dancing elves. "If I step on your toes, you're not allowed to get mad at me."

He receives an amused huff in response. "Who are you to tell me what I'm allowed to be?"

Smiling, Harry turns to look at the king properly. "You asked me," he says as he takes the hand offered to him.

A strong yank has him standing chest-to-chest with the elvenking, who leans down to speak directly into his ear. "Be at ease and let me lead."

Harry shivers, any response he could have had stuck in his throat, and nods.

The cave is large and awful smelling. There are many animal carcasses and small piles of human remains scattered about, plenty of gold coins and jewels here and there, and a bunch of old weapons. Harry disregards all but the weapons. 

Bilbo causally mentions how pocketing some of the gold would help with replenishing supplies later on, to which Kíli immediately agrees.

Thorin comes to stand beside Harry, bending down to pick up one of three sheathed swords. It's markings are old and elvish. Harry recalls seeing something like them in the old books of the library back home.

"These were not made by any troll," the dwarf says as he partially pulls the sword out.

Clearly, but Harry says nothing.

"Nor were they made by any smith among men," Gandalf replies as he comes closer to look at the sword in Thorin's hand. "These were forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the First Age."

Thorin immediately sheaths the sword, expression darkening.

"You could not wish for a finer blade!" The grey wizard snaps.

Harry silently agrees.

Thorin, reluctantly, pulls the sword all the way out and holds it up, studying it with critical eyes.

Harry picks up a sword as well. 

A feeling of familiarity sizzles beneath his skin. 

"What are swords like these doing in a place like this?" Bilbo asks.

"Stolen, sold, or misplaced." Harry removes the sheath of the blade in his hand, admiring the craftsmanship of something forged 1000s of years ago, and silently wishes his husband were present. "It's beautiful," he states simply before covering it once again, wandlessly shrinking it to the size of a pocket knife, and puts it away. 

"Come! Let's get out of this foul place!" Thorin commands.

Harry turns to follow after Bilbo when Gandalf suddenly stops in front of them, kicking at the ground, before bending down to pick something up. He turns to Bilbo as he wipes dirt and cobwebs off a dark blue sheath and then presents it to Bilbo. Bilbo, as expected, looks alarmed and slightly panicked.

"I can't take this."

Gandalf persistently presses the dagger into Bilbo's chest. "The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when orcs or goblins are nearby."

"I've never used a sword before," Bilbo protests.

Gandalf sighs deeply. "And I hope you'll never have to. But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one."

Harry nods in agreement. "It would be best to accept it, Bilbo. With such a journey, Merlin knows what could happen. Besides, we can begin practicing using it during evenings and times of rest. If anything, it will be a useful tool when forging."

Bilbo acquiesces. "If you're certain."

"Quite," Gandalf speaks just as Harry says, "Absolutely."

Just as the three of them exit the cave, a great rumbling is suddenly heard within the surrounding forest.

"Something's coming!" Thorin yells.

Harry steps in front of Bilbo while his friend clutches his newly acquired dagger to himself. In a single thunderous moment, a burst of rabbits in reins enters the small clearing, drawing the sled of Radagast, the brown wizard. "Thieves! Fire! Murder!"

Gandalf audibly sighs. "It's Radagast the Brown!" 

"Gandalf!" Radagast hollers. "And Harry!"

"The Greenwood is sick. A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows anymore, at least nothing good."

Harry, with his arms crossed over his chest, keeps his eyes firmly on the ground. He can feel Gandalf's eyes burning a hole into the side of his head. It is a well-known fact, among elves and other magic-sensitive beings, that the Woodland Realm is suffering  from unseen evil.

Darkness is kept at bay through the sheer power of it's ruling king, unable to pass into the land surrounding the tree-like palace of the elven kingdom.

"The air is foul with decay." Harry digs his nails into his skin as the brown wizard continues to speak. "But worse are the webs."

"Webs? What do you mean?"

"Spiders," Harry states bluntly, though his voice is quiet. "They come from Dol Guldor." 

"Dol Guldor?" Gandalf sounds genuinely perplexed. "But the old fortress is abandoned!"

Harry finally looks up to meet Gandalf's eyes. "By elf and man, yes."

Radagast nods rapidly. "A dark power dwells in there, such as I have never felt before. It is the shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits of the dead."

The elder wand practically hums against Harry's forearm where it's kept.

"Revolting power that has made me violently ill on more than one occasion," Harry says softly. "My husband has kept guards posted to the boarder since the first signs of something amiss." He looks to Radagast. "Is it a necromancer?" His blunt question appears to shock Gandalf as much as it surprises Radagast. 

"Yes!" The brown wizard cries. He then pulls out a narrow, cloth-covered object in the shape of a sword. He unwraps the object and Harry feels a sudden wave of sickness wash over him. 

He sways, hand flying to his forehead. 

He is grounded by Gandalf, who steadies him. 

"This is not from the world of the living," Radagast proclaims firmly. 

A howl breaks the following silence.

Chapter Text

Harry stands frozen as maybe 30 or so drawn arrows surround him. He had walked into the clearing, suspecting nothing but a few critters, but it was eerily quiet. He was tired from walking all day and only wanted to find a decent place to rest his feet. 

Then he stepped on a freaking twig.

Slowly, taking note of how not a single individual so much as twitches, he raises his hands, palms visible, in the universal gesture of "I'm unarmed." By which, he carries no sword or bow.

However, if they attempt to harm him, they will be in for a rude awakening. 

"I...come in peace?" Harry barely manages to hold back a wince at the sound of his voice, rough from lack of use. 

In a synchronized fashion, those in front of him split to allow two new people to enter the circle surrounding him. They are dressed differently. While the ones aiming arrows at him are clad in dark green, with hoods pulled up to obscure their faces, these two are dressed in rich green and gold. Their higher status clearly indicated.

Harry's eyes are drawn to the shape of their ears, pointed and slightly larger than, say, a normal man's would be.

"What reason does a man have to be this far south?" The tallest of the two asks in a cold voice. The one standing next to him, youthful in the face, is likely his son or nephew for there are noticeable physical similarities.

Long golden hair and icy blue eyes.

Harry keeps a level head despite feeling unfairly scrutinized. "I am lost. I only want to find the nearest village."

The son or nephew snorts. "A spy, perhaps." He's handsome; like a fairytale prince. Harry kind of wants to punch him in the face for his tone.

The tallest one barks some type of order in a fancy sort of language and Harry, having been on the receiving end of chained and tortured more than once, silently casts a wandless spell which places a three-foot barrier around him.

When they go to restrain him; rope visible, the barrier reacts by giving them a somewhat painful shock.

A short, stunned silence follows until he decides to break it.

"I won't go willingly," Harry states calmly. He doesn't want to cause any real harm to anyone, but he will protect himself. "I mean no harm. I just want to make my way to the nearest village."

"Who are you?!"

Harry smiles a little. "My name is Harry and I'm very lost, like I said."

"Was that a wolf? Are there wolves out here?" Bilbo asks from the back of the company.

"Wolf?" Fíli shakes his head. "That is no wolf."

Harry jerks towards Bilbo.

From behind a nearby crag, a warg appears with droll dripping from its wide mouth. It leaps into the midst of the company, savage and ferocious. Harry raises his wand, pointing it at the warg with a deadly spell on his lips when Thorin buries his sword into it's neck, killing it.

Another charges from behind. Kili draws an arrow, shooting down the snarling beast. It attempts to pick itself back up, but Dwalin brings his hammer down upon it. The warg dies with a whimper. 

"Warg scouts," Harry says firmly. 

Thorin, standing nearby, nods. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

Harry sees Bilbo freeze. "Orc pack?" His friend whispers.

"Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin," Gandalf demands.

"No one," Thorin reply, eyes darting around them.

Gandalf looks even more angry. "Who did you tell?!"

"No one, I swear! What in Durin's name is going on?"

Harry butts in before Gandalf's temper reaches a boiling point. "You're being hunted Thorin Oakenshield. There should be no wargs this close to the mountain side, not when—"

Gandalf sends him a look.

One asking for silence.

"In any case, we must leave now." 

Gloin appears at the edge of the forest. "We can't! We have no ponies, they've bolted!"

"Except for this one," Ori calls out and brings Harry's stallion into view. "He tried to keep them from running, but they were too scared."

Harry immediately walks over and gives his four-legged friend a firm pat. "You did your best." 

"I'll draw them off," Radagast suddenly announces, already hopping back onto his wooden sleigh.

"These are Gundabad wargs, they will outrun you!" 

Radagast looks deeply offended for a moment, before his eyes narrow in determination. "These are Rhosgobel rabbits! I'd like to see them try." He is off after that.

Harry turns to look at Bilbo, a plan already forming in his head. "Bilbo, follow Gandalf." He swings himself up onto his horse. "Stay close to him, to the dwarves."

"What are you going to do?" Dori asks. 

Harry looks at him, then to Bilbo, then over his shoulder to where Radagast sped off to. "Radagast can draw them away and I can kill as many as possible," he answers bluntly. "At the very least, slow down the hunt."

Several rapid howls sound off nearby. 

"Go," Harry commanded. "Before we're surrounded!"

Gandalf moves first, a handful of dwarves immediately follow him. Bilbo hesitates, worried eyes gazing at Harry. "Come, Master Baggins," Thorin says quickly while grabbing Bilbo's forearm and tugging urgently. "Trust your friend to rejoin us soon enough."

