Sparkle

It went wierd, and wouldnt let me load the entire chapter at once.

XXX

Middle-Earth, Gondor. 1997. One year before the Council at Rivendell.

Faramir watched his father with curious eyes. Lord Denethor walked along the corridor to his bedchamber, but he had passed by the door. Half-hidden in the wall was a second door, the door to the only other room in that corridor. Faramir had come to seek his father’s wisdom, and instead had found the man wondering wraith-like up and down the corridor before he seemed to find the courage to open that door.

Faramir wondered what terror was hidden inside that could unnerve his father so. He waited, hidden out of sight, until the door opened once again and his father was gone on his way back to the Citadel. When his father was out of sight, he would open the door.

Inside the room, Harrison looked up from his book. It was a book on the Wizards, of which there were very few left alive. The head of their Order was named Saruman the White, though Harrison found he admired the Grey Wizard, Gandalf, more. From the way he had been written it seemed Gandalf was the wittier one.

“My lord?” The seventeen-year-old asked, as he sat up. He had no need to bow before the King. Lord Denethor expressly forbid it when they were alone together. And they were always alone together since the Steward had told everyone Harry had died. When it was revealed that Harry was not Isildur’s heir it had been too late to tell of his existence.

“You have grown well, boy. In to a fine and handsome young man.” Harrison’s eyebrows drew together and he frowned as a hand came forward to cup his cheek. A thumb ghosted over his lips and green eyes widened as Denethor leant down. Their lips were inches apart when the Steward pulled back, frowning. “Though I wish I could keep you for myself, I must not.” For then Harry would have to rule alongside of him, and Lord Denethor had no desire to share his throne, despite how he desired Harrison.

“Nonetheless,” he continued, moving away from the teenager. “You are of age to be married, and I dare say you would make a fine husband for my son. Boromir is strong and handsome and brave, and he will care for you.”

Harrison jumped from the bed, standing stiff and straight. “What?”

”He returns from Rohan tomorrow. You shall meet him then, and be wed as soon as possible.” The hand was on Harry’s face again, stroking gently. Black eyes softened as they watched the boy he had helped raise. “Perhaps once you belong to Boromir I will not wish to possess you as much as I do now.”

When the door had closed behind the King, Harrison paced nervously. He had no wish to be married off to someone he had never met before. He heart clenched painfully at the very thought of it. He had planned to escape when he was old enough to take care of himself, and while he had not thought he would be so young still, Harrison knew he had to be gone before the following day. A part of him, the part that was instinctual and the part that guided him and guarded his hopes and dreams, insisted there was someone else out there for him. That someone was not yet ready to meet him, but Harrison could wait for them away from Minas Tirith if he had to. He would not marry the son of the King.

He gathered all of his books, and scrolls, and clothing and shoved them all into a bag made of Warg skin. The King had gifted it to him as a gift years ago, though Harrison had never had use of it until now.

The door creaked open, and Harrison’s head snapped up. Eyes narrowed. Why would his lord have returned so soon? A different face appeared through the crack in the door. Younger, but still a man: handsome too. His hair was fairer than the King’s, but the same length and style and Harrison could see the resemblance between them both.

“Boromir?” He asked softly.

The door opened wider and the man entered the room, though he left the door open after himself. “My name is Faramir. Who are you?” His voice was deep and coarse and Harrison knew instinctively that this person was not the one meant for him.

“I did not know the King had another son.” Lord Denethor had never spoken of a second child. He had talked endlessly of Boromir, and every once in a while he called Harrison his ‘youngest son, though not of blood’, but he had never once mentioned a Faramir.

“Well, he does. And who are you? His lover?” The man had crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Harry with disgust.

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the sword at Faramir’s belt. “Your brother’s intended, actually.” Harrison drawled. Faramir jumped back in shock, his mouth wide. In a blur of movement, Harrison picked up his bag, and swung in onto his back. He held his hand out and shouted, “Accio,” and the sword flew towards him. “Now, get out of my way.” He ordered while pointing the sword at Faramir’s neck.

The brunette moved to the side, allowing the teenager to pass him. Harrison ran, as fast as he could manage, along the corridor and then the next and the next. He raced towards sunlight, and despite the fact that he had never had cause to exercise much he did not tire easily. He shielded his eyes with his arm, the sword raised into the air, as he squinted, blinded by the sunlight. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the sun, though it was when he was seven and Lord Denethor had taken him into a private garden to view sunrise. It had happened just once, but when Harrison was nearly caught by a nosy soldier, Lord Denethor had changed their morning trips to ones done in secret in the black of night.

