Sparkle

I am disappointed in FFnet. Over 200 people added me to alert and favourites for this story, but I got 26 reviews?! That is gay!

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Any full paragraph in italics has been taken from the Lord of the Rings films. You’ll recognize anything that doesn’t belong to me.

“Sparkle”

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, et all are property of JK Rowling, and Bloomsbury, and Warner Bros and all those other nifty people that make it so we can read and watch the Potterverse whenever we feel like it. I make no money from this, just so you know. Lord of the Rings is also not mine; I make no money from the books or the movies.
Summary: [Legolas/HP] Harry Potter died during the attack by Lord Voldemort. Due to a mistake, or a miracle, he doesn’t pass onto the afterlife. Instead, he wakes up, alive and corporeal just outside of Gondor. Mistaken for Isildur's heir, Harry is kept in isolation by the Steward of Gondor, until Faromir accidentally frees him. When Harry escapes from Gondor, he happens upon what is left of the Fellowship, and Legolas is instantly interested in the young human. Crossover. AU.
Warnings: Slash. Legolas/HP. Violence. Cross over. AU. Language.
Rating: R for violence and language.
A/N: Beta – Raecat at FFnet. Many thanks.

XXX

‘Where did you get those eyes so blue?’ ‘Out of the sky as I came through.’
‘What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?’ ‘Some of the starry spikes left in.’ – George MacDonald, ‘Baby’.

XXX

Words: 9,363
Chapter 2/3
Sparkle II
Middle-Earth, running after the band of Orcs. April 1998.

Harrison wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He panted as he ran along behind Legolas and Aragorn. Neither of the two males seemed to have tired any since they started running, and Harrison envied them that. Gimli was somewhere behind him, panting heavier than Harry was, and the both of them were in danger of being left behind soon.

“Keep up!” Aragorn shouted.

“Dwarves are wasted on cross-country,” Gimli hollered back. He stopped, resting a moment with his hands pressed against his thighs. “We Dwarves are better sprinters.”

Harry smiled back at him, and stopped as well to wait. Legolas turned his head slightly and seeing Harrison standing still, he paused too. They had been running for three days, stopping only once to eat a little and rest. They had left Amon Hen soon after Harrison had woken up and healed, and they headed down alongside the River Anduin searching for the band of Orcs who had kidnapped their friends.

Legolas and Aragorn had been trained for years to fight and keep their endurance up for hours and days at a time. But Harrison had less than a year’s practice, and before that he had been confined to the one room with no cause to run at all. Gimli, with the shortest legs of them all, was finding it even more difficult to keep up. Aragorn seemed to take pity on them, because he stopped running and walked back towards them. Legolas followed his friend. The blond Elf offered his mate a smile and Harrison grinned back before dropping to the ground, thoroughly exhausted.

“It’s about time,” Gimli groused, as he sat beside the other human. The each produced a loaf of Lembas bread from their pockets, took one small bite, and put the rest away again. “My blisters have blisters,” the Dwarf continued to complain.

“If you are unable to keep up with the rest of us,” Legolas teased, “then you should have remained behind.”

“A Dwarf, unable to keep up with an Elf? I’ll die before I see it!” Gimli shot to his feet, a fierce glare on his face as he looked between Legolas and Aragorn. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go! Unless the Elf is too tired.”

Legolas pointed at his own chest, his mouth open as he began to protest that he hadn’t been the one who wanted to stop. Harrison’s mouth pressed to his own, silencing him immediately. Legolas’ arms came to wrap around Harry’s waist, tugging their bodies closer together. Pressed tightly against one another, Harrison could feel every inch and muscle of Legolas’ body. He moaned, the sound muffled by the Elf’s tongue and lips, and he clung to his mate; a hand fisting in long blond hair, the other cupping the back of his neck, pulling himself up to press his mouth more firmly against Legolas’. They moaned together, pulling back to draw ragged breathes only to be met with silence. Harrison was rather expecting Gimli to make a rude comment, because the Valar knows he wasn’t going to offer thanks for changing the subject.

They drew apart, Harrison’s waist still held in Legolas’ grip, and the Elf led them both forward. Aragorn and Gimli were crouched down a few meters away, and when they were all stood together, the Ranger held his hand out. In the palm of his hand sat a small golden brooch, in the shape of a leaf. It was dirty and muddied, with a noticeable footprint covering it, but it was small enough that it could only belong to a Hobbit.