"Thorin Oakenshield," Harry says as he swings his horse around to face the direction Radagast disappeared to. "Please watch over him." Harry sets off without hearing if there is a reply or not. 

He is quick to catch up to Radagast.

The brown wizard let's out a cheer when seeing him. "Elven stallions truly are the fastest of horses!"

Harry smiles despite the situation they are racing into. Radagast, for all that people assume is too out of touch with anything that is not nature-based, is mostly self-aware, certainly clever, and very understanding.

He had been in attendance to Harry's wedding, but understood Harry's need for some normalcy; taking Harry's desire to just be "Harry" outside of formal settings seriously.

"Bombarda Maxima!" The subsequent explosion wipes out a significant portion of orcs charging from the middle. 

He feels what is either blood or sweat dripping down his face, can tastes blood on his teeth, feels the bruises on his body ache something fierce.

The bodies of elf, men, and orc lay scattered about. He grieves for the fallen warriors of the elves and men. This fight against evil—against Sauron—is far greater than his own against Voldemort. This sort of evil has him feeling ill often, though he pushes through it.

"Confringo!" Harry shouts, taking another portion of orc down. "Bombarda Maxima!" More and more orcs drop. Harry falls to one knee after that, breathing heavy. He doesn't think he can stand, much less move. He had been at this since dawn the previous day.

A warg, largest of all seen this night, spots him from what remains of the orc army. It snarls, droll dripping in large splashes, before charging at him with a terrifying speed. Harry's vision blurs.

He is barely managing strength to push off the ground when a figure, graceful in it's movement, leaps in front of him. In three fluid, powerful swings, the warg is decapitated. A wave of elves descend on what remains of the orc army.

Harry sways.

He's caught before he can hit the ground.

"King Oropher," he mumbles. "I'm sorry."

"Quiet," comes the command. "Save your strength."

Harry tries to stay awake.

He fails.

He and Radagast bursts into the clearing just as a handful of orcs on wargs are seen atop a hill. "Come and get me," Radagast yells, attracting their attention. He takes off before Harry can blink.

More orcs appear after that, some chasing after Radagast while the rest stare at Harry. There's hesitation on their end, like fear or uncertainty. They speak in the black tongue of orcs, coarse and nail-like. 

A language Harry wishes he didn't know. 

"The black wizard," the assumed leader speaks.

Harry frowns, eyes narrowing. He hasn't been called that in quite a few millennia, not since the Last Alliance. It is highly concerning.

"Turn back now and I'll spare you," Harry responds in the same tainted language, though he knows he won't spare any of them if he can help it.

The orcs seem to have found their confidence swiftly as they break out into choke-like laughter.

"Kill him," their leader demands.

There's 15 of them and they come at him in different directions. Harry pulls out his wand, firing off spells in fast order. Six of them drop almost immediately. "Expluso!" He takes 3 more. They remain spaced out across the clearing, adapting.

Then arrows start flying from the remaining visible orcs and from the area behind them, hidden by the hill. More orcs rapidly appear. Harry casts a shield around himself. He hopes Gandalf can lead the others to safety. If Lady Fate be so kind. 

Radagast appears to his left, orc-ridden wargs and rider-less wargs on his tail. He laughs gleefully as one jumps at him, only to miss and go tumbling. Harry sees, in the distance, what may be the top of Gandalf's hat. 

He kills five more orcs, seriously wounds another six, and stakes their wargs.

When Radagast gets too close to the company, Harry whistles high and the other wizard is sure to head his way.

Still, a single orc stops upon a large boulder.

Harry's heart drops to the pit of his stomach. While he is protected, the company is not. And he has never been quite sure what Gandalf's limitations are regarding his magic.

A moment later, the orc and his warg topple over and fall to the ground. This attracts the rest of the orcs, both the ones firing arrows at him fruitless and the ones chasing Radagast. Harry, without much thought, urges his horse into a race towards the boulder. Radagast is quick to follow.

"The Dwarf-scum are over there! After them!"

"They're coming!" Kíli can be heard yelling.

"Kíli, shoot them! Shoot them down!" Thorin yells back.

Harry doesn't see Gandalf.

He forces his horse to ram into the warg closest to Bilbo, toppling it over where the the orc's head is squashed by hooves.

Dwalin bashes the warg's head in.

"Where is Gandalf?!"

"Has he abandoned us?!"

Thorin has drawn his sword. "Hold your ground," he orders.

Then Gandalf reappears at the edge of a cave entrance, hidden partially beneath ground. "This way, you fools."

"Quickly, quickly!" The brown wizard shouts.

The secret passage, Harry thinks. Clever.

"Follow him," Harry tells the dwarves. "Quickly!"

Thorin looks at him, to Gandalf, then to him again; his expression stony. "Follow the grey wizard," he commands the dwarves.

Harry holds his gaze.

"Harry—" Bilbo starts but Thorin is already dragging him away, much to the hobbit's verbal protest.

They are gone just as horns ring out. A dozen mounted elves charge in full force. Arrows fly in every direction, bringing down orcs and wargs alike. The pained screams and dying wails from the orcs do something to soothe an unrealized ache in Harry. 

He kills many more himself, either blasting them into smithereens or decapitating them. He is happy to know the others will be safe for a while. When the last of the orcs are down, the elves ride to him.

Harry sighs in relief. 

"You are a sight for sore eyes, Lord Elrond."

"This isn't a formal setting, Consort Harry," the elf replies a touch cheeky. Then, a more serious expression claims his face. "There have not been orcs this close to the boarder since the end of the Second Age. Is it you they were hunting?"

Harry shakes his head. "I have quite the story to tell you...and you won't be super happy, I think. However, Imladris is known to be the Last Homely Home for a reason."

Elrond closes his eyes, nodding. "Indeed."

"If it makes you feel better, you can simply blame Gandalf."

Harry walks along the eastern river of Greenwood, enjoying the beauty of the land; there's a delegation of Noldor elves within the Woodland Kingdom and he has been told, very clearly, to keep guard around them. 

And to not so subtly disappear for most of the day.

King Oropher and King Gil-Galad tolerate each other as they have a common goal.

"So, this is where you run off to."

Harry turns around, head tilting in curiosity. "Only doing what was suggested." Ordered. Elves, he has learned rather quickly, can be quite possessive. Or maybe woodland elves are special. "Why are you here, your highness?" 

"This is free land, is it not?"

Harry barely rolls his eyes, turning away. "Don't let me bother you."

"Walk with me?" It's posed as a question, but Harry knows better. The woodland prince tends to pick at him for whatever reason. "After all, I'm an unguarded prince in the woods."

"You can best even his majesty's captain of the royal guard...perhaps I am the one who needs guarding?"

A look flashes across the prince's face, one Harry can't place, before it smoothes out into a cocky sort of smirk. 

"Perhaps you're right."

Chapter Text

"I must admit that I am surprised to see you this far west," Elrond states in tone that feels just a bit too casual. 

The elves which rode into the short battle with the elf lord stay back to allow them space to speak, though they all bowed respectfully to Harry once they recognized who he is.

"Something in the west called to me in my dreams," Harry replies, matching the elf's casual tone. "I now know it to be related to my current predicament."

Elrond audibly sighs. "I cannot imagine King Thranduil is happy you are on such a quest." 

"No, he isn't," Harry agrees. "But I am not a prisoner to my home or my marriage, and he trusts me to stay safe and alert. He is also unaware of the company whom I travel with."

Which will not please him in the slightest once he is made aware. 

Harry dearly misses his husband, their little family, and the place of which he has called home for many 1000s of years now. He misses the merriment of good music, good food, and good company. He certainly misses the long walks at night with his king, telling each other of their fears and concerns, their delights, and their hopes for the future.

"I must also admit that I'm saddened you did not stay in Imladris during your journey west of the mountains. Glorfindel, once he is aware, will not be pleased. He is currently in Lothlórien, so you are safe from his ire for now."

Harry cannot help but chuckle a little. He developed a close friendship with the Balrog slayer, much to the displeasure of his husband, which has led to his friendship with a certain scholar of an elf. There is something between his two elf friends that reminds him a bit of Ron and Hermione. 

"A few rounds of chess, upon a proper visit, will cool his ill feelings," Harry says easily.

They share an amused smiled before Elrond's expression turns somber. "This quest of yours and the company you travel with, you understand that I cannot give my blessing?"

Harry nods solemnly. "And you understand that I must see it to completion?" Where Bilbo is concerned.

"Indeed." 

"Speak with Gandalf," Harry states in a voice that sounds strange even to his own ears. "It is he who started this quest. I suspect he received some sort of enlightenment from the Valar; reaching out to him when they cannot reach me in the way they wish." 

His mind is most vulnerable when he sleeps. Whispers and secrets pass through him, feelings of despair and peace. He doesn't sleep like he used too, not when the darkness has grown so large it taints the air and makes him sick. The Valar try to speak to him through his dreams, try to get him to see reason, project various feelings onto him, but there's a bitterness in Harry many 1000s of years old now and he has trouble letting it go.

"Once Gandalf has set out to accomplish a goal, it is impossible to dissuade him." 

One thing Harry can appreciate about Elrond, among the elves he can genuinely call friend, is that he doesn't push when Harry clearly wishes to steer the conversation into a new direction.

"The dwarves of Erebor are welcomed to rest for as long as they need in Imladris."

Harry can read between the lines. 

"Thank you."

"They are unaware of who I am. I'd like to keep it that way for now."

There's a pause, then a chuckle. "Ah, yes. It will be like embracing your 'Just Harry' insistence from before."