His pale skin tingled as the rays fell upon it, and Harrison allowed himself just a small moment to stand still and smile. He enjoyed the light and the warmth and then he ran again. He was grabbed by the arm. The soldier who stopped him looked down at him sternly. “And where do you go, boy? With the sword of the Prince?”

“My Lord Denethor bid me bring it to him, sir,” Harrison answered hoping he appeared demure enough to appease the guard. “He bid me hurry, sir and I daren’t delay.” He fluttered his eyes lashes softly, scuffing his toes on the ground and biting his bottom lip nervously.

The guard gave a disinterested nod and let Harry go. The boy took off running again and when he reached the gates he was very pleased to see it open. What was even better, in his opinion, was the horse standing on the causeway, already saddled with its rider nowhere in sight. Harry mounted it quickly. And having no idea how to ride a horse, he dug his heels into its side and pressed his hand to the side of its neck. The horse seemed to know what was desired of her, because she turned and galloped full pace away from Minas Tirith.

He rode for days, away from Gondor and the shadow of Mordor. He did not know where he was headed, but he trusted in himself and the horse to lead him to wherever it was he was destined to be. His mare, which was beginning to tire, gave a neigh of protest and Harry was forced to dismount her and walk by her side. It was three hours later that the horse refused to move at all, and Harrison allowed himself to collapse to the floor in exhaustion. He was as far from Gondor as he thought he was going to get, especially since he had no food with him and had to scavenge for his meals. He could not hunt, he had never learnt how, though he had been relieved to find that the killing green light worked as well on animals as it did on people. He roasted two rabbits over a magically lit fire, and ate them silently. He would have to find a village soon, he thought, or somewhere to live for the near future.

He remembered reading of Rohan, home of the Horse-Lords, and he wondered if they might take him in.

It was a month later, which included the three-day stay he spent as the guest of an elderly couple in a small village, that he woke to find himself surrounded. He looked up from the ground, where he had curled under one of his cloaks, and was relieved to find that he was not the prisoner of Men.

“You are Elves,” he spoke and his voice was almost like one of their own. Soft and musical, the words rolled off his tongue smoothly. “Why are you here?”

“Get up, man-child.” One of the dark haired Elves spoke.

Harrison slowly got to his feet. He lay a hand against the mare’s flank when she began to move nervously and he smiled charmingly at the group of Elves. “Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo.” (A star shines on the hour of our meeting). His smile widened as the Elves shot each other incredulous looks.

“Who taught you to speak?” The Elf who had woken him asked.

“I taught myself, though I know my pronunciation is in need of improvement. Perhaps you would be willing?” His sword was on the ground and as his eyes flickered towards it, a foot appeared. He looked up at the Elf who was standing on his weapon and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“I am Haldir, of Lorien,” the Elf was beautiful in a masculine way, with long blond hair that Harry wanted to reach out and touch. “I serve the Lady of the Woods, and she greatly desires to meet Harry Potter.” The Elf who had woken him gave a frown at that, but Harrison ignored the brunette in favour of the blond.

Harrison furrowed his brow, a frown playing at his lips. He vaguely thought he should know that name, but it escaped him as to why. “Who is Harry Potter?” He asked, in a small, confused voice.

Haldir shot him a soft look, a smile blooming on his handsome face. The other Elves looked at their leader and then to the human, and waited. “Why, you are, Harrison, ward of Denethor.” He held his hand out to the human and Harry took hold of it hesitantly. He could feel the magic within him uncoiling and slithering down his arm to touch against Haldir, but the magic rejected the Elf as his intended and Harry felt a little more comfortable about having to share a horse with the Elf.

They rode on the backs of the Mearas for five days, and reached the forest they were to stop at in much less time than it would have taken Harrison on his own. Harry had slept for most of the journey, and they had had to set his mare wild for she could not keep up, but the Elves rode through night and day without rest or food. The forest they stopped at was beautiful, but there was a haunting chill to the air as Harrison made his way passed the first set of branches.

“Welcome, to Lothlorien,” Haldir said, helping Harrison down from the white horse. “Come, Lady Galadriel awaits you.”

Hand in hand the two set off deeper into the forest, as the others followed silently. Harrison looked around wide-eyed as they stopped before two of the most beautiful Elves they had ever seen. They looked to be related, but as Elves did not age like humans did it was hard for Harry to tell whether they were mother and daughter or sisters.

“My lady,” Haldir said, dropping into a bow before rising swiftly. “I present you Harrison. This is Lady Galadriel.” He did not introduce the second Elf.