“Not lightly do the leaves of Lorien fall,” Legolas whispered as he reached out to run a finger down the length of the leaf.

“They may yet be alive,” Harrison said, grinning. “Merry and Pippin might be alive.”

“Come,” Aragorn told them, as he began to move away, “we head towards Rohan. The Orcs would have to pass there. They are only a day ahead of us; if we hurry we can cut them off.”

Seven hours later they were still running, and Gimli was once again falling behind. Legolas had offered to carry him once, but the vehement protests Gimli gave at being carted around by an Elf stilled any offer that Harrison had considered giving. They ran on, Legolas having slowed himself down to run alongside his mate, who had refused to outstrip Gimli by much and that left Aragorn in the lead by quite a stretch.

“What are you thinking?” The Elf whispered, knowing that Harrison had trained his ears to hear the quietest of sounds.

“I want to help him, but he won’t let me.” They both turned their heads to watch Gimli, huffing and puffing, as he chased them up the hill. “Keep a secret?” Legolas nodded slowly, his blue eyes narrowing on Harrison’s right hand as it was raised. A finger pointed to the Dwarf and Harry whispered, “Levicorpus.”

Legolas watched wide-eyed as Gimli rose off the ground. Harry waved his hand downwards, slowly, and Gimli moved along with the hand. The teenager smirked to himself as Gimli looked at the ground in confusion, but he was only barely floating now so he didn’t even notice it. Harrison cast a weightless charm on the weapons Gimli carried, as well as his own possessions. Then he carried on running. Legolas followed him silently, but he was rather amused to notice Gimli float passed them, his legs moving as it he were running but his feet never touched the ground. Harrison gave a giggle as Aragorn turned around and caught sight of the Dwarf. Grey eyes landed on Harrison’s smirking face and the teenager just gave a careless shrug and sprinted forward, catching up with the rest of the group.

“What the hell-?” Aragorn began, but he cut himself off as Harrison gave a cry of pain and lurched forward. Legolas caught his mate, holding him pressed against his chest as Harry’s hand pushed against his forehead where his scar had suddenly started to hurt.

In his mind he saw him. Saruman leant over a Palantir; the seeing stone was glowing crimson red in the centre, shaped like a fiery eye while the rest of it was black. His hands reached out to stroke it reverently as he spoke. “The world is changing. Who now has the strength to stand against the armies of Isengard and Mordor? To stand against the might of Sauron and Saruman and the union of the Two Towers? Together, my lord Sauron we shall rule this Middle-Earth.”

When Saruman stopped speaking, he looked up and smirked cruelly. He held the Palantir up, right in front of his face and then he turned it around so that Harrison could see it. “The world is changing, little human,” he said again. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but the eye in the stone flared brightly and he cried out as Sauron’s voice echoed around the inside of his mind. He screamed, and covered his face.

Hands tried to pry his hand away from his face, but he screamed louder, thrashing and struggling frantically. Legolas pressed light kissed to the backs of Harry’s hands, whispering softly in Elvish that all was safe. With a sniffle, Harrison opened his eyes. The remaining Fellowship members looked down at him warily, as if afraid he would attack them, but Legolas held him gently and watched him with worry.

“Are you well?” The blond asked after a length of silence.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t look too well, Master Elf.” Gimli said, taking a respectful step backwards as Harrison rose to his feet.

“It happens sometimes.” He told them carelessly, ignoring Aragorn’s piercing gaze. “More frequently, I admit, now that Sauron is gaining power.”

“You have the gift of foresight?” Aragorn asked in a whisper. “Lord Elrond of Rivendell does too. He is the only other I know who has the gift, but it doesn’t hurt him so much.”

“Lady Galadriel has the gift, but she mostly uses the mirror. Sometimes, she sees what will be based on her actions, and she can feel how she would have felt in the circumstances. I believe when Frodo offered her the Ring, she felt herself becoming consumed by evil.”

“Are you ready to continue?” Legolas asked, his mouth pressed to the top of Harrison’s head. Harrison nodded, all the while thinking that the Elf was too tall for his own good.

They kept going, this time Legolas remained in the lead. Every once in awhile he would turn back to stare at Harrison with longing and worry, but then he would carry on, taking his job as the scout seriously. “A red sun rises,” he called back to them, from where he sat perched on top of a rock. “Blood has been spilt this night.”