"I still prefer that, if I'm honest..."

"Even though this setting will be more formal."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Indeed."

Silence, and then: "They will be very upset once they learn of who you are."

"I will deal with the fallout when it comes."

"If you're certain."

Imladris is as beautiful as ever. The valley is inclosed by mountains, three large waterfalls, and various smaller waterfalls. The palace-like home of the elves under Lord Elrond stands in the middle, living up to its name of: The Last Homely Home with its welcoming atmosphere and beautiful, open space. 

Harry rides next to Elrond as they approach the front of the the grand building where Gandalf stands with the dwarves and Bilbo. Lindir, bless his heart, seems to stand closer to Gandalf than he does the dwarves. Harry cannot imagine a warm welcome took place when they arrived. 

"Gandalf," Elrond speaks in Western. 

"Lord Elrond," the grey wizard replies in Western before continuing in Elvish. "My friend! Where have you been?!"

Elrond swings himself off his horse and the two briefly embrace. Harry tunes out of the conversation between elf and wizard to check on the company. "Are you all okay?"

"Fine," Dwalin grunts. "Could be better though." Many of the other dwarves nod in agreement as they look around suspiciously. 

"You're safe here, if that matters to you," Harry replies easily with a shrug. He then turns to Bilbo. "How are you, my friend?"

Bilbo smiles at him. "Very fine, indeed." He looks around and, in a quiet voice, says, "It's as beautiful as you once said." 

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain," Elrond announces. 

"I do not believe we have met," the dwarf replies suspiciously.

"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the Mountain," Elrond continues.

"Indeed; he made no mention of you."

Harry knows an elf resisting the urge to roll their eyes when he sees them. 

"Light the fires, bring forth the wine. We must feed our guests," the elf lord commands in Elvish.

The dwarves grow bellicose and grip their weapons with unease. Gloin jumps forward, raising up his axe. "What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?"

Gandalf steps forward, frustration visible.

Harry steps in before the other wizard can lose his temper. "No, Master Gloin." Harry dismounts his horse. "He's offering you food and wine."

Gloin, still suspicious, lowers his weapon. "Well, in that case, lead on." 

Gandalf promptly follows after Elrond, the dwarves following after him, and Bilbo lingers a little as Harry makes no move to follow just yet. "Go on. I'll rejoin you in a bit."

The moment the company is out of sight, Lindir and the remaining elves still in armor bow deeply to Harry. "Your majesty," he greets officially. "Lord Elrond has informed us of your request and I must admit it is strange to refer to you without one of your titles."

Harry laughs softly. "I'm well-aware of the practicality and formality of elves, but, as you saw, there's still a great deal of mistrust among the company I travel with."

Lindir frowns a little. "We elves understand the decision of King Thranduil, difficult as it was, even if others do not." 

"Nevertheless," Harry starts, feeling touched on the behalf of his dearheart, "I am grateful for your cooperation." He looks around. "I am always delighted to see Imladris in its endless glory."

Lindir puffs up with pride. "Let me get you to your room where you can freshen up."

"As long as it's one near the dwarves. Wouldn't want them to be upset about bias, would we?"

Lindir deflates a little at this. "As you wish."

There is a room essentially dedicated to him in Imladris, with a perfect view of the garden and the bridge leading over the pond to the center where a gazebo stands tall. 

"I wish to bathe more than anything else." Parts of his clothing and hair are covered in orc flesh. "And would someone be so kind as to give my friend a good wash." Harry pats his horse.

An elf steps forward. "Leave his care to me, my lord."

Harry laughs. "No titles," he teases as he is led away at Lindir's insistence.

The long table within the banquet hall is overflowing with food. Much of it is leafy greens, fresh fruits, and different types of cheeses. There is meat but not in abundance. Mostly chicken and fish. The wine, however, is grand.

The dwarves sit around the table, appearing uninterested. If Harry were even a smidgen less of a man, he might have snapped at them for being so picky after having escaped capture and subsequent death at the hands of an orc pack. He sits next to Bilbo, his hobbit friend seeming to enjoy the variety of fruit in front of him.

The elves are good at pretending. While some appear conflicted by how they are to address him currently, others who have met Harry personally prior to his change in status fall into it easily. It can almost be treated as a joke if it weren't for the circumstances. 

Talrión, head chef to Imladris' kitchen, is greatly amused. He had the food presented with a flourish, much to Bilbo's delight and the dwarves' confusion. Lindir had rolled his eyes heavenward from his place at the table, while many other elves just smile secretively at each other. 

"Where's the meat?" Dwalin asks while poking at a bowl of broccoli.

Harry cocks an eyebrow. 

Oin holds up a carrot with his knife, looking at it in disgust. "Have they got any chips?"

Elrond and Gandalf enter the banquet hall at a leisure pace, having small talk before they sit at the head of the table. 

"I can't say I fancy elf maids myself. To thin. They're all high cheekbones and creamy skin. Not enough facial hair for me. Although, that one there's not bad," Kíli can be heard saying. 

Harry follows his gaze to the elf playing the harp at the end of the table and bites back a laugh. 

"That is no elf maid," Dwalin deadpans.

Shocked, Kili looks to the other dwarves. They roar with laughter, banging against the table in their amusement. Kili awkwardly picks at his food after that. Another elf maid passes the table, playing the flute. Oin stuffs a napkin into his hearing trumpet, blocking out the music.

Now it's Harry's turn to roll his eyes.

Thorin, sitting opposite of Gandalf and by Elrond, is drawn into a conversation with the two. It is a strange view where the dwarf is barely replying to anything spoken at him, preferring to nod or shoot glares at Gandalf. After a while, though, the swords found in the cave are brought up. 

With apparent reluctance, Thorin hands over the sword he found in the troll cave. Elrond holds out Thorin's sword. He carefully examines it, running his hand up and down the sheath while a thoughtful look claims his face. 

"This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin. May it serve you well." It is all the elf says as he hands it back to Thorin.

Harry sips his wine. It is yours by right of blood.

Elrond doesn't so much as twitch. I will not claim it. The elf drinks from his own wine cup. Certainly not in the middle of such tension between our respective kin.

Gandalf hands over his sword without speaking. 

"And this is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the goblin wars of the First Age."

Harry glances to his side where Bilbo is glancing at his own blade.

"I wouldn't bother, laddie." It is Balin who speaks up. "Swords are named for the great deeds they do in war."

Bilbo huffs. "What are you saying, my sword hasn't seen battle?"

"I'm not actually sure it is a sword; more of a letter opener, really." Bilbo turns away from the dwarf.

Harry nudges him a little. "Worry not, Bilbo. There is plenty of time to give your 'sword' a name." 

Harry catches Elrond's eyes as he returns Glamdring to Gandalf. 

"How did you come by these?" It's a rhetorical question, if anything.

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road, shorty before we were ambushed by orcs."

Elrond hums. "And what were you doing on the Great East Road?"

Abruptly, Thorin stands. "Excuse me." He leaves the banquet hall in quick strides. 

"He's just tired," Harry throws out before he takes a bug gulp of his wine.

After leaving Bilbo to rest for the night, and briefly checking-in with the rest of the company, Harry begins a leisure walk through the halls, politely responding to any greetings he receives, until he stops just short of entering the garden.

There's a large maple tree off to the side where Harry would spend the occasional sleepless night reading under when he visited Imladris to see his friends. 

He walks over to it, touching the trunk while smiling.

"I had a feeling you would venture out here tonight, my friend."

"The best spot one might say." 

Harry grins as he turns around. "It is my favorite spot. Second to the library, of course." Erestor stands with Elrond, long hair braided back and wearing colors of dark blue and silver, a thick book held in one hand. "I'm saddened by your absence at dinner."

Elrond chuckles. "Buried in his books, I fear. However, if Glorfindel were here, he would have been present."

"Most certainly," Harry agrees as he moves towards them.

He and Erestor hug. 

"The stars shine brightly with our reunion, my friend." Harry echoes a similar greeting. "Lord Elrond has told me to refer to you as 'Just Harry' during your short stay here."

"In most cases, I'd prefer that."

Erestor snorts, a hand coming up to cover his mouth. "You married an elvenking, a change in title comes with that."

It's a conversation they have had many times before. Erestor having immediately switched to one of Harry's married titles with ease, nearly outright refusing to refer to him as anything else. It took many years of persuasion for Erestor to drop the titles when not in a formal setting, such as now.

Majesty.

Consort.

Lord.

And more.

Just a bucket load of titles.

The three of them start walking around the garden. "It's nice to see the yellow roses in bloom," Harry comments. "And the daisies."

Elrond nods. "Great care went into ensuring their bloom this spring."

"The daisies were a gift from Lady Arwen, sent from Lothlórien."

Harry hums. "And how is Lady Arwen? Your sons are not in Imladris, as they would have surely joined us for dinner." 

"She is well. She spends much of her days with her grandparents, listening to their stories." Elrond smiles more to himself than at Harry. "As for my sons...Estel has joined the Dúnedain, specifically the rangers in the north, and Elladan and Elrohir have followed. They are keen to keep a close eye on him for as long as he is willing to bare."

Harry grins. "Ah, yes. Overprotective brothers. Such is the life of the youngest." 

"Indeed. They protested his leave at first. It took much convincing, and my input, before they settled."

"A father's word is law," Erestor says, smiling a bit.

The dwarves take another day of rest.

They bathe in the fountain inside the garden despite having washrooms attached to their quarters.