Galadriel reached out for Harry’s hand, and the boy let go of Haldir and took her hand instead. “Come with me, son of men,” she whispered and Harrison wasn’t sure whether she had spoken out loud or if he had imagined her voice in his head.

When they were alone, they stopped in front of a large stone basin. It was raised up, like a fountain, and she bid Harrison to fetch an urn full of water from the other fountain in the courtyard. Galadriel poured the water into the basin and stepped backwards. She waved towards it, her eyes on Harrison’s face.

“What is it?”

“A mirror.” She answered him, her lips not moving an inch. “It shows things that were, things that are and some things that have not yet come to pass. Look into it and tell me what you see.”

He lent over the basin and gasped. Before his eyes his reflection rippled and changed until he could no longer see himself in the water. Instead he looked down upon a golden haired Elf, who wore a circlet about his head. He stood next to his father, an Elf who must have been very old because he looked to be in his fifties and his hair was beginning to grey. The King turned to his son and narrowed his eyes. “A human has escaped from Gondor,” he said, “I knew they had slave markets there!”

The younger Elf rolled his eyes and spoke. As he spoke, Harrison felt his heart hammering within his chest, filled with the desire to hear him speak again. “There are no slave markets in Gondor, father. There has not been for many years now. If you left Mirkwood once in a while, you would know this as I do.”

“Legolas!” The King warned, though the Prince only laughed.

When the image changed again, Harrison found himself looking over a group of people, one of which was the Elf Legolas. A Dwarf, two men and four of the most curious creatures Harry had ever seen accompanied the Elf. They were speaking of a Ring. The Ring swam into his field of vision then, and Harrison drew back with a gasp. The One Ring. It was the Ring of Sauron!

The Ring disappeared, as a child rang through the centre of it, laughing wildly. The blond Elf chased after the child, and Legolas scooped his son into his arms and spun them both around and around. Harry saw himself, looking no more than two years older, though the child appeared to be around seven, watching them. Elves and Men surrounded him, and he could see Legolas’ father and Faramir of Gondor in the crowd.

“Le melon,” Legolas said. (I love you). He smiled at Harrison.

Harry pulled back with a gasp. When he looked back down at the water, it was still, and only his reflection looked back at him.

“I know what it is you saw,” Lady Galadriel whispered, “for I saw it in my mind too.”

“He is-” Harrison began but allowed himself to trail off, turning his face away from the beautiful Elf.

“You are his mate, young man. And his name is Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of the Woodland Realm, son to the King of Mirkwood.”

“Well, that is a mouthful.”

Lady Galadriel allowed her lips to pull up into a small smile, before she grew serious. “There is a threat arising from Mordor. War will begin in less than a year from now, and your mate will be at the fore of the battle. Are you prepared to accept this?”

“I want to help him.” Harrison said softly, looking back at her face.

“And so you shall, but first we must have Haldir train you. The future you saw will not come to pass if this war is lost. You must not allow the ring-bearer to fail.” He nodded at her. She led him out of the courtyard and back to the trees that they all lived in. “Come,” she told him and he followed as she walked in another direction.

They found Haldir and several others waiting in a clearing. The brunette Elf from earlier had the sword Harrison stole from Faramir and he held it out silently as they drew close. The moment Harrison’s hand gripped the hilt of the sword, Haldir drew his own sword and disarmed Harry in one swift move. “Pick it up, try again.” He ordered.

Lady Galadriel watched them test the young man. Then they stopped and began to explain to him different manoeuvres he could use, different ways of attacking and defending and how he could compensate with a shield if he ever lost his sword. She watched all silently, but in Harrison’s mind, the words sounded, “train hard son of man, for you will be needed to defend the ring-bearer.”

The time will soon come, when Hobbits will shape the fortunes of all.

XXX

Middle-Earth, the Forest of Lothlorien. March 1998.

Harrison had trained hard. He had driven himself more and more with each day that passed, striving to be the best he could possibly be. Though he knew, no matter how good a fighter he was, death could always take him by chance and so he should not become cocky and he should always accept help from a friend when it was offered. Lady Galadriel came to sit beside him, as Haldir led a small group of men into the forest. Apparently the Fellowship of the Ring was on its way towards them.

With a deep breath, Harrison looked at the woman who had become the closest thing to a mother he had ever had. “Why, in my vision, did I not look older?”

A hand cupped his cheek, but her touch did not disturb him as much as Lord Denethor’s had. “My granddaughter, Lady Arwen Undōmiel of Rivendell, has chosen a mortal life. She wishes to spend her days with her human lover and the child she knows she will have with him.”

