FIC: Hobbit/HP - In Places Deep - Thranduil/Harry 02
PREVIOUS HERE
AO3
Here’s part 2. Hopefully I’ll get it finished soon enough, but I’ll tell you right now it won’t be very long. There will be a few time skips, but yes, the Dwarves of Erebor are on their way home as we speak.
Working on the assumption that Durin’s Day is the last day of Autumn, rather than August (being the last month of Autumn, according to some people), Durin’s Day is September 23rd, the Fall Equinox (2014). Harry arrived on March 20th, the day before the Spring Equinox.
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Words: 5,587
Chapter 2
“Definitely like the French Minister,” Harry muttered to himself.
It had been at least an hour since Thranduil had sent him away, and in that time he had gone from being the guest of the King of the Woodland Realms, situated by his side and in the bedchamber intended for his Consort or Mistress (since his Queen had shared his own bed), to a prisoner in Mirkwood’s deepest, darkest dungeon.
Harry knew Thranduil’s type, so he wasn’t too offended by the easy dismissal. Malfoy had been like that, back when they were children, holding a grudge for seven years because Harry hadn’t wanted to shake his hand. Maybe this was a little worse though? This was definitely more like the French Minister for Magic who along with his young second wife had been horribly insulted when Harry had attempted to compliment his ‘beautiful daughter’ in broken French. At least he had called her beautiful though, not that it counted towards him in the long run; he had practically been thrown back into the international floo grate and shipped right back to London with an angrily thrown handful of floo powder and a rather abrupt, “Ne pas revenir!”4
Harry hadn’t understood what that meant, but he understood the gesture well enough. Sticking up your middle finger was pretty common worldwide, and so were angry scowls and even angrier Howlers that arrived days later, just as you were getting over the embarrassment of it all.
This, this was sort of like that, but Harry wasn’t even sure this time how he had offended the King. What was it he had said? Was it because he was married? Maybe. Or maybe Thranduil thought Harry had been leading him on: some men really didn’t like a tease, after all. He frowned, pulling his legs up against his chest and curling over them; settling down to think. Did it matter what Thranduil liked, or thought about him? Harry had married a woman, a woman who liked men’s clothes and men’s sports and drank like four of her brothers put together, but a woman nonetheless. Before that, he had fancied Cho Chang, also a woman, and there had been a couple of weeks where he had thought he might have fancied Luna, expect that had turned out to be hero worship (and wasn’t that a new experience for him). On the other hand, he had no problem admitting when someone was an attractive man.
Thranduil was an attractive man, and the butterflies in Harry’s stomach attested to that every time he thought back to their dance in the clearing and the way the King’s gaze had undressed him with every sweeping glance. The kiss hadn’t been bad either, just surprising. Harry could have enjoyed it, you know, if he’d had a little warning, as unromantic as ‘I’m going to kiss you now’ might seem it was a far cry better than simply forcing one on him and then overreacting when he was caught by surprise!
"I thought you said this would be amusing to watch?" Legolas said from somewhere beyond Harry's range of vision. From the cell, he couldn't see much more than the wall opposite and he didn't care enough to try and squeeze his head through the bars to peek around. He could apparate out if he really needed to, but where would he go? At least here Thranduil would still feed him, and apparently Legolas would bring him dry clothes (after he had already used magic to dry his own, but whatever).
"You don't think this is amusing?" Tauriel asked, offering a grin that Harry couldn't see.
Legolas scoffed in response. "This is more pathetic, than anything else. I'm almost ashamed to be called Thranduilion." He shook his head pityingly as he approached the cell. There was a ring of keys in one hand and thrown over the other arm was a robe similar to what Thranduil had been wearing at the party. "I apologize on my Ada's behalf," Legolas offered softly, along with a quick bow from the waist, as he handed the keys over to his companion.
Tauriel opened the cell door quickly and pulled it wide so that Harry could slip passed them. "Our King's ill temper is quite renowned. Perhaps someone should have warned you," she casually mentioned. There was a smile on her lips though as she turned back to her blond friend. "I think it is amusing."
"It's pathetic," Legolas insisted. He took a deep breath and held the clothes out to Harry. He was already wearing his Unspeakable robe again, so he just took the fancier robe and held on to it. "Please wear it. Atar would like to dine with you tonight, to apologize."