When Harry learns of this, he chews out the dwarves for their tactless decision and indecent behavior.

He then makes them clean it under threat of being turned into frogs (of which he demonstrated via Nori). 

He forces them to apologize for good measure.

That evening, after a hearty dinner is served, finds Harry, Bilbo, Thorin, Balin, and Gandalf is Elrond's chambers.

They are at a standstill.

Thorin, stubborn as ever, refuses to hand over the map. "Our business is no concern of elves."

"For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map."

Thorin's refusal and Gandalf's tone have completely evaporated any chance of playing this off as just curiosity or some silly adventure they might have been aiming for.

Not that it matters. 

They are an open book to an elf like Elrond.

"It is the legacy of my people; it is mine to protect, as are its secrets."

Gandalf is clearly at his wits end. "Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!"

Everyone looks to Thorin, waiting. Reluctantly, he draws the map out of his coat. Balin holds out his hand while protesting, but Thorin brushes him aside. He carefully hands Elrond the map.

Chapter Text

It happens in a dizzyingly slow moment.

King Oropher is standing tall amongst the elves, fighting with a viciousness that's breathtaking, and then he is pierced through the middle by an orc blade. 

The elves around him react with a fury unlike anything Harry has ever seen. 

He's running to the now-kneeling king, grasping his arms as he starts to tip to the side. King Oropher grips his forearms painfully tight, speaking in a deep, forcefully calm voice: "Where is Thranduil? Where is my son?"

Harry, hands shaky, tries to press against the gushing wound as best he can. He tries pouring his magic into the wound, tries to heal it, tries desperately. "I don't know. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I—I don't—I don't know." 

King Oropher coughs and thick, hot blood splatters across Harry's face. "Don't waste your magic," he orders. "Don't."

There's acceptance in his eyes, and the sight of it angers Harry.

The weight of the elf is too much in Harry's exhausted, trembling arms. He's forced to lay the elvenking on the ground, the puddle of blood beneath them growing in size. There are more elves surrounding them. One, a healer Harry vaguely recognizes, all but shoves him to the side.

He goes; excluded in seconds. 

The bottom half of him is soaked in the blood of his king and the top half of him isn't much better. 

"Ada!" 

What seems like a sea of elves parts for the prince and Harry watches, heart in the pit of his stomach, as son to the king drops to his knees; face full of anguish. 

"Erebor." Elrond hums thoughtfully, but his eyes fall to Harry. "What is your interest in this map?"

Harry just smiles innocently.

Gandalf steps in before Thorin can make some comment about being ignored. "It's mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text. You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?"

Harry suddenly wants to throttle Gandalf.

He can read ancient dwarvish.

They didn't need to bother the elf lord with this.

Elrond walks several paces off, into the moonlight. The map is bathed in pearly white light where is glow for but a moment, runes appearing. When elf moves out of moonlight, the runes slowly but surely fade away.

"Moon runes," Elrond mumbles in Elvish.

"Moon runes?" Gandalf replies in Western. "Of course; an easy thing to miss."

Elrond looks amused when he responds. "Well, in this case, that is true; moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon the same shape and season as the day on which they were written."

Harry cannot help but snort, drawing attention to him.

"Paranoia with a touch of cleverness," he says in Elvish.

"I would say the opposite." Elrond looks to Thorin when the dwarf huffs.

"Can you read them?" Though it is posed as a question, there's a clear demand in his tone.

Elrond nods, choosing to be silent. He walks out of the chambers, and they follow after him. They come upon an open area on the side of a cliff. Waterfalls rush on every side and Harry finds the view to be beautiful. Bilbo, by his bright eyes and gasp, must feel the same. Elrond places the map on a large crystalline table.

"These runes were written on a Midsummer's Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago," the elf begins. "It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield; the same moon shines upon us tonight."

Harry looks to the night sky. Clouds pass over the moon, and he follows the moon's light back to the table. Light flows through the map. Glowing white runes start to appear, fuzzy at first and then clear.

"Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole."

Bilbo makes a curious noise. "Durin's Day?"

"It is the start of the dwarves' new year, when the last moon of Autumn and the first sun of Winter appear in the sky together," Harry answers.

Both Thorin and Balin look at him, Thorin with suspension and Balin with surprise.

"This is ill news. Summer is passing. Durin's Day will soon be upon us," the dwarf leader tells Balin.

Balin shakes his head. "We still have time."

Bilbo, bless his little hobbit soul, still seems confused. "Time? For what?"

"To find the entrance," Balin states. "We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened."

Harry feels Elrond's eyes on him and resolutely ignores him. He made his feelings clear on this entire situation. "So this is your purpose, to enter the Mountain?"

Thorin's face darkens. "What of it?"

Elrond looks at him calmly. "There are some who would not deem it wise."

The dwarf snatches the map off the table with a huff, not responding.

Gandalf, however, asks: "What do you mean?"

"You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth," the elf says with a finality that leans towards lecturing before he turns around and walks away.

"Best guard that map, Master Oakenshield." Harry smiles at Thorin as the dwarf folds it up to store away in his coat pocket. "I believe it's time to retire for the evening."

Harry stands before the great statue erected in honor of King Oropher. The statue of his wife, Queen Erien, had been moved to be next to him. Harry wished he could have met her, as those who do speak to him speak of her as a great and fearless warrior. 

Perished in service to the king when their son was still a child.

He comes here in the dead of night so as to not disturb the newly crowned king when he seems to be spending all daylight in this courtyard. 

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispers. Truth is, he feels robbed of saying a proper farewell to the king who took him in and gave him purpose. "I should have forced my hand. Maybe I could...could have saved you."

"He knew you would likely die if you did." 

Harry flinches. The voice isn't cold, just numb. Apathetic. "What's my life compared to a king?" Death is a strange thing. True, he might have died. He wouldn't stay dead, though.

"My father is many things," King Thranduil begins, tone more melancholy than anything, "but, more than anything, he is smart." He doesn't elaborate. 

Feeling as though he is now trespassing, Harry pulls a flower—a red carnation—out of his coat pocket and places it on top of the plaque where a few others rest.

"You prevented them from wilting."

Harry looks to the new king. "He deserves better than a few flowers, but I don't know what else to give."

King Thranduil nods before turning away from him. Seeing this as a clear dismissal, Harry turns to leave. Just as he goes to exit the courtyard, he hears: "You do not need to wait for the cover of night to come here."

Harry walks past the guards stationed outside of the courtyard with a small smile on his face.

Harry seeks out Elrond in his study, a place the elf lord often retired to when he needed to think. Harry hopes his friend will come to forgive him as he knocks on the large marble door. There's a moment of silence before a clear, just-loud-enough, "Come in," can be heard. 

"My apologies for disturbing you at this hour."

Elrond offers him a tired smile in return as Harry enters the study. "I intend to be up for longer than any time you may take from me."

Harry sighs. "I won't take much of it. I would just like your confirmation."

Elrond, who had been holding what seems like a scouting report, places it on his desk and gives Harry his full attention. 

Without saying another word, Harry pulls the shrunken sword he found in the troll cave out of his pocket, enlarges it, and then carefully passes it over to Elrond. There is genuine surprise on the elf's face when he pulls the sword from its sheath and holds it up. Slowly, he runs his hands over the engraved Elvish running center-down of the blade.

"Rest assured, my friend. It is, indeed, the sword of King Oropher." He carefully slides the sheath back on. "Silver Death," he continues. "A sword forged long before my time. Only seen in battle." He hands it back to Harry.

Harry, for his part, sits heavily in the chair opposite Elrond. He holds the sword with one hand and covers his face with the other. "Thranduil...he was devastated. None of us could find it after his father's body was laid to rest. We backtracked at least 50 times. I tried to summon it. I used every locator spell I know. I don't know why I never found it. I don't know why it never came."

He had been distraught over it.

Made himself sick over it.

Terrified the elves of the Woodland Realm when he made the ground shake, trying to summon magic beyond his comprehension to find the fallen king's sword.

"You once said your magic can be affected by your emotions or situations of high stress."

"Not to this degree." Harry shakes his head. "Something else was at play, back then. And to find it among a troll hoard feels insulting." 

He will take the time to clean it.

Make it sparkle, make it sharper, make it as grand as it once was.

"It is troubling," Elrond admits quietly as he leans back in his chair, "that all three swords, of such great importance, were discovered among a troll hoard. And to think they were this close to Imladris."

Harry shrinks the sword and places it back inside his pocket.

They sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

"You're exhausting yourself."

Harry, exhausted as said, only shrugs. He has been in a foul mood all morning, brushing aside concerns, offers of help, and food. Now, the sun is high in the sky and the heat is sweltering and he's been outside on the largest pavilion of the kingdom with nothing but his wand, a dagger that belonged to the late king, and Latin runes written on a piece of parchment.

"It has been months. The sword is lost. Cease this search. "

"I owe it to him," Harry replies through gritted teeth. He breathes in, out, and starts to chant only for the parchment and dagger to be snatched off the ground. He reacts quickly, in that moment, gripping a pale wrist. 

Another hand comes up, ripping his off the wrist, and holding it down with incredible strength. Harry stares into dark blue eyes, anger bubbling beneath his skin. His free hand gripping his wand tighter.

"Why do you disobey me?" King Thranduil snaps. "Often, you do this. Tell me why!"

Harry just shakes his head while trying to yank his hand free. 

"Am I not the king? Or is it because I am not the king you want to follow?"