“If he survives,” Harry said.

“If he survives.” Lady Galadriel agreed. “Should she chose to forsake her Elvin heritage and her immortality, the Valar has granted my request to give it to you.” Harry’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter, his mouth forming a little o. “Would you wish to live forever with your mate?”

“Of course!” He exclaimed.

“Then the mate of an Elf should become an Elf himself.” She said with a small smile. “But only if Lady Arwen gives up her immortality before she fades.”

If Aragorn died before he and Arwen could be reunited, she would die from her grief at his passing. Elves generally lived forever, though a wound could still kill them, and they could die from grief, which was known as ‘fading’. If Aragorn and Arwen were to come together and she still wished to become mortal for him, the Valar would gift her immortality to Harrison. It would not happen until the battle for Middle-Earth was over, and it would not happen if either he or Aragorn died, but Harrison was determined to live to see the end. And he would keep Aragorn alive if he could help it.

“I will not hold out hope.” He said with a small smile.

“We give our hope to Men,” she whispered, “We keep none for ourselves.”

“Am I not a man still?” He teased, standing and running from the clearing as he heard the sound of Haldir’s voice. As a human, his eyesight and hearing was not as good as an Elf’s but he had trained for a year among them, learning to use what power he did possess to the best of his abilities. He had trained himself to hear what other humans could not, but his sight was still nowhere near as good as Lady Galadriel’s. She saw them return long before Harry heard them, but she watched with a smile as Harrison ran to greet them. He moved gracefully, like an Elf, she noted with a fond feeling in her chest.

“Nine that were set out from Rivendell, yet eight there are before me. Where is Gandalf?” She asked. She rested her hand on Harrison’s shoulder, trying to keep him from fidgeting.

His eyes flickered from her to Legolas, then quickly around the group before landing on Legolas again. Aragorn was the one who lowered his gaze and offered the Lady a dip of his head. “Gandalf has fallen to Shadow.” He told her, though he suspected she already knew that.

Legolas couldn’t keep his eyes off of the human, though he would not speak of it, the attraction was instantly there. There was something about the young man that drew him in, which entranced him like a spell of some kind. He could feel his heart beating faster, and when the Gimli asked the question Legolas longed to know the answer to he waited impatiently for the answer.

“Who are you, man? What are you doing with the Elves?” The Dwarf was shorter than even the Hobbits, and his hair hung down his back in one long braid, and his beard covered most of his face and the front of his chest as well.

Harrison smiled, “I am Harrison, ward of Lord Denethor, Steward of Gondor.” He noticed one of the Men start at that, the one who stood beside Aragorn. “And I am ward to Lady Galadriel, Prince of Lothlorien.” Legolas looked a little surprised at that and turned to face Haldir, a question in his blue eyes but his fellow Elf only smiled back at him. Haldir had always joked that royalty should marry royalty and so the Lady of the Woods had adopted him into her heart and family, as her only other child had sailed to the Undying Lands already. “And who are you?”

“I am Peregrin Took!” One of the Hobbits exclaimed, rushing forward to grab his hand and pump it furiously.

Another Hobbit took his other hand, “and I am Meriadock Brandybuck.”

“But you can call us Pippin and Merry, respectively,” Pippin told him.

The larger Hobbit stepped forward hesitantly, though Harrison noticed the ring-bearer remained at Aragorn’s side. “I am Samwise Gamgee of the Shire. That is Mr. Frodo Baggins.” Frodo offered him a shy smile though he did not come any closer. Harrison shook hands with Sam and then turned to the Dwarf.

“And you, Aier,” (Short one), he asked, “who does not seem to like my being here, who are you?”

“I am Gimli, son of Glöin, Dwarf-lord of the mountains.” His hand gripped his axe tightly as he looked up at the human. Harrison smiled down at him. “And,” he continued with a growl, “despite my shortness, I dare say I could take you in a fight, child.”

Haldir let out a chuckle and Harrison’s smile grew. “You can try.” His attention turned to the last man, who he eyed warily. He recognized the shape of his face, and the colour of his hair and eyes and frowned. “So this is Boromir? The way your father spoke of you I would have thought you a saint or a martyr. He almost seemed to forget you have a brother.”

Boromir stepped forward, but Aragorn’s hand fell onto his shoulder and the man stilled. “And who are you to criticise my father?”