"And so he should!" Harry exclaimed, though he did shrug on the robe over his old one. He left it unfastened, wearing it like a coat, and though Legolas looked displeased about it the Elf held his tongue. "I don't even know what I did!"
"Did he talk to you about feaor1 when you spoke in the bathing house?" Harry just raised an eyebrow in response. "We Elves are blessed by the Valor. Though we live long lives, and oftentimes we live many years alone, at some point we will find what you might call a soul mate. We call them our fea-meldor, the beloved of our soul. You are my Ada's, and he has waited nigh on six-thousand years to meet you. I'm afraid he doesn't quite know how to go about winning your affections."
"Having a temper tantrum and locking me in a dungeon is certainly not the way to go about it!" Harry knew he was grousing unnecessarily; Thranduil wasn't even there to hear him. Still, though, the indignity of being locked up because the King was feeling like a nervous teenager on his first date and had made a fool of himself, well, that couldn't be let go of easily. Even if it meant that Legolas and Tauriel had to listen to his complaints when it had nothing to do with them, so be it.
"What? Wait!" Harry suddenly jumped from complaining about being imprisoned to staring wide-eyed at the amused looking Elves. "What do you mean soul fees? Soul what now?"
“Ah, fea-meldor,” Legolas repeated, a furrow forming between his eyebrows, "in your language that would be, ah, soulmate?" He spoke slowly, like he thought Harry might be stupid or deaf.
"Soulmate?" Harry blinked at him, looking like a deer caught by a wolf. He blinked again, his mouth working without sound for a few moments until he finally sputtered, "But I'm not his soulmate. I'm not even from here! That would be cruel, wouldn't it, if I was his mate?"
"Maybe you were always meant to come here," Tauriel suggested softly, as she reached out to squeeze Harry's shoulder. "Perhaps it wasn't an accident that the magical object you told us of transported you here?"
"But-- No! I have to go back. I have a family, and a wife, and my nephew is due any day now, and I have a niece! It's her birthday soon, and my job, and-" Legolas' hand covering his mouth shut him up, and Harry swallowed desperately as tears pooled in his eyes. He brushed them away angrily, dislodging Legolas' hand at the same time. "No. That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair," Tauriel sighed, glancing away from Harry as she spoke. "Come," she added sternly, "the King is waiting."
Harry let her pull him along; with her hand on his right shoulder and Legolas' arm linked with his left one it would have been pointless to resist, but anyway he wouldn't have tried. He was in too much of a daze to even consider running. He could have apparated, gone to the city of Men the Elves had pointed him to in the first place and tried to find an Istari there. He could have gotten a job, made some money, bought some of his own supplies and tried to send himself home, and likely blown himself up in the process. But instead he walked as if he were under the Imperious, eyes half closed and head heavy as the Elves led him to King Thranduil: his soulmate.
XXX
The dinner had been a horribly awkward, stilted affair. Legolas had joined them, acting as mediator between the still angry King and the stunned Wizard. It hadn't quite processed for Harry yet, and his unenthusiastic responses were obviously hurting Thranduil's feelings; though instead of saying as much, he reacted in anger, threatening to re-imprison Harry or to throw him from the Kingdom, until Legolas calmly pointed out that sending away his own fea would cause suffering to none but himself.
Dinner the following night was much the same. The breakfast in between them both was better, attended by only Legolas and Harry, as Thranduil apparently ate early so that he could hear any petitions earlier and get them over with. He spent much of that morning talking with Legolas, who despite refusing to show him the library without his father’s permission agreed to explain in more detail exactly what being a soulmate to an Elven-king would entail. He also took period breaks from their impromptu history lesson to casually mention how very much all of the Elves would love him should he decide to stay with their King, how much Thranduil would love him too, dropping hints of wealth and prestige and, mortifyingly, rumours of Thranduil’s bedroom expertise. Harry didn’t bother attempting to explain that he was rich himself, because none of his wealth had travelled with him and he had no way of proving it, so it was just easier to nod, agree and occasionally blush as Legolas tried his hardest to play devil’s advocate in Harry’s non-existent relationship.