Harry is absolutely mortified when he feels a hot tear slide down his face. "I have razed orc armies to the ground, restored vegetation to tainted lands, assisted in rebuilding homes...and I can't even find a single sword. All this magic and I can't even do that?"

Any anger, any tension, all of it just fades away and Harry just sits on the ground feeling useless and exhausted and he's crying. 

"Though it angers me, I have accepted that my father's sword is gone. Much of his other belongings remain, and that is enough." Silence, and then: "Do not do this again." 

Harry nods once, not meeting his eyes. "Yes, your majesty."

"Look at me."

Harry lifts his gaze.

He must look pathetic. The elvenking searches for something in his eyes, frowning at whatever he finds. "Go wash up and then rest. Later, you will join the evening meal. And every meal after."

"Yes, your majesty."

King Thranduil lets go of his hand. "He would not have you cry over him." He hands back the parchment but keeps the dagger. "Go."

And Harry goes without another word.

Galadriel cannot conceal her magic from Harry, try as she might. He knows the exact moment she arrives with Saruman. Where as she will dampen it to the best of her ability, Saruman is a beacon walking directly into Imladris. 

He wonders how the elves feel about the white wizard.

Still, with Galadriel and Saruman in Imladris, Harry is very much inclined to leave. 

Thorin Oakenshield appears to be in agreement when he silently orders the company to sneak out of the safe haven roughly two hours before dawn. 

Harry's mind is impenetrable when the first gentle nudges start. Galadriel will know when they leave, will inform the other members of the White Council, and will try and find another way to speak with him alone, regardless of it being in-person or not. Harry's opinion of her is mixed, but he gets along fairly well with Celeborn. 

Harry leaves three letters in his room. One for Lindir; apologizing on behalf of the dwarves once again and giving praise to his very comfy room. One for Erestor, promising to return in a few years time so they can propely catch up. At the bottom of Erestor's letter, he leaves a small note for Glorfindel. 'You owe me a game of chess.' The final letter is for Elrond, thanking him for his knowledge on great elven swords, and for his hospitality. 

Casting a notice-me-not charm over himself and the company, they successfully sneak by a small group of elves near the entrance.

"Return the way you came," Harry tells them. "I will join you within the hour." He is getting his horse, dammit! "Gandalf will likely join us later in the day."

Thorin nods once before his attention falls to Bilbo. "Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up." 

Bilbo looks reluctant to leave; both Harry and Imladris. 

"We will come back to visit," Harry reassures him. 

It's a promise he intends to keep.

Chapter Text

It has been nothing but thunderstorms for days, not that Harry cares. He is about half an hour's walk from the Woodland Kingdom and in no mood to be one's company. No fights broke out. Not even a single disagreement. He just feels off. Unlike himself.

In fact, the elves have been much more welcoming lately. 

Galion, who sticks close to King Thranduil, has taken it upon himself to pickup Harry's lessons in Elvish, something that had stopped with the death of King Oropher. Harry thinks he was ordered to. Prior to recently, the lessons came directly from the former king. "An immortal wizard that cannot speak Elvish? Ridiculous."

Of course, Harry cannot expect King Thranduil to spare time for him. He has been endlessly busy with a variety of issues and concerns. Galion is polite, patient, and pleasantly easy to follow. His lessons consists of speaking and writing. Reading, he is told, will come later. 

There's a flash of light followed by a loud 'boom.' Soaked to the bone, Harry continues his walk through the forest. He could have protected himself from the rain, but the freezing rain feels surprisingly nice. With the aid of magic, he has not stumbled or tripped. He can see about 10 feet in front of him. Harry is so happy he no longer wears glasses. 

He comes upon a large tree with roots above the ground, twisted and contorted, forming something resembling a cave. There, Harry finds a dry spot on the ground and takes a seat. He closes his eyes, feeling tired all of a sudden. 

Harry falls asleep, completely unaware of the search party out looking for him.

The journey, since leaving Imladris, has been midly pleasant. The mountain range of Erebor slowly, ever slowly, draws near as they pass over beautiful valleys and around stunning waterfalls. No orc packs have been spotted for some time, which concerns Harry. 

If what Gandalf says is true, and Harry is inclined to agree, Thorin Oakenshield is being hunted.

Not a single sign or whiff.

No doubt there are those who aim to prevent the mountain from being reclaimed by the dwarves. None dare to try themselves, though, as they would risk death via dragon fire. There are rumors some have tried, but nothing has ever been confirmed. No one alive to tell their story, at least.

When the valleys and waterfalls and general pleasantries fall behind them as they hit mountains, Harry is forced to make a decision that leaves him deeply upset.

The mountain range, as it becomes steeper, is not suitable for a horse. 

"You've been good to me, my friend." Harry writes a letter, much to the confusion of the dwarves, and tucks it into the small side-saddle bag. "Thank you for everything." He pulls out a single, green leaf from his pocket. "Until we see each other again."

When he presses the leaf in-between his four-legged friends' eyes, his horse disappears in a green, swirled 'snap.'

The dwarves shout in surprise.

"Where'd he go?" Kíli asks, eyes darting around their surroundings.

"I sent him home, Master Dwarf." Harry adjusts him pack over his shoulder.

Thorin narrows his eyes. "And where is home?"

"Some place far from here." Not a lie. Though, he can certainly picture the surprised looks on the woodland elves faces' when a horse randomly appears in the middle of the kingdom. "We are leaving flat ground and I won't suffer him through it."

Thorin is decidedly unsatisfied with his answer, but Harry does nothing to fix it. 

Vaguely, he thinks this something Gandalf likes to do.

So, they move along. The company finds themselves climbing the vast mountain range, through rock and snow, framed against the blue sky behind them. This continues on for hours. Though tired, the dwarves power forward. Harry, not wanting them to suffer freezing temperatures, silently casts warming spells on them.

He receives a few nods or short verbal means of gratitude. 

Night comes swiftly.

And trouble comes with it.

A fierce storm rages in the air. Lightning strikes all over, barely avoiding them, and rain pours down without mercy. Only by Harry's magic are they not soaked to the bone. A small, saving grace.

Thorin leads them across a narrow, dangerous trail on the side of the mountain. A cliff lies on one side of the path, with a terrifying drop. Harry wishes he had the light feet of elves. 

"Hold on!" Thorin yells from ahead. 

As Bilbo walks, the stones beneath him give way. Harry and Dwalin manage to catch him in the nick of time. His hobbit friend shakes from the experience, keeping close to Harry as they move down the path. 

"We must find shelter," Thorin yells out again.

"No shit," Harry mumbles. But where?

A massive boulder hurtles through the air. Harry points his wand at the dwarves and shouts, "Protego!" The boulder hits the mountainside above the dwarves, sending rocks crumbling down around them instead of on top of them as they press themselves against the mountain. 

Balin, wide-eyed, points to the sky. "This is no thunderstorm! It's a thunder battle! Look!"

A massive stone giant rears up from a nearby mountain. It rips a giant chunk of stone from the top of the mountain. Large pieces of rock come tumbling down and would have surely crushed the company had Harry not used his magic to keep them safe.

Fíli looks to the company, searching until he has eyes on his brother. "The legends are true! Giants; stone giants!" There's fear on the blond dwarf's face, as he seems to realize just how separated he is from his brother. 

The stone giant throws the rock across the valley. It crashes into another stone giant, rising from the mountainside. The dwarves watch, caught in the middle. Harry keeps Bilbo close, trying to think of how they can make it out of this alive. 

'I love you so much,' he sends to his husband, 'and our son, our family, our people.' The immediate rush of alarm and fear fills his mind but he can't respond to words that come, to the near overwhelming feelings that twist throughout his head. Harry sends his love. Just his love and then he focuses. 

Debris begins to fall over the company once again, bouncing off the protective barrier above them. The dwarves hold onto the mountainside as the ground beneath them begins to crack and split, quickly separating the dwarves.

"Take cover!" Thorin yells just as Fíli shouts: Kíli!"

The dwarves, Harry, and Bilbo stand on the knees of a third stone giant, who rises slowly to the fight. The second stone giant lumbers over, headbutting the third giant. As the giant falls backwards, Harry braces for impact with Bilbo clutched to his side while the dwarves are sent tumbling forwards and backwards, hanging onto the mountainside for dear life.

Thorin, Oín, Gloin and Kíli manage to jump onto the still side of the mountain that is stable. Harry is glad some are out of immediate danger now. The third giant rises back up again. Slowly, the second throws a punch, sending it falling back into its place on the mountain. Harry sees as Thorin and the other watch them, helpless, as the third giant falls into the mountain, bringing great chunks of it down over them.

A unanimous, all-powerful accio brings the remaining dwarves to his person in the knick of time, just as he wills a powerful burst of magic into the protection charm over them. When the giant falls, they do not fall with it. And that, Harry counts as a victory in and of itself.

Holy shit.

When he and some of the dwarves start pushing against the build-up off rock around them, grey sky is eventually seen and, with it, the relieved looks of Thorin and the few others that managed to get away.

Just as he's getting up from his crouched position, he hears a sharp inhale and then Bilbo is slipping away.

Harry pivots, darting forward to grab Bilbo by the hand and yank him back to more solid ground. "I've got you," Harry says into sweaty curls. 

"Go catch, laddie." Dwalin says from behind him, giving Harry a solid thump on his shoulder. "I thought we almost lost our burglar."

Thorin, along with the others, make his way down to them. "He's been lost ever since he left home. He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

Harry frowns at the words. 