“I was his prisoner for sixteen years, and when I came of age, he wished to make me your intended. Did he never mention me? Strange, since I heard of nothing but you and how well matched we were.” He smirked, loving the angry flush that crossed Boromir’s face, “in fact, your father believed himself well matched to me, as well. I was desirable and he desired me, so you see, a perfect match.”

“You filthy whore of a liar!” Boromir shrieked, drawing his sword. Almost instantly the Elves that had gathered around them notched arrows into their bows and had them pointed at the Fellowship, Legolas included.

“My brothers, please,” Legolas tried to reason, raising his hands slowly. “Boromir put your sword away!”

“Marcaunon,” (Harry/Henry), Haldir chastised, moving to the front of the group so he could look on Harrison, “do not antagonize him needlessly.”

“Very well.” The young man said with a roll of his eyes. He turned to the last remaining member of the group and frowned. “So you are Isildur’s heir.” He snorted and turned to Lady Galadriel. “We look nothing alike, how could they mistake me for him?”

“The minds of Men are strange,” she whispered back. “Come, come,” she said looking straight at Frodo, “you must be hungry.”

After they had eaten, they each wandered off in small groups. The Hobbits clustered around Frodo, holding their hands over a small fire. The Elves patrolled their lands, or watched the strangers, or listened in on their human family member. Aragorn had gone in search of Boromir, whom he found slumped over on a rock. “What troubles you my brother?”

“Your brother? You who seek to dethrone my father.”

Aragorn just smiled. “I can still remember it, the white tower of Ecthelion, under the sun, shinning like diamonds.”

“The splendour of the white city, the tree standing tall and proud in front of the Citadel.” Boromir finished, offering a smile to his companion. “My father did speak of him, Harrison, I mean. He punished Faramir fiercely. I returned home from Rohan, and my father was inconsolable, he kept crying about how his child was gone from him forever, and I couldn’t understand what he meant. Both Faramir and I were in the room with him, but he would let neither of us near him. When my father regained his senses, he had Faramir whipped. He kept shouting about running Harry off, and when I asked who Harry was, he told me I would have loved him.” Aragorn wrapped an arm around Boromir’s shoulders, hugging him comfortingly. “My father’s rule is failing, Aragorn. Since Harrison escaped, my father is slowly giving in to madness. Do you think-”

Aragorn interrupted him, a hand raised to silence his companion. “No, I do not believe they were lovers. Your father may have desired him, who wouldn’t after looking at him, but I do not believe they were.”

“Yet, my father grieves as if his whole world is lost.” Boromir looked up at him and frowned, “I heard her, in my mind, she told me that my father has had Harrison locked up since he was one. How would you forgive the imprisonment of a child, Aragorn?”

The Ranger didn’t answer.

On the other side of the forest, Harrison led Legolas to the courtyard that Lady Galadriel had once showed him his future in. “Where are you brining me?” The blond Elf asked, though he was not wary or cautious. He did not feel afraid with this man, which was strange because he was usually so alert, ready for danger. But now he was completely at ease, a small smile on his usually expressionless face as he followed the human eagerly.

“I am taking you to the mirror.” Harrison told him. “I want you to tell me what you see.”

They stopped, and Legolas took a seat on the rim of the fountain. Harry leant over him, dipping an urn into the water and filling it to the brim. “Come,” he beckoned and walked to the other fountain that was empty. He poured the water into the basin, filling it, and held his hand out to Legolas.

The Elf looked into the water and gasped. Whatever it was he saw had startled him, but Harrison watched him calmly waiting for the vision to end. Unlike the Lady, he was not able to see into the minds of others. “What did you see?”

“I saw you!” The Elf gasped, reaching out to take hold of the human’s shoulders. He pulled Harry closer to him, gripping him tightly. “I saw you escape from Gondor, and I saw Haldir find you and bring you here.”

“That had already happened, what else?” Harrison asked.

“I saw us, talking, me holding you.” He swallowed heavily, “and then I saw Sauron’s eye. That cursed eye, wreathed in fire, and it was looking directly at you. I watched you die, and did nothing.”

“That has not yet come to pass. It may, and it may not,” Harry told him softly. He smiled widely, “did you see this?” He asked. Before Legolas could answer him, he leant forward, titling his head up so that his lips met the Elf’s. Rather than push him away, Legolas pulled him closer. The bond between them warmed them both as they clung to one another, their tongues and lips meeting and parting for one another. Moans fell from both Legolas’ throat and Harrison’s. Harry shifted closer to him. As Legolas leant back against the mirror, Harry came to stand between his spread legs, his arms around the Elf’s neck as Legolas gripped the human’s waist tightly.