The next day’s breakfast was much the same, except this time Legolas took Harry for a walk afterwards. He was careful to introduce Harry first to the guards who had arrested him two nights ago, specifically mentioning that Harry was the King’s fea and a welcome guest, despite his tantrum two nights ago, which was to be hurriedly forgotten about assuming Harry was willing. The Wizard had simply shrugged, already over it. He was far more worried now about how he might get home (before Legolas tricked him into marriage or something).
Thranduil, when they crossed paths, was polite and courteous and stared at Harry something horrible, but he never raised his voice or spoke in that language that Harry couldn’t understand again. He pulled chairs out for his mate, and pushed them back in, and made sure that Harry was served first at dinner by the servants even though the Wizard barely acknowledged him beyond a quiet ‘thank you’.
"Soulmate?" Harry's voice was soft and unsure, and it came towards the end of the meal, once the servants had cleared away the leftovers and brought out three little bowls of what might have been bread-pudding with honey. His green eyes were fixed on Thranduil's face, watching as the King's features tensed up into a scowl and then softened with sudden understanding. “When you were talking of being able to feel me, that’s what you meant?”
"You did not know of what I spoke earlier?" The Elf questioned his lips quirked once more in amusement. Harry’s face had gone red, and Thranduil raised one eyebrow, outright grinning now, obviously knowing what Harry had been thinking. “Nothing as salacious as that, Melyanna,”2 the Elven-king chided with a wink.
He went through moods faster than a pregnant woman, Harry thought, during their third dinner together while remembering how Hermione had been the months just gone. With Rose she had been practically fine, but still pregnant with Hugo, Hermione’s temper had long won out over her patience and love for her husband, Ron. "No, obviously not, and it wasn't like you explained very much before you had me arrested!"
Thranduil took the scolding with grace. He offered a tilt of his head in apology, though his smile widened as he reached across the table to grab Harry's hand. With their fingers laced, Thranduil began to explain about soulmates and the Valor and his deceased Queen, often repeating things that Legolas had already told Harry. At the end of it, when he asked Harry kindly if the Wizard would stay with him, neither noticed Legolas grab his pudding and slip silently from the room.
"I want to go home," Harry told the blond softly, almost pityingly. "If you help me search, and we can't find a way, then I'll give up." Thranduil watched him warily, not sure if he should agree or not. "Six months," Harry suggested, because if it took longer than that for a Wizard to cross his path, it might take years, and who knew how many years it could take? Perhaps by that point, Thranduil might have realised he was mistaken and Harry would be free to go regardless.
“Then I promise to stay.” Wizards lived for a reasonably long time, and he would live for even longer than that, so what was six months to him in the scheme of things? Thranduil's wide smile more than made up for any loss he might have felt over the promised six months (and anyway, if Hermione couldn't find a way to rescue him within three months from her side of the universe, Harry’d eat his wand).
"That seem like a reasonable request," Thranduil acknowledged softly. His hand stayed holding Harry's, but his free hand moved back to his pudding, happily spooning some of it up and feeding himself. With a sly grin, he held the next spoonful out to Harry, who looked from it and his own pudding in confusion. The spoon was suddenly jammed in his mouth, silver clacking off of his teeth and the Wizard scowled even as he swallowed.
"That isn't endearing you to me at all," he matter-of-factly stated, his words lost under the sound of Thranduil laughing.
XXX
Harry couldn't tell if Thranduil was keeping his promise or not.
He had been shown the library in all of its wonder. Other Elves had offered themselves to his service, though somewhat reluctantly once they were told Harry was searching for a way to leave their King; but they helped him nonetheless. Sometimes Thranduil stayed in the library, seated at the mahogany tables beside his fea with a scroll in one hand and his head cradled tiredly in the other, eyes not really reading the words before him. But no one had found anything yet. And no one ever came through the Mirkwood. Harry couldn't decide if they just didn't really like strangers, and similarly, strangers really didn't like them (or perhaps the spiders got them first?), or if Thranduil was purposely keeping him away from any outsider that might know where an Istari could be found. He didn't quite want to ask either, because after mentioning it passing to Legolas and seeing how upset the other looked, well, Harry would rather Thranduil not look at him like that either.
But still. Surely, someone had to know how he could get home?
Or Hermione had to have found a way, any way, and her messages just weren’t being passed along?
He couldn't stay here forever! It had been two months already, and Harry only had four months left to find a way home, but he hadn’t expected it to be so hard. Things usually just fell into place for him, and he’d always known that Hermione was invaluable, but it wasn’t until now that he understood just how much he and Ron had truly relied upon her for all of these years.