He would have retorted, but Bilbo pulling away to shake his head at him stops him. Instead, boldly, Bilbo looks Thorin in the eyes and says, "I'm not the only lost, Master Oakenshield." The hobbit turns to help Bombur to his feet. 

Harry is so damn proud of his friend.

Thorin looks angry at the back-talk, but doesn't respond to it. Rather, he demands they find shelter for the night. Bilbo sticks close to Harry, but keeps his head held high. 

Luck is on their side as they find a cave relatively quickly.

"Answer me honestly," the elvenking begins as he starts walking around Harry. "Do you have a death wish?"

Harry looks straight ahead, to the arched window where the thunderstorm continues without a care. He had been found, freezing to the touch and unconscious, beneath that large tree. When he woke up in the healer's ward to two worried elves and one seriously upset elvenking, he knew it would be hard to get out of being lectured.

And lectured he was.

For his carelessness, his failure to inform anyone he was leaving, his failure to return before night fell, and for not wearing proper attire. 

This lecture from Galion and the lead healer, Ruthiuin. That meant, of course, he would be alone to face the king's wrath. Harry fights the urge to sniffle as he stands alone in the king's study.

"No, your majesty." Harry blinks back exhaustion. "I went for a walk and fell asleep."

"You went for a walk in the middle of such a storm? If you do not have a death wish, then you are simply a fool." 

Harry fights the desire to shrug. "Okay. I'm a fool."

The elvenking stops in front of him. There's disappointment clear on his face, but also concern. He reaches toward his face with one hand and Harry has to actively fight the urge to flinch back. 

When a cool hand covers his forehead, Harry succumbs to whatever battle is raging within himself and leans into the touch.

Firewood is gathered but Thorin is quick to forbid it. 

"No. No fires, not in this place. Get some sleep. We start at first light."

Balin frowns along with the majority of the company. "We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan."

Thorin turns away from them. "Plans change."

Harry volunteers for first watch. This way, he is undisturbed when he finally answers to the worried feelings and words running mad inside his head. He breathes deeply, staring at the storm only five feet away.

'I am okay.'

Never do that to me again. 

'I will try my best.' Harry cannot promise he won't be in perilous situations, so long as he lives in Middle Earth. 'I was dealing with a...terrifying situation.'

You won't say. There's rapid fire of emotions within Harry's head before it settles on acceptable.

'I will tell you all about it when I return home.'

When will that be?

'Soon, my love.' 

Harry sighs audibly. 

You've been missed.

Chapter Text

The sky is crystal clear in the evening after weeks of endless thunderstorms and just all-round awful sickness. The moon, surrounded by stars, is large and full and bright and so utterly beautiful. Harry finds comfort with the moon, on the nights he is able to see it without the presence of clouds. 

He thinks of Teddy when he sees the moon. And, though his heart aches unbearably at the thought of boy, his son, he only remembers unconditional love, endless fondness, and pride only a father can feel. He will never forget, no matter how much time passes, of the how his son grew up and thrived and met death peacefully while Harry remained the same; never aging.

Harry smiles at the moon. "I hope you're doing well, Teddy." He whispers the words into the cool air. "If you could see me now, what would you say?"

"Who is Teddy?" 

Harry turns his head to glance over his shoulder before looking to the moon again. "My son."

King Thranduil silently appears at his side, casting a strange but comfortable shadow over him. "You had a son prior to coming here?"

"Not by blood, but I raised him along with his grandmother until she passed." Harry tries to blink back tears. "He aged. I did not." A single, hot tear rolls down his cheek. "I miss many people from before. My best friends, my godfather, other very good friends...but losing Teddy hurts in a way I don't think I can describe." 

After that, neither of them speak for a while. The surprisingly tender silence is broken when the elvenking says: "Tell me about him."

So Harry does.

He hears Bilbo speaking to one of the dwarves in the middle of the night. It's not frantic or angry, just mild conversation about what it means to have a 'home' and a 'family.' Bilbo talks easily about his short travels to other places when he was younger; collecting books and knick-knacks, all sorts of souvenirs. 

Fíli is the one he's speaking to when the response comes. "My brother and I...we grew up in the Blue Mountains with our mother and father. Our mother, she told us great stories about Erebor, about our family. We lost our father sometime ago and the location of our only uncle is unknown. We don't...know if he lives."

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Bilbo replies sincerely. "I was still a lad when my father fell ill and passed during the Fell Winter. My mother passed shortly after I reached my maturity. My home is what I have left of them."

"You left it behind, to follow us."

"It will be well taken care of." Bilbo then snorted softly. "With the exception of a few greedy relatives, hobbits embrace community. We look out for each other."

Harry sees, in the dim light provided by the moon, Fíli smile in response. "The dwarves of the Blue Mountain are much the same—" The dwarf frowns. "What's this? Why is it glowing?"

Strange mechanical noises can be heard from beneath the ground. The sandy ground of which the dwarves are lying on begins to crack apart. Harry curses loudly for his own sheer stupidity, but it's Thorin who jumps to his feet yelling, "Wake up!"

Only, it's too late. 

The cave floor collapses downward.

Words are stuck in Harry's throat when the company and all their belongings disappear before his very eyes. He grabs his pack and jumps down after them without much more thought. The dwarves and Bilbo are tumbling through the giant tunnel in painful smacks and collisions. 

In a split second of action, Harry manages to stop himself from landing on top of the dwarves when they fall directly into a wooden cage. 

Magic. 

Unexplainable.

Magic surrounds him and prevents him from falling out of the tunnel;  so he remains hidden. Bilbo, he barely sees, didn't end up falling in the wooden cage. His hobbit friend quickly crouches out of sight when goblins, unlike those of Gringotts, advance on the dwarves and viciously claim their weapons before starting to shove them forward.

With the dwarves and goblins out of sight, Harry peers out of the tunnel before dropping down in a crouch. 

Harry dives behind a poorly constructed crate just as a few goblins go scampering by. Immediate silence follows after but is quickly broken by heavy breathing not of his own and careful footsteps. Harry looks around the crate carefully to see Bilbo, glowing elven dagger out, following along the path the dwarves were forced down. 

As he's just about to call out to his friend, a goblin leaps from behind a jagged rock with a dagger and Bilbo barely manages to block the attack.

"Stupefy!"

The spell strikes the goblin, sending him to the ground unmoving.

"Harry!" Bilbo exclaims happily but his happiness is short-lived when another, smaller goblin leaps out from the same jagged rock and slams into Bilbo with enough force he breaks past the wooden railings. 

Harry doesn't think.

He just reacts.

He dives over the side after them.

Blasting the goblin off Bilbo with his wand, he reaches his friend and curls around his body protectively. His body collides against the rocky sides of the abyss in painful, likely bone-breaking slams, but his magic reacts. Just before he loses consciousness, a bright light surrounds him.

Something is wrong.

His magic.

Something is wrong.

Something—

It's wrong.

His—

"Can we stop for the day?"

Galion immediately shifts away and closes the book. "That would be for the best," the elf says. "You've been distracted all day."

Harry sighs. "I'm sorry." He stretches outward, hands reaching across the table where he leaves them as his head drops down with a soft thud.

"No need to be sorry." Galion begins neatly piling his language teaching materials in front of him. "But, as a friend, if you would like to talk about any troubles, feel free to speak about them with me." 

Keeping his head down and relying on the enhanced hearing of elves, Harry begins speaking: "Why does King Thranduil bother with me?"

"Bother with you?" The elf's tone is strange. "Explain, please."

"I understand—logically—the benefit of having a wizard as part of one's arsenal, but he—the king—seems more interested in me as opposed to what I can provide with my magic."

"You have only recently realized his majesty is interested in you beyond your magical capabilities?" Galion questions, voice deadpan.

Harry's head snaps up and he's sitting up straight. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"For someone so powerful and dedicated and loyal, you're oblivious." Galion turns to him, his hand coming to rest upon Harry's in a gentle but firm hold. "What I say next remains between us." 

There's a seriousness in the elf's eyes, the atmosphere around them tightening a bit. "Of course."

What Galion says next surprises him. "You terrify the king." Before Harry can respond to that, the elf continues: "Bluntly speaking, you terrify many of us. Not regarding your magical power, but how you treat yourself. You're careless with your personal well-being, Harry. You disappear into the forrest for long hours, often during poor weather. You keep your distance. You barely speak during meals and leave as soon as you're able to. You are...also sad and you don't let any of us approach you about it unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless it's his majesty." Harry doesn't know what to say, but the elf goes on. "You may not believe it, but there's many elves here who care about you and would like to be your friend. Or, at the very least, know more about the place you came from and the life you lived. You're immortal, like elves, and a wizard, but unlike the wizards of Middle Earth."

"That's hard to believe considering I was outcasted for a long time, even before the passing of King Oropher."

Galion smiles sadly. "War times certainly made forming friendships difficult. If you find it in yourself to forgive us elves, we would like to connect with you."

Harry wakes to gentle touches upon his face; a hand caressing his cheek, a finger tracing his lips, a kiss pressed to his brow.

"You are hurting, meleth nín. I cannot ease your pain from such a distance." 

Opening his eyes, he is greeted by the ethereal vision of his beloved. Golden hair, of which he misses running his fingers through, lightly touches his skin. 

Or what he believes it would feel like to touch his skin. There's nothing beyond white light around them. His husband is in his sleepwear, for the late hour it is. 

"Come home." Harry closes his eyes again, just as lips touch his forehead.