Almost as soon as he finished speaking, the sound of hooves could be heard echoing across the land. They were not too far from Rohan now, and Aragorn thought with hope that despite the failings of Theoden King the city was preparing for war. Instead of the royal army, they found themselves surrounded by 2,000 strong men, each mounted upon a horse and holding a spear towards them.

“What do two Men, a Dwarf and an Elf have to do in the Riddermark?” The leader asked them, a sneer on his face.

“We seek two of our friends,” Aragorn spoke. “They are Hobbits, only children to your eyes. We are tracking a band of Orcs who have taken them. Have you seen them?”

“Orcs, you say? We slaughtered a party of them during the night.”

“And the Hobbits?” Gimli asked, his hand on his axe again. “What of the Hobbits?”

“We left none alive.” The man, whose name was Éomer, told them. He lowered his eyes to the ground in apology, ignoring Aragorn’s gaze.

“But you did not see them?” Harrison asked, “So they may still be alive?” Éomer shrugged his shoulders and kept quiet. “Who are you?”

“Éomer, son of Eomund, nephew of the King of Rohan. Though I, like my associates, have all been banished from our home by orders of Grima Wormtongue.” He looked down on Harrison and his eyes softened slightly. He held a hand out and Harrison took it, despite the growl Legolas let loose. A small flutter of lips touched the back of Harry’s hand, and he blushed. Éomer spoke again, releasing the boy’s hand. “Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands.” With that, he turned away.

He rode towards the end of the group and returned with two horses in tow. “Here,” he said to Harrison, handing over both sets of reigns.

“My name is Harrison, ward of Lord Denethor, King of Gondor, and adopted Prince of Lothlorien and Lady Galadriel.”

An eyebrow rose. “Impressive,” he said. “Take these two. Hopefully you will be better masters than their last.” He turned back to his company and rode off. “We go North!” Echoed back to them as the other riders set off at a furious pace.

Harrison watched them go, his head tilted to one side in thought before he turned to his friends. “We have horses?”

“Someone has an admirer,” Gimli teased. He had been watching with the others as Éomer, having already gone some way away, turned his head to look back at Harrison.

Legolas came up behind the boy, his arms around Harry’s waist and he held him tightly. “You are mine.” He hissed against Harrison’s throat.

“With pleasure,” the boy breathed, his chest heaving slightly. He turned his head around, hoping for a kiss but Aragorn interrupted them.

“Shall we leave? Perhaps it won’t be too late to find the little ones.”

They mounted the horses, Harrison sitting behind Legolas, and Gimli rode with Aragorn. They rode in silence, their worry for their friends overwhelming their desire to talk or laugh, or in Gimli’s case, grumble. It wasn’t hard to spot the site the Orcs had been camped at. Aragorn stopped his horse, and stared open mouthed. Gimli peeked around from behind him and gasped.

In front of them were six large piles of carcasses, each of them set alight and burning sluggishly. There did not appear to be a Hobbit in sight. Harrison was the first to jump down from his horse. He ran to the nearest tower of Orc bodies and using his hands began pulling them down, searching for Merry or Pippin. The others began attacking three other piles, digging and pulling frantically until Gimli let out a choked sob.

They came towards him, Legolas and Aragorn with their jaw clenched so they wouldn’t cry and Harrison with tears in his eyes. “It’s one of their wee belts,” the Dwarf told them, holding up the charred remains of a child-sized belt.

“Oh my friends, my friends forgive me that I live and you are gone.”1 Harrison whispered. He ran his hand over his face, brushing away the tears, before pressing it to his trembling mouth.

“Wait, wait,” Aragorn yelled. He had walked away from them as Harry spoke and was now crouched down pointing at a patch of crushed grass. “Look at these markings. A Hobbit lay here.”

Legolas pointed beside that space, “and another lay here.”

“Drag marks? Maybe they crawled??” The two males looked at each other and offered hopeful grins. Aragorn walked, following the marks on the ground and stopped at the edge of a forest. “The tracks lead to Fangorn Forest.” The ranger told the others.

Gimli swallowed heavily. “What madness brought them in to Fangorn Forest?”

“What’s so bad about the forest?” Harrison asked. He received three incredulous looks in reply. Legolas went first, but he kept one of his hands on the reigns of the horse which Harrison rode on. Gimli and Aragorn had chosen to walk alongside their Elven friend, and Harrison’s horse and the other horse were tied together, one leading the other.

“What strange markings. I wonder what made them.” Aragorn said to himself.

“I don’t want to know.” Gimli gave a shudder and Harrison giggled at him softly. He honestly didn’t see what was wrong with the forest.