Harry glanced to his left, where Thranduil was sitting and silently watching him, one leg crossed at the knee and his arms hanging over the arm rests. He was making no attempt to even seem like he was helping Harry research, but every now and then he'd lick his lips, remembering the taste of Harry's kisses from moments before when he'd pulled Harry away from his own scroll and into his lap, until his head librarian's pointed coughing broke them apart.
"Not so near the books!" The she-Elf had whispered, eyes cast down respectfully even as she scolded the King. Harry had laughed softly, reminded fondly of Hermione and her wonderful priorities, but he had obediently climbed back into his own chair and resumed his reading. He hadn't found anything to help him yet, but he did find that he missed the taste and feel of Thranduil Oropherion... but that was something he'd just have to get used to, since he wasn't planning on staying in Middle Earth forever.
XXX
It was two weeks into June before Harry realised that Hermione wasn’t coming for him (at least not before the three month mark). He wasn’t actually going to eat his wand, since no one knew he had promised to and so no one could make him, but he did bar himself in the library at one point, with his desk pushed right up against the heavy, oak doors, hiding.
Harry curled up under it, legs to his chest and face tucked against his knees. Agelosdis, the head Librarian, was too busy pacing back and forth before him, feet and shins visible from Harry’s hiding place, muttering angrily to herself to think of actually moving the table away from the doors personally. The Elves seemed to forget that they were stronger than humans, worrying about how to move back a table that Harry had levitated over without the help of others, especially Thranduil whose fingerprints were bruised into Harry’s skin.
It was accidental and Harry had rather enjoyed the activities that led to him being marked up, but every time he changed his clothes the bruises were there, plain to see. At every sight of them, every brush of clothes against them that stung, or accidental touch from another Elf, Harry was reminded of the time he spent with their King instead of in the library trying to find a way home. On the other hand, he didn’t want to not spend time with the King, because Thranduil, when he wasn’t being petulant, was charming and funny and intelligent. He made Harry smile and his heart beat faster and his stomach quiver with nerves and excitement. The Wizard was locked in a perpetual state of arousal for hours after every touch the Elven-king placed upon him; like being a teenager again, hard in his pants hidden under his robe because a pretty girl had winked at him in the hallway. Harry liked him. Harry liked Thranduil, like he had once liked Ginny, and Cho, but he didn’t love him. Not like he had loved Ginny (and still sort of did), and Ron, Hermione, and the other Weasleys, not like he loved his little Rose, and would love Hugo (who was probably screaming the Burrow down right that minute-and hey maybe that was why Hermione hadn’t rescued him yet?) Yet the Elves continued to be surprised that Harry wanted to go home.
Rescue, he thought to himself, still hiding beneath the table. Did he actually need to be rescued? Not since that first night had Thranduil done anything to him without his permission, nor had anyone else accosted or arrested him. He wasn’t hurt and he was well fed, he had access to wherever he pleased though the King had asked that he remain within Mirkwood’s borders (Legolas assured him that it was a general request, for everyone, and not just Harry being singled out, which made it completely acceptable as requests went). He didn’t need to run from anyone, and he could have hidden in his own bedroom if he really needed to, instead of upsetting Agelosdis. No, rescue was the wrong word to use, but that didn’t mean Harry didn’t want to leave. He liked Thranduil, sure, and Legolas too, but he missed his home and he only had three months and two weeks to find a way to get back there.
XXX
When the second last week of June was upon them, the Elves changed, seemingly overnight, from the most composed of races to a wild horde of party planners. It was the starlight festival (again, apparently) and they hadn’t left much time to prepare.
“Last year it was on the 23rd day,” Tauriel told Harry, arms full of carefully woven flower crowns. “But this year it’s on tomorrow, two whole days early.”
“We already celebrated the festival of starlight? I got arrested, remember?” Harry reached out to help her, taking the top two crowns before they could crush the others.
“There are four each year, and each follows the change in the seasons. We give thanks at each of them, as the stars change positions and the weather changes its pattern in the hopes that the Valor will bless the coming season.” A male Elf had snuck up behind them, his voice making Harry jump in surprise. He was Noruinivon, one of the guards Thranduil had assigned to Harry for whenever his wanderlust struck him.