"I travel with friends," he whispers between them. "I cannot abandon them." His words are met with further gentle touches to his hair, his neck, down his body. 

"Then wake."

With the phantom touch of lips to his own, Harry wakes with a gasp—surging forward as he coughs, pain racing across his left shoulder. 

"Harry!" 

Despite not having a focused vision and the hurt pulsing throughout his body, he easily accepts Bilbo's tight, painful hug on his least aching side. The body of the goblin that attacked Bilbo lay 10 or so feet away from them, mangled. Harry breathes deeply, then he finally let's Bilbo pull away. 

"You saved me, Harry." Bilbo whispers guilty. "But your shoulder...I don't know h-how to fix it!"

It's dislocated.

He doesn't need to look to know that. 

"I can fix it, but it won't sound nice." He touches along the damaged area before gripping it, hissing through the pain, and jerks his shoulder back into place with a 'pop' that seems to echo down the narrow cavern they are in.

Harry sways in his seated position but he still sees Bilbo's face appear a little green. He silently casts a mild pain-relieving spell on his shoulder, to make movement more bearable. As he gets to his feet, sudden movement from down the cavern has him scooping Bilbo up to hide behind a large boulder, peeking around it just barely to see what is with them.

His wand is gone, probably broken, and there's someone or something near them.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

A haggard creature, eyes inhumanly large and body deathly thin, crawls on hands and feet to the motionless goblin. It begins dragging the goblin by its feet when, suddenly, the goblin springs to life, grabbing the creature and trying to bite its ear off. In response, the creature grabs a large rock and pounds it against the goblin's head until its head is nothing more than mush.

"Nasty goblinses. Better than old bones, precious. Better than nothing!"

The creature grabs the dead goblin and rounds a corner, now out of sight.

He slowly places Bilbo to his feet. Harry waits a little longer to make sure they are alone before walking out from their hiding place. He spots Bilbo's dagger and walks over to retrieve it. When he turns around, he sees Bilbo holding a gold ring. 

He appears curious before giving a dismissive sniff, pocketing the thing.

"She killed Sirius! She killed him – I'll kill her!"

Harry looks around, shudders, before looking away from his friend; feeling on edge.

"Consider not keeping it. Creatures with lost possessions tend to respond unpleasantly." He hands the elven dagger to Bilbo.

"We might be able to use it as a bargaining chip to get out of here and to the others." His friend smiles as he takes the dagger, returning it to his sheath.

Harry holds up his hand, soft but commanding voice saying, "Accio Elder's Wand." There's a moment of silence before said wand comes swooping down from above and Harry catches it with ease, thankfully unbroken or seemingly damaged. "Fair enough, Bilbo." 

The creature begins to moan in the distance. They follow the sound of creature's voice. "Too many boneses, precious. Not enough flesh!" Then, angrier: "Shut up! Get its skin off. Start with its head!"

The end of the narrow cavern leads to a small lake that brings back unwanted memories. Harry carefully peers into the water, magic reaching out to locate other beings beneath the lake. He breathes a little easier when nothing meets it. 

"The cold hard lands, they bites our hands, they gnaws our feet. The rocks and stones, they're like old bones, all bare of meat. Cold as death, they have no breath, its good to eat." Despite being awful, the song sends a chill down Harry's spine. 

"Do we call out to him?" Bilbo whispers.

There's plenty of space for Harry to aparate to the other side but the sound of doing so might startle the creature and send him running. 

The creature is feasting on his goblin meal now, appearing to be arguing with himself as he does, but has not yet noticed them hidden partly by some large rocks. 

Harry sighs. There aren't many options that wouldn't startle the being across the lake or send it into fight mode. Using various magic in an unknown location could bring an entire goblin army down on them. Maybe not just goblins. 

Gandalf should have been here by now. 

"Don't mention the ring yet," Harry tells his hobbit friend before stepping fully into view.

The other's attention is on him immediately. "Bless us and splash us, precious! That's a meaty mouthful!" Abandoning his grotesque meal, the creature hops down and over to a tiny, wooden raft. Harry does nothing as it pulls itself across the lake with a thin rope, only stepping back when he reaches the shore and draws closer to him. "Meaty, meaty mouthful~"

"Back! Stay back! I'm warning you, don't come any closer to him!" Bilbo hops out with his dagger drawn. Harry sighs, equal parts touched and exasperated.

"It's got an elvish blade, but its not an elfs. Not an elfs, no." The creature looks to the side. "What is it, precious?"

"My name is Bilbo Baggins. This is my friend, Harry, and we're just trying to make our way out of here." 

"Bagginses? What is a Bagginses, precious?" Harry watches warily as the creature squints at Bilbo. He shifts lightly to stand closer, wand hidden beneath his sleeve just in case. 

"I'm a hobbit, from The Shire."

The creature's eyes light up in glee. "Oh! We like goblinses, batses and fishes, but we haven't tried hobbitses before. Is it soft? Is it juicy?"

Harry steps in front of Bilbo. "Keep your distance."

"Why is he blocking the way, precious? Is the Bagginses his friend?"

"Yes," Harry replies curtly. "Can you show us the way out?"

"Out? Out, out, out! Why does he want out?"

The creature comes forward but Bilbo pokes around Harry, his dagger held out menacingly. "Don't treat this like a game! We really must be on our way!"

"Game?!" The creature cackles. "We love games, precious. We wants to play a game with the Bagginses!"

Harry can picture the gears turning in Bilbo's head.

Bilbo nods quickly. "Why don't we have a game of riddles? Yes? Just you and me? Not my friend because it wouldn't be fair."

Harry isn't that great with riddles anyway.

"Just us?" The creature eyes Harry suspiciously. 

"Yes. Yes. And if I win, you show me and my friend the way out."

"And if it loses? What then?" A shift in the eyes. "If it loses, precious, then we eats it." Another shift of the eyes. "If Baggins loses, we eats it whole. We eats Baggins and his friend whole."

Bilbo looks at Harry. "Fair enough."

He has been given a lot to think about.

Harry finds himself before the great statues of King Oropher and Queen Erien, late into the evening where the guards are nothing more than a skeleton crew. Every flower he has ever brought to the late king's statue remains alive and beautiful. There is an equal amount of flowers, the same but different in color, for the late queen. He stands there for a long time, then speaks when another presence joins him.

"Your father gave me purpose, and I miss him deeply, but that does not mean I do not see you as my king." Harry turns to face King Thranduil. "I just don't know how I can serve you when there is no war. I spend time in the forrest because I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not practicing Elvish or staying in my room." 

"Immortality is a blessing and a curse," the elvenking replies quietly. "You have all the time imaginable to learn or experience whatever you please at your own pace, but time will simply continue on without a care. You say you do not know what to do with yourself, but you have endless options available. Only you can decide on when or whether to start."

Harry looks at him. "I wouldn't want to bother anyone."

"I will know peace when you lay your self-sabotaging habits to rest. There are plenty of elves here who wish to befriend you. Learn to meet them halfway."

Harry can't help but chuckle a bit. "I've spent too many years keeping to myself because I don't want to burden anyone with my issues."

"Spend even more years learning to connect with others. You are not alone here."

"His majesty gives good advice, but does he follow his own words?" 

King Thranduil cocks an eyebrow before smirking. "If you wish to connect with me, you need only ask." 

Chapter Text

"You're a very good person, who bad things have happened to."

Prongs bursts from the end of his wand in a whispery silver-white, taking a proud form as he prances around the large room before coming to stop in front of Harry. Lifting his hand, Harry smiles as it comes into contact with the physical manifestation of his magic. The stag soon leans down to nuzzle his cheek and Harry has to suddenly blink back tears. He cannot recall the last time he called upon Prongs; even many years prior to walking the land of Middle Earth. 

"How is it created?"

Harry jumps a little, forgetting he isn't alone. Nonetheless, he answers. "The patronus charm is created from the caster's happiest memories, as a defense against dementors and other dark creates. And, sometimes, against despair itself."

King Thranduil comes to stand next to him, but doesn't reach out to touch Prongs, though Harry suspects he wants to. "What are dementors? What other dark creatures are from your world?"

"Dementors are creatures that will slowly and painfully suck out your very soul while forcing you to relive every single horrible memory you have." Harry watches as Prongs moves toward the elvenking.

King Thranduil is taller than Prongs, but not by much. Prongs stares at him, the elf stares back, and then Prongs nudges the elf's cheek. Harry chuckles. "I think that means he likes you." Prongs comes back to his side, huffing a bit, and then fades away. "And to answer your second question, there are many dark creatures. Vampires; they feed on blood. Werewolves; those able to transform into giant wolves during the full moon. Trolls, goblins, fairies. Dragons. Some are nice or civil, others are not."

King Thranduil hums that low, contemplative hum of him. "I suppose we of Middle Earth should consider ourselves grateful for not having some of such creatures known here."

"Not all are bad," Harry is quick to reiterate. "My dad and godfather were best friends with a werewolf and he later became my favorite teacher when I was attending Hogwarts." 

"I see." The elvenking turns toward him, expression that of plain curiosity. "And what happy memory did you think of before using this spell?"

Harry fiddles with his wand, smiling to himself. "I mentioned him a handful of times over the years. Specifically, I thought about this hug we shared after we were separated during the summer." He can feel his smile drop a little. "I only had him for two years before he died, but I loved him so much." Harry sighs before looking at the king. "It is the small moments that mean the most to me."

"What has roots as nobody sees, is taller than trees. Up, up, up it goes, and yet never grows."