“Forgive me,” Harry panted as they pulled apart. “But I have been waiting for a year for you, and I must admit it was a very long year.” He smiled winningly at the Elf, who gazed back, slack jawed.

“You are my mate,” he said at last.

“I am.” Harrison whispered, leaning up to steal another kiss.

Legolas held him close for a moment, smiling at the feel of Harry pressed against the length of him. “You must stay safe. Stay here, or I’ll send you back to my father. You will be safer either way, than with me.”

“But I would rather go with you. I have trained to go with you, and I am not as defenceless as I seem.” Harrison tried to reason, but Legolas would hear none of it.

“I will keep my mate safe.” He insisted.

“And should the Crown Prince not be kept safe also? So that your father will have an heir?”

“That is different!” Legolas insisted. He tried to kiss Harrison again but the boy pulled back with a glare.

“Why? Because you are three-hundred-years-old and I am not yet eighteen? I have trained to fight in this war, Elf,” Harrison hissed, pulling away in anger. “I must protect the ring-bearer and the future King of Gondor!”

“What do you know of the Ring?” Someone asked and they both turned around to face Gimli and the four Hobbits. All of their faces were red with embarrassment from having watched the two males kissing. Frodo clutched at his throat, and Harrison could see the glint of gold beneath his parted fingers.

“That it must be destroyed,” he said simply.

“And are you the one to do it?” Gimli mocked, his hand on his axe again as he tried to determine whether the human was a threat to Frodo or not.

“No, but he is.” He nodded to the curly haired Hobbit and smiled softly, “we should be leaving soon. You should probably go and find the two Men. My Lady has a gift for you all.” Harrison suddenly turned away from them, his hands gripping the rim of the basin as he squeezed his eyes shut.

In his mind, he saw them, Orc after Orc after Orc, all of them marching away from the two towers as Saruman looked down over them and laughed. At the head of the army was one who was larger then the rest, more fierce looking and stronger. “Do you like my Uruk-hai?” he heard a voice ask him just as he opened his eyes.

“An army marches towards you from Isengard. We must hurry.” Harrison didn’t give them time to ask questions or protest. He strode forward, and grabbed Frodo by the arm. “Quickly. Gandalf is here no longer to protect you. You must listen to what I say from now on.”

Three boats, long and pointed at the end like a gondola, waited on the shore of a great river. The forest of Lothlorien looked out over them as Lady Galadriel said her goodbyes to Harrison. “If you ever need our aid, my son,” she whispered, her hand on his cheek.

“I will need your faith every day I am gone, but I will have courage for I know I will see you again.”

A hand fell onto his shoulder and he turned around and hugged Haldir tightly. “Despair not, little human man,” the Elf said with a laugh.

“I do not despair for you,” Harrison exclaimed, “why, I shall hardly miss you!” Haldir chuckled again and hugged the boy once more; all the while aware of the dark looks Legolas was shooting him. As they spoke, Lady Galadriel approached Frodo and held out a small glass bottle, which was glowing.

“I give you the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star. May it be a light in the darkness, when all other lights go out.”

She watched them sail away, four Hobbits in one boat, two Men in the other, and the final three in the final boat. Harrison waved back at her, from his seat beside Legolas, a small smile playing on the edge of his lips. “I Melain berio le,” (May the Valar keep you), he whispered and he knew she heard him, because she raised her hand to him in return.

“Oh great,” scoffed Gimli, “now I am stuck with two Elves!” Harrison just smiled at him, before turning to watch the trees go passed.

Legolas steered the boat, refusing to allow Harry to help when he offered even though Harrison would have used magic to propel them forward. In time they pulled the boats towards shore, just before the river ran over into a waterfall. They tied up the boats and lit a small fire, though, again, when Harrison offered to do it for them they turned him down. He watched, smirking, as Boromir struggled to light the fire as the wind persistently blew it back out.

“Why do you smirk so?” Legolas asked.

“Because you are all foolish and making things difficult.”

“How so?” Merry asked, leaning forward onto the balls of his feet. He had some sticks in his arms and he dropped them down beside Boromir before turning to look at the younger human again.

“He would not let me near the oar and Boromir will not let me light the fire.”

“I was never much good at lighting fires,” Pippin told them; dropping more sticks to the ground. “Are you?”

“Very good, yes.” Harrison looked down at Boromir with a smirk. The man gritted his teeth and thrust two sticks towards Harry.

“By all means, oh magnificent one, impress me.” Boromir waved to the pile of sticks that would not catch light. He frowned at the other human, who was still smirking.