“Are you talking about the Summer Solstice? That’s, uh, June 21st?” Harry tried to remember the celebrations Hermione had tried to teach him and Ron, insisting that as Wizards they should celebrate the Pagan holidays rather than just Christmas (Ron should have anyway, considering he had been raised magical, but the Weasleys had never been too strict on their worshiping). “And I was here for the Spring Equinox, right?”
Oron had joined them by this point, his own arms laden with trays of food, stacked one on top of the other. Noruinivon was cradling four oak staves, carefully carved so that they already looked as if ribbons had been twined around them. Harry smiled at the sight of the may-poles, despite their being a month late, wondering if there were even any children in the Woodland Realms to tie the ribbons to the poles. But maybe that was why the poles were carved already?
"Perhaps," Oron said, carefully turning so that he could see Harry without dropping the silver platters he carried. "But we do not call them that."
"What are the other names?" Tauriel asked. The four of them walked together, though Harry lagged behind at one point to help another Elf who was attempting to lift actual daisy chains (huge big ones, with red blossoms and briars and ivy interwoven with them)by herself. Harry explained about the Spring and Fall Equinox and the Summer and Winter Solstice as best as he could remember, dates and names and general ways of celebrating them included. "Yes, that is what we celebrate, though there are many names for them. We call your 'Fall' day the feast of Eranith5 and the Dwarves call it Durin's Day. It is a time of celebrating the harvest, so that we may have enough to sustain us throughout the winter."
"The Winter Solstice is the first day of winter, the longest day of the year before the nights start getting longer and the days shorter. I remember a few years ago, a few of my friends decided that we should celebrate it; none of us were particularly religious, Pagan or Christian, you know, but we thought it'd be a great excuse for a party. We were all busy at the time, I think I was half way through my final year of training as an Auror and all I did at night was fall asleep wherever I was standing. Everyone else was the same, so, you know, we decided to give ourselves a break. We lit this huge bonfire, learnt all the dances and made the food ourselves, and my friend Seamus ended up dropping a bottle of Ogden's finest into the bonfire!" Harry laughed, lost in the memories. The others listened silently, half-smiles on their faces, because it was nice to hear their friend's stories but at the same time each of them knew the Wizard would rather go back to those friends than to stay with them.
He continued, still chuckling fondly. "It's alcohol, Ogden's, I mean. The bonfire seemed to explode! It was terrifying and brilliant and everything was crazy. We were trying to put it out and dance around it at the same time, half of us too drunk to stand and then of course someone called the Aurors, and of course I get their memo, little flying pieces of paper that tell me where I have to be. I had to go into the office, get dressed and go back to put out the fire, officially, that I couldn't put out before. I'm surprised they didn't make me arrest myself!"
Thranduil was waiting in the same clearing the first party had been in when they arrived. Harry helped to unload the other Elves' burdens after setting his two crowns down by the King's throne. His two were more elaborate than the ones Tauriel still held, so it was safe to assume that they were for Thranduil and Legolas.
"What is an Auror?" The King asked, overhearing the end of the conversation.
"Sort of like magical police, or guards I guess. We keep the peace. I changed jobs though, quite recently actually.
That's what my friend and I were arguing about when I had my accident. I'm an Unspeakable now."
"Sounds terrifying," Tauriel said grinning. She offered the King a quick bow, as did the others, before going back to her duties.
"Did you not enjoy keeping the peace, Melyanna?" Thranduil was smiling softly when Harry turned to look at him, but there was a tightness around his eyes that said clearly that he didn't enjoy hearing Harry reminisce about his old life so wistfully.
"Well, once I stopped aging it was difficult to be taken seriously in my job. Also, as a collective, Wizards don't deal well with strange occurrences and I'm everything that's strange in the world." Harry gave a self-deprecating smile.
Thranduil's hand moved to cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly across the bow of Harry's mouth. "You are perfect, if a bit young," the Elven-king whispered, dipping down to offer him a chaste kiss.
"I'm twenty eight years old, and I'll never look any older. It's pretty strange."
"Not among my kin." Thranduil waved his free hand around, indicating that Harry should look. He turned his head left then right, watching the gathered Elves as they worked to ready the clearing for their party that night and the next; each of them looked young, though none as young as he did. But none looked older than their King, who according to Legolas had lived for over half a millennium already. "Here, you fit right in."