Harry blinks slowly, his magic silent and unseen searching for the path to freedom; weak rocky areas, light, sound, or whatever is beyond the cavern. 

Win this riddle game or not, he and his friend were leaving.

"The mountain," Bilbo answers, tone surprisingly bored as they continue this game. Surely the dwarves have managed to escape by now? At least, that is the impression they have given Harry in the short time that he's known them. Resilient. Stubborn. Strong. Surely they can outsmart a goblin army.

Surely.

The creature laughs. "Oh, yes, yes. Go on! Give us another one!"

Bilbo looks unimpressed. "Thirty white horses on a red hill. First they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still." Bilbo looks at Harry, Harry looks back, and it seems they are coming to the same conclusion. This is dragging on far too long. Harry might actually risk bringing the mountain down on them, to save them from their boredom. 

"Teeth! Yes, my precious! But we, we only have nine." The creature opens his mouth wide, displaying his nine teeth. Bilbo recoils in disgust. Harry just continues to stare, quiet as ever. "Our turn! Voiceless it cries, wingless flutter, toothless bites, mouthless mutters."

Since the start of this little game, Bilbo has solved each riddle with ease.

He looks troubled now.

Harry watches him in concern.

The creature creeps forward, unsettling Bilbo. He tries is best to keep a rock between the two of them. "Just a minute!" Harry clears his throat, the sound echoing around them briefly, but it serves its purpose of distracting the pitiful thing while Bilbo gathers himself. It's not cheating, not really, but it seemed to help his hobbit friend. "Ah, it's wind!"

"Very clever, hobbitses, very clever." The creature it starting to look a bit angry.

"My turn," Bilbo says firmly. "A box without hinges, key or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid."

Harry smiles a little when the creature turns away, muttering. "Box... and a lid, then a key..."

"Well?" Bilbo looks ready to make a run for it. "Give up?"

"Give us a chance, precious, give us a chance!" The creatures cries in frustration. Then, a single look of clarity appears on its face. "Eggses! Wet, crunchy, little eggses. Grandmother tought us to suck them, yes!"

A bat squeals in the distance. Startled, Bilbo looks around for the bat. Harry keeps his eyes on the creature, watching as a calculative expression flashes across its face. Then, another easy, but no less creepy, smile appears. "We have one for you. All things it devours, birds, beasts, trees and flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel, grinds hards stone to meal."

"They're fun!" Hermione says with a smile.

Ron shoves another cookie into his mouth, speaking in-between chewing. "No't ev'r'one likes r'm'ddles, Her'm'ne."

"Honestly, Ronald. You should have better manners by now."

Harry, smiling, simply says, "Time. The answer is time."

"Answer us!" The creature demands when Bilbo doesn't respond right away. 

Bilbo looks aghast by his rude behavior. "Give me a moment, please! I gave you a good long while."

"Is it tasty? Is it scrumptious? Is it crunchable?" The creature approaches Bilbo slowly, seeming to forget Harry is there.

"Let me think. Let me think." Bilbo looks to Harry. Not alarmed, just thinking.

"It's stuck. Bagginses is stuck." The creature cackles. "Time's up~"

Harry snorts softly.

Bilbo's face lights up. "Time! The answer is time!"

There's a sudden rumble from above, where some rocks begin to fall. Luckily, it's around them and not on them. Harry would rather not use any magic just yet. Not until he gets-Oh. 

Gandalf.

Gandalf has arrived. 

Harry hasn't gone out to explore the forrest in a long while and, with such nice weather, he thinks a leisure stroll is long over due. He makes his way to the main gate, well-aware that many eyes follow after him. He stops in front of the two guards stationed in front of the great doors and smiles pleasantly at them. 

"Am I allowed to leave?"

"Of course," Harry freezes. "Where are we going?" The guards, who Harry stare at, quickly avert their gaze, though they both appear to be fighting back smiles. The elvenking moves to stand in front of him, regal clothes replaced with something more causal and light. "It is a nice day."

Harry narrows his eyes. "It is a nice day." Then, he smiles. "I'm surprised you're free right now...I was under the impression that a king's duties never rest?"

King Thranduil returns his smile, amused with the tone of his voice most likely. "They don't. But I have advisors that can oversee all when I am not present." 

"Then, by all means, I'd love for you to join me." Harry leans around the king to speak to the guards. "If you would be so kind?"

Harry is unsurprised to see them wait for confirmation from the elvenking before opening the great doors. A nice breeze greets them, bringing the scent of flowers and pine. Harry moves forward, stopping briefly to glance at the king: "Let's not waste the day, your majesty."

They step outside together, where the sun does this awful thing of catching the king's face just right, making him appear straight out of fairytale. Again. Crazy, how unfair this whole situation is. 

Harry gulps. 

Right. Yeah. Okay. Okay, okay, okayokayokay—

"Last question, last chance."

Harry feels something uncomfortable settle in the pit of his stomach, like a stone. He had previously recognized a strange, danger-like aura since awaking in the cavern, and it grows even now when nothing but the weak creature is before them. Goblins are dark, yes, but this is a different kind of danger.

Something Harry hasn't felt in a very long time.

"Ask us. Ask us!"

Bilbo sighs and strolls to the edge of the bank. He absentmindedly rubs his pocket. Harry watches the hobbit with narrow eyes. "What have I got in my pocket?"

The creature frowns. "That's not fair! That's not fair, it's against the rules!"

Harry fiddles with his wand, eyeing Bilbo and the creature. "No, no, no. You said, 'ask me a question'. Well, I did. What have I got in my pocket?"

Don't antagonise it, Bilbo.

"Three guesses, precious. It must give us three!"

"Three guesses. Very well, guess away."

Bilbo quickly removes his hands from his pockets just before the creature can finish saying, "Handses!"

"Wrong, guess again."

"Knife!"

"Nope," Bilbo replies.

"String! Or nothing!"

"Two guesses, both wrong."

The creature collapses into a dramatic heap on the cavern floor, wailing his defeat. Bilbo grins victoriously, turning to Harry with bright eyes. He then turns back to the creature: "Come on then, I won the game. You promised to show us the way out."

The creature slowly gets to his feet, back to Bilbo and Harry. "Did we say so, precious? Did we say so?" The creature turns to Bilbo, eyes glaring. "What has it got in its pocketses?

"That's no concern of yours," Bilbo immediately replies. "Now honor your end of the deal." The pathetic thing grins as he approaches Bilbo. He reaches for something hidden at his side, his face going from amused to shock in a moment's time. Whatever he is looking for, it is not there. Harry glances at Bilbo's pocket. 

There's a rumble from above.

More rocks of various sizes from tumbling down around them.

Whatever Gandalf is doing, it's effective.

"Where is it?! Where is it?! No! No! No!" The creature starts to rapidly dig through bone and rock, searching in vain for what is clearly the ring Bilbo has in his pocket. "Lost! Curses and splashes, my precious is lost!"

Harry begins connecting some dots. Desperation, even for jewelry, should not be seen in such a case. The ring, Harry suspects, is likely a powerful one; something similar to the many evil, cursed rings from his life before. His eyes roam over the creature; severely malnourished, not completely sane, certainly dangerous if too close.  There are few rings in Middle Earth that can lead a being to become this deranged. 

It simply cannot be returned to the creature.

"What have you lost?" Bilbo asks, his hands up in a sort of placating manner.

"Mustn't ask us! Not its business!" The creature comes to a stop at the bank of the pond, looking at its reflection. Quietly, it says: "Gollum, Gollum! Where is it?" Harry comes to stand next to Bilbo as the creature's-Gollum?-face contorts with anger. "What has it got in its nasty, little pocketses?"

Harry's magic decides that is the moment it has found an escape for him and Bilbo.

"Bilbo-"

"He stole it. He stole it! He. Stole. It!" Gollum heaves a large rock at Bilbo, but Harry deflects it easily.

Harry feels pity when he casts his spell. "Stupefy."

Gollum drops to the ground, face frozen in agony. 

"You will let me have a look at that ring before the day is over," Harry says firmly. "I know a way out now. Come on."

Bilbo nods. "Of course, of course! Let's get out of here!"

Harry notches his arrow, pulls the string back, and stares at the target. It's on the other side of the large clearing, almost mocking him in a way. There's a handful of arrows around the target, some sticking out of the ground and others touching it but nowhere near the center. He has been out here for just over two hours practicing, practicing, practicing. His sword wielding has immensely improved, but he still falls behind on archery. 

He breathes in, breathes out, and releases the arrow.

It hits the target, but not in the center. 

"What am I doing wrong?" He mumbles as he grabs a new arrow.

A large, pale hand settles over his own while another comes to rest on his waist. Harry freezes. "You tense your shoulders before you release your arrow." 

Refusing to lower his hands or look over his shoulder, Harry sighs before nodding. He accepts the soft critique. Silently, he allows his body to be adjusted to a new, more comfortable position. Something he's probably been shown multiple times but somehow doesn't remember. "Aim your arrow." He does as told despite shivering when breath hits the back of his neck. "Relax your shoulders. Breathe." Hands move to press gently on his shoulders. "Let it fly."

Harry releases the arrow.

The arrow doesn't hit the center, but it is damn well closer than any previous attempt. 

Harry whips around with a smile. "Thank you. 

"Practice-"

"-makes perfect," Harry finishes, still smiling. "I have a lot of time to practice."

He gets a smile, although small, in return. "True." He is given his space back. "Try again."