Harry dropped the two sticks Boromir had been rubbing together and chuckled. He pointed his finger at the pile and whispered, “Incendio,” and a flame appeared. It began to eat at the wood hungrily and Harrison grinned as he added more sticks to the fire. “Impressive enough for you, oh Kotyaer?” (Hostile one).

As the fire burned, Merry came forward and frowning asked, “How do you know that there are Orcs coming after us?”

“I know a lot of things Meriadock Brandybuck. Most especially about those crops you keep stealing,” Harrison said with a raised eyebrow.

The Hobbit looked at Pippin, and then the two of them blushed wildly. “How do you know about that?” Pippin asked, shocked.

“I have been watching you all.” He said simply. He looked to Legolas, and the Elf’s eyes widened as he remembered the mirror.

“But why do you watch us?” The blond asked. He moved towards his mate, and placed a hand on his cheek, cupping it. “Did you distrust us or fear us?”

“No,” he said softly, raising a hand to cup Legolas’ cheek as well. Their mouths met sweetly, their lips brushed against one another’s softly and smoothly, well practised as if they had been together all of their lives instead of a few days. “But, like one should know their enemies, one should also know their friends.”

He received identical smiles from all four Hobbits, and Legolas. Boromir crossed his arms over his chest and glared, and Gimli rolled his eyes and muttered about ‘suspicious humans’, while Aragorn chuckled.

“We are on the wrong side of the shore,” Aragorn said sometime later as they sat around the fire eating. Lady Galadriel had given them some Elven food and drink to last them until they reached Rohan, at least. She had also gifted them all with Elven cloaks that would help conceal them when they needed to hide.

Merry nibbled at the bread, watching Aragorn think. “What is this called?” He asked Legolas.

“Lembas bread,” it was Harrison that answered. “One small bite is enough to fill the stomach of a grown man.”

Merry snorted and turned to Pippin. “How many did you eat?”

“Four!”

The laughed, but fell silent when Aragorn spoke again. “We need to cross to that side, and then head North to Mordor.”

“North?” Gimli exploded, jumping to his feet. “You wish to go north? Through Emyn Muil, the labyrinth of rocks, and then through the stinking, dirty Dead Marshes? I do not think that is the way Gandalf intended us to go!”

“Gandalf did not intent for a lot of things, Gimli,” Legolas said trying to stop an argument before it started. Harrison would have suggested the way Haldir had taken him to Lothlorien, for it headed back in the direction of Gondor and Mordor, but he really didn’t want to arrive at Gondor sooner than was necessary. It might have been selfish of him, but he could deal with fighting for a few months longer if they took the road Aragorn wanted to go.

It was later that day that Boromir found Frodo wandering around on his own. The Ring was handing on the end of a chain, in bare view and Boromir longed to reach out and take it. And that is what he tried to do. He fought and he struggled and Frodo kicked out at him and begged, and in the end Frodo and the Ring escaped from him. Boromir sank to the floor, his face in his hands as he cried. “Frodo, I’m sorry, Frodo! Come back!”

Harrison watched him weep, from the branches of one of the trees. He did not move to comfort him, nor had he moved to protect Frodo. He had known, deep down that Boromir was a good man. He would not have hurt Frodo, not even for the Ring of Power. It was for that reason alone that Harrison jumped in front of him as the Orcs appeared. He had Faramir’s stolen sword in his right hand, and he held his left hand out in front of him as well. Boromir looked up, noticing the Orcs a minute after Harrison had, and he got to his feet as well.

Sword in hand, and back to back, the two Men fought against the forces of Mordor. Two little Hobbits ran out into the way, and the two Men fought to save them. Boromir pulled up the horn that hung around his neck and he blew into it twice, taking a breath in between so he could cut off the head of the nearest foe.

Harrison was holding his own, slicing Orcs and setting them on fire simultaneously.

“Frodo... Where is Frodo?” Boromir panted as Aragorn ran towards them from the trees.

”I let Frodo go.” He answered.

”Then you did what I could not.” Boromir swung his sword again, killing an Orc that was sneaking up behind Harrison.

Legolas arrived followed by Gimli, and each of them fought valiantly, though the Elf seemed to be fighting in a circle around Harrison. The human stood, frowning, with his hand on his hips as Legolas killed anything that came too close.

“I can fight for myself!” Harrison hissed, pushing passed his mate and running an Orc through with his sword.

”It is my right to protect you.”