XXX
Harry spent the first night sitting quietly by Thranduil's side in the clearing while everyone else danced around the may-poles. Legolas asked him to dance once, refusing to take no for an answer, and Harry found himself stuck in a strange game of red-rover-come-over, ducking under Legolas' arm until the Elf beside him tripped and knocked down three others at once. They spent some time laughing in a pile on the ground, the wine having gone to their heads by that point, while Harry left them there in favour of Thranduil's more comfortable lap.
He wore the second flower crown, not Legolas; though, it was more accurate to say Harry hung it on the back of the small throne the King sat in, while the King wore his own instead of his usual crown of briars and berries and antlers. It was nice, and Harry was happy, even though he only danced once and Thranduil never let him too far out of his sight, but it was nice.
Like three months ago, Thranduil didn't attend the festival on the actual night of the Summer Solstice. He, once more, invited Harry to dine with him and Legolas in private, and unlike last time the conversation was much less stilted. Harry didn't stay for long though, politely waiting until desert was finished before asking if anyone would mind if he retired early. Thranduil waved him away nonchalantly, appearing completely unconcerned as Harry pressed a kiss to the back of the King's raised hand and left. Legolas squeezed his father's shoulder, but said nothing as they watched the door swung closed behind the Wizard.
"Three more months, min hên,"3 Thranduil whispered.
Legolas thought of asking his father if he could truly be happy knowing that he had trapped his fea here, that whether putting a time frame on the other man, the expiration of which was the only reason that Harry wouldn't leave him, hurt him, the way his Queen's death had hurt him, or if it was alright because at least Harry would be there. Unwilling or otherwise. But he bit his tongue and kept eating his desert, one hand staying on Thranduil's shoulder in silent support and the other fisted in his lap, nails biting into his palm as he prayed to the Valor his own fea would not be so complicated.
Harry knew he shouldn't have left like that, knew he should have smiled and invited Thranduil to take a walk with him or at least offered to join him in the King's bedchambers later on for a drink. But he had wanted to be alone. Hermione - not that she knew it - was out of time, and Harry had three months left until the Elves would stop helping him search and the thought was terrifying, made scarier by the whisperings in his mind that suggested, like Tom's locket had suggested things, that maybe he wouldn't mind.
It was hard, despite how kind Thranduil was to him, to truly like the King, because though Harry enjoyed his company and his attention he knew that if he could have Thranduil would have made him promise to stay from the offset instead of allowing him the six month reprieve. The Wizard was half surprised every morning when he woke to find himself not locked back in the dungeon cell, if only to keep him from leaving (though with his magic it wouldn't have been a hardship to escape). The Elves hadn't seen much of his magic, just a couple of Lumos' at night when Harry stayed out too late walking and got lost on his way back, or a few levitation charms to move things like desks and books about the library (much to a certain head librarian's displeasure). Most of them thought he was like Mithrandir, capable of great feats of magic only on limited occasions and the rest of it was parlour tricks; Harry chose not to correct them, wanting instead to keep his advantage just in case he did have to escape someday. He didn't think Thranduil would actually keep him there by force, surely the Elf knew that no relationship could come of such behaviour, but desperate men did desperate things (no matter their race) and it was best to be safe than sorry.
He walked out towards the clearing, but skirted around it, careful not to be seen. A notice-me-not spell helped with that, and he tried to walk quietly so as not to draw the attention of the Elven mouse-like ears. They were singing in Sindarin again, soft, clear voices calling to the sky and the Valor and Harry found himself humming along despite not knowing or understanding the words. He found the tree he had long ago favourited, close to where he had woken up but not too near to where the spiders had first appeared: it's branches were high enough to keep him safe from uninvited creatures, but there were two lower down, just within reach if he jumped, and from there Harry managed to haul himself higher and higher, until his head pierced the leaves at the top.
Butterflies scattered around his face, reds and browns fluttering away like autumn leaves displaced by wind, soaring through the sky as the moon and the stars bathed the lake in silver. Harry glanced around at it all in awe, smile wide on his face, and he stayed there, watching the stars twinkle and the fish make ripples on the lake in the distance and the men in the town, tiny like ants, at their own celebration.