“This forest is old,” Legolas said as his eyes scanned the area around them, searching for danger. “It is full of memories and anger.”

“But it is not angry at us. Elves do not hurt the forests, Legolas. Why should this forest hold us accountable for the actions of Men and Orcs- Oh!” Harrison’s eyes went wide and he blushed as Aragorn sent him a withering look. “Sorry.” He whispered.

The ranger just chuckled and shook his head, dismissing Harry’s comment. “You aren’t very good at keeping your opinions to yourself are you?”

”I’ve never had to be. Lord Denethor always wanted me to tell him the truth, except when I was learning about magic or Isildur, because I lied then. I only ever talked to him, so, uh sorry I suppose, if I say some things you all don’t want to hear.”

“It is fine, master Elf,” Gimli grinned up at him. “We will just have to say some not very nice things back at you.”

The two elder males let out identical sighs and shook their heads. Harrison’s head snapped up and he gave a gasp. He could feel it (how could the others not feel it?), it was all around him, humming and churning. The magic was alive! It wrapped around him, hugging and caressing him, and he arched his back into the touch, a soft moan leaving his lips.

“Harrison?” Legolas asked softly. He stopped walking and turned, reaching up to cup his mate’s cheek. Harrison looked at him with glassy eyes and smiled.

“He’s so powerful.” The boy whispered.

“Who is? Harrison, is someone coming?” Aragorn asked, joining them by the horse.

“Oh, his magic is beautiful,” was all the boy said.

“For pities sake, boy, who?” Gimli shouted, losing his temper.

“The White Wizard!” Shouts of ‘Saruman’ echoed through the forest, as each of them grabbed hold of their weapons. Harrison remained sitting on his horse, smiling serenely as the magic continued to brush against his face and his hair, testing him. “He will not harm us.”

“Saruman is coming, Harry. Get off of the horse and get your sword out.” Legolas ordered even as he stood protectively in front of his mate.

“He will not harm us,” Harrison repeated. “Why do you all never listen to me?”

Gimli lowered his axe, eyeing the teenager warily. “He’s never been wrong before, has he?”

“So it is not Saruman?” Aragorn said, looking around at his companions. Harrison just smiled at him.

“No, I most certainly am not!” A voice said, and Harrison could taste the magic rolling off his tongue. White Wizards were powerful magicians, who had more magic than anyone could possibly need but they had their limits of course. The body could only take so much before it gave out. It was for that reason alone that most of the wizards magic hovered outside of their bodies, surrounding them like an aura, and when they were in dire need or terribly exhausted they could soak back up their own magic and harness it again.

“GANDALF!” Three voices called.

”So this is Gandalf?” Harrison asked, as he finally dismounted the horse.

The Wizard stepped towards them, his staff raised. A bright white light emitted from the tip of the staff and, while the others shielded their eyes, Harrison looked straight at it. In the middle of the ball of light he could see Gandalf fighting with a demon made of fire. He watched Gandalf fall.

“Gandalf the Grey, that is what they used to call me. But I am Gandalf the White.” He spoke softly, as if talking to himself, but his eyes travelled over each person individually forcing them to listen. “I fought the Balrog of Morgoth.”

“You fell,” Aragorn breathed.

“Through fire and water.” The old man agreed. “I have been sent back until my time is done.” He gave a wave of his hand, beckoning them to follow as he led the way forward. When they came to a clearing, he gave a whistle and a pure white horse came running towards them, as if appearing out of thin air.

“That is one of the Mearas unless my eyes play a trick upon me.” Legolas whispered, his hand moving forward as if to touch the animal, but it dropped at the last moment.

“Shadowfax. Lord of all horses,” Gandalf told them as he mounted.

“Have you never seen one before?” Harrison asked. “Lady Galadriel has loads of them. They are very beautiful.”

Legolas and Harrison got back onto their horse, and suppressed smirks as Aragorn had to lift Gimli onto the other horse. They rode after Gandalf, following him happily, all except for Harrison who couldn’t understand why they were leaving the Hobbits behind. Just because Gandalf said they were safe didn’t mean they should be abandoned.

“It will be fine, mellon nin.” (My love) Legolas kissed the back of Harrison’s neck, his arms tightened around the younger man’s waist as he pressed his chest flush to Harry’s back. The human gave a sigh, but resisted the urge to turn the horse around.

“Where are we going?”

They rode to Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown.

TBC