Aragorn had gone, chasing after the Orcs who had followed Frodo and Sam. Gimli had gone to help him. “Go! Go!” Harrison told him, as Frodo gave a cry that echoed back to them.

As soon as Legolas was out of sight, the Uruk-hai appeared. His head was visible at first, only, and Harrison thought he seemed to be smaller than in the vision. And then the monster came to the top of the hill, and he towered above all of the others. Merry and Pippin were shoved to the side, and Boromir jumped in front of them, slaying as many evil creatures as he could reach. Harrison focused on the Uruk-hai. He knew what would happen to Boromir, and while he might not be able to stop it happening, he could give the other man a fighting chance to escape.

”Take them and go!” He shouted. Stubborn as he was, Boromir did not budge.

It was an hour later, as the Orc number was dwindling that the Uruk-hai joined the fight. He pulled an arrow from the sheath on his back and notched it against the bow. He let it go and it struck Harrison in the arm as he jumped in front of Boromir. “Get out of here!” He shouted again, shoving at the elder man.

“I am not afraid to die for freedom.”

“Damn it, you need to protect them.” A wave of his hand sent the Uruk-hai to its knees, but it notched another arrow and this one struck Boromir’s heart. The man lurched forward, but kept fighting. Harry had to admire his bravery. If it wasn’t for Legolas, he thought briefly that Boromir might have made a fine husband for him. A second arrow hit Boromir and he finally slumped to the floor. The Uruk-hai ran forward, and as Harrison was distracted by his fallen friend, the monster slammed the base of his sword against the boy’s head. Harry crumpled to the ground, unconscious but alive.

It reached down for him, but found he couldn’t touch the man. Some sort of magical barrier had appeared between his hand and the unconscious human. Snarling he strode away. “He will die from the injury,” he told the other Orcs, not knowing that Harrison’s magic had already begun to heal the wound. “Take the Hobbits!”

Merry and Pippin were grabbed around the waist and dragged away, all the while screaming and shouting for help.

When the rest of the Fellowship came back, Frodo and Sam were not with them. Aragorn’s attention was caught by the gargling noises Boromir was making as he tried to breath around the blood that was filling his mouth. “They got the little ones,” he slurred as his fellow human knelt beside him. “Harrison, hurt him, they hurt,” he tried to speak but began to cough instead.

Legolas was by Harry’s side, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “He is alive, but unconscious. I cannot touch him without feeling as if my hand is on fire.”

Harrison eventually woke up, but not in time to heal Boromir. His eyes fluttered open in time to see one of the boats float away from them, down the river and towards the waterfall. It was with great pains that the remaining three had carried the two men to the shore. There was a boat docked at the other side of the river and Harrison sent a prayer to the Valar for the ring-bearer and his friend.

“I was too late for Boromir?”

“He died, a short while before you woke.” Aragorn told him softly. They watched in silence as the boat disappeared over the fall.

“Hurry! Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore.” Legolas said, running to the remaining boat. Aragorn only watched him silently. “You mean not to follow them.”

“Frodo’s fate is no longer in our hands.” The Ranger said.

“Then it has all been in vain. The fellowship has failed.” Gimli looked between them both before dropping to the floor, looking and feeling disappointed.

“Not if we hold true to each other. We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left. Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Let's hunt some Orc.” Aragorn touched the Dwarf on top of the head and Gimli looked up at him and smiled.

“YES!” He shouted, jumping to his feet.

Harry watched them, smiling softly to himself. Maybe Lady Galadriel had been wrong when she spoke to Frodo. Maybe the Fellowship of the Rings would hold true, and if so, it might just be enough to defeat Sauron for good.

They gathered their things together, and as they cleaned up Aragorn sang softly to himself in the language of the Elves.

“Who is she? This woman you sing of?” Gimli asked suddenly, looking between the other three who could all speak Elvish and understand the words of the song.

“’Tis the Lay of Lúthien. The Elf-maiden who gave her love to Beren, a mortal.” Aragorn answered him after a pause.

Before Harrison could warn him not to, Gimli asked, “What happened to her?”

“She died.”

“Arwen will not die before she is ready to, of that I promise you.” Harrison whispered, but it was loud enough for the Elf and Aragorn to hear him. “And neither will Merry or Pippin,” he added louder.

“We won’t let it happen.” Legolas promised, taking his mate’s hand in his own.

And so ends the first arc of Harrison’s extraordinary life. He and his friends chased after the Uruk-hai and the Orcs, but whether or not they found them in times to save the Hobbits is a story for another time.

XXX

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I really wanted to save Boromir! Cries.

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review if you think Legolas had great hair!