It was beautiful and calm and lovely, and Harry was half tempted to climb back down and ask Thranduil to join him, but he refrained. The King didn't leave his palace, and Harry couldn't stay cooped up in there forever, even if he did stay in Mirkwood, so Thranduil might as well get used to it now.
And wasn't that scary? He was already planning his future here. But he didn't want to; he wanted to go home. So he pushed the thoughts from his mind, eyes narrowing on something in the distance, a lump in the horizon like a mountain, all on its own. It looked so lonely, sort of like how Harry felt here, cut off from magic and his friends and his life. He purposely ignored the thoughts that his traitorous mind whispered to him, of his new friends, and how the King and Prince would be his new family. He wanted to be childish and petulant for once, he wanted things to go his way, so he focused on the bad things. So Harry watched the lonely mountain, and he felt alone.
XXX
4 - French: Don’t come back, according to Google. (Accidentally put this one in the last chapter’s notes).
1 - Fea, meaning soul (or- plural). Imaginary plural of soulmate.
2 - Quenya: dear gift/gift of love
5 - No idea how to spell the festival of starlight’s actual name. Also, these notes are so not in the right order…
3 - My son.
XXX
Thanks for reading. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that James II and Albus Severus have been born by this point; I’m getting to them. Also. Why is this so long? There’s so much more I want to put into it, what the hell?
Thanks to everyone who commented and read and enjoyed the first chapter. Let me know what you thought! 600 words of chapter 3 done… so many more to go…
Words: 6,458
Chapter 3
CHAPTER OVER HERE
AO3
Here’s part 2. Hopefully I’ll get it finished soon enough, but I’ll tell you right now it won’t be very long. There will be a few time skips, but yes, the Dwarves of Erebor are on their way home as we speak.
Working on the assumption that Durin’s Day is the last day of Autumn, rather than August (being the last month of Autumn, according to some people), Durin’s Day is September 23rd, the Fall Equinox (2014). Harry arrived on March 20th, the day before the Spring Equinox.
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Words: 5,587
Chapter 2
“Definitely like the French Minister,” Harry muttered to himself.
It had been at least an hour since Thranduil had sent him away, and in that time he had gone from being the guest of the King of the Woodland Realms, situated by his side and in the bedchamber intended for his Consort or Mistress (since his Queen had shared his own bed), to a prisoner in Mirkwood’s deepest, darkest dungeon.
Harry knew Thranduil’s type, so he wasn’t too offended by the easy dismissal. Malfoy had been like that, back when they were children, holding a grudge for seven years because Harry hadn’t wanted to shake his hand. Maybe this was a little worse though? This was definitely more like the French Minister for Magic who along with his young second wife had been horribly insulted when Harry had attempted to compliment his ‘beautiful daughter’ in broken French. At least he had called her beautiful though, not that it counted towards him in the long run; he had practically been thrown back into the international floo grate and shipped right back to London with an angrily thrown handful of floo powder and a rather abrupt, “Ne pas revenir!”4
Harry hadn’t understood what that meant, but he understood the gesture well enough. Sticking up your middle finger was pretty common worldwide, and so were angry scowls and even angrier Howlers that arrived days later, just as you were getting over the embarrassment of it all.
This, this was sort of like that, but Harry wasn’t even sure this time how he had offended the King. What was it he had said? Was it because he was married? Maybe. Or maybe Thranduil thought Harry had been leading him on: some men really didn’t like a tease, after all. He frowned, pulling his legs up against his chest and curling over them; settling down to think. Did it matter what Thranduil liked, or thought about him? Harry had married a woman, a woman who liked men’s clothes and men’s sports and drank like four of her brothers put together, but a woman nonetheless. Before that, he had fancied Cho Chang, also a woman, and there had been a couple of weeks where he had thought he might have fancied Luna, expect that had turned out to be hero worship (and wasn’t that a new experience for him). On the other hand, he had no problem admitting when someone was an attractive man.
Thranduil was an attractive man, and the butterflies in Harry’s stomach attested to that every time he thought back to their dance in the clearing and the way the King’s gaze had undressed him with every sweeping glance. The kiss hadn’t been bad either, just surprising. Harry could have enjoyed it, you know, if he’d had a little warning, as unromantic as ‘I’m going to kiss you now’ might seem it was a far cry better than simply forcing one on him and then overreacting when he was caught by surprise!
"I thought you said this would be amusing to watch?" Legolas said from somewhere beyond Harry's range of vision. From the cell, he couldn't see much more than the wall opposite and he didn't care enough to try and squeeze his head through the bars to peek around. He could apparate out if he really needed to, but where would he go? At least here Thranduil would still feed him, and apparently Legolas would bring him dry clothes (after he had already used magic to dry his own, but whatever).
"You don't think this is amusing?" Tauriel asked, offering a grin that Harry couldn't see.
Legolas scoffed in response. "This is more pathetic, than anything else. I'm almost ashamed to be called Thranduilion." He shook his head pityingly as he approached the cell. There was a ring of keys in one hand and thrown over the other arm was a robe similar to what Thranduil had been wearing at the party. "I apologize on my Ada's behalf," Legolas offered softly, along with a quick bow from the waist, as he handed the keys over to his companion.
Tauriel opened the cell door quickly and pulled it wide so that Harry could slip passed them. "Our King's ill temper is quite renowned. Perhaps someone should have warned you," she casually mentioned. There was a smile on her lips though as she turned back to her blond friend. "I think it is amusing."
"It's pathetic," Legolas insisted. He took a deep breath and held the clothes out to Harry. He was already wearing his Unspeakable robe again, so he just took the fancier robe and held on to it. "Please wear it. Atar would like to dine with you tonight, to apologize."
"And so he should!" Harry exclaimed, though he did shrug on the robe over his old one. He left it unfastened, wearing it like a coat, and though Legolas looked displeased about it the Elf held his tongue. "I don't even know what I did!"
"Did he talk to you about feaor1 when you spoke in the bathing house?" Harry just raised an eyebrow in response. "We Elves are blessed by the Valor. Though we live long lives, and oftentimes we live many years alone, at some point we will find what you might call a soul mate. We call them our fea-meldor, the beloved of our soul. You are my Ada's, and he has waited nigh on six-thousand years to meet you. I'm afraid he doesn't quite know how to go about winning your affections."
"Having a temper tantrum and locking me in a dungeon is certainly not the way to go about it!" Harry knew he was grousing unnecessarily; Thranduil wasn't even there to hear him. Still, though, the indignity of being locked up because the King was feeling like a nervous teenager on his first date and had made a fool of himself, well, that couldn't be let go of easily. Even if it meant that Legolas and Tauriel had to listen to his complaints when it had nothing to do with them, so be it.
"What? Wait!" Harry suddenly jumped from complaining about being imprisoned to staring wide-eyed at the amused looking Elves. "What do you mean soul fees? Soul what now?"
“Ah, fea-meldor,” Legolas repeated, a furrow forming between his eyebrows, "in your language that would be, ah, soulmate?" He spoke slowly, like he thought Harry might be stupid or deaf.
"Soulmate?" Harry blinked at him, looking like a deer caught by a wolf. He blinked again, his mouth working without sound for a few moments until he finally sputtered, "But I'm not his soulmate. I'm not even from here! That would be cruel, wouldn't it, if I was his mate?"
"Maybe you were always meant to come here," Tauriel suggested softly, as she reached out to squeeze Harry's shoulder. "Perhaps it wasn't an accident that the magical object you told us of transported you here?"
"But-- No! I have to go back. I have a family, and a wife, and my nephew is due any day now, and I have a niece! It's her birthday soon, and my job, and-" Legolas' hand covering his mouth shut him up, and Harry swallowed desperately as tears pooled in his eyes. He brushed them away angrily, dislodging Legolas' hand at the same time. "No. That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair," Tauriel sighed, glancing away from Harry as she spoke. "Come," she added sternly, "the King is waiting."
Harry let her pull him along; with her hand on his right shoulder and Legolas' arm linked with his left one it would have been pointless to resist, but anyway he wouldn't have tried. He was in too much of a daze to even consider running. He could have apparated, gone to the city of Men the Elves had pointed him to in the first place and tried to find an Istari there. He could have gotten a job, made some money, bought some of his own supplies and tried to send himself home, and likely blown himself up in the process. But instead he walked as if he were under the Imperious, eyes half closed and head heavy as the Elves led him to King Thranduil: his soulmate.
XXX
The dinner had been a horribly awkward, stilted affair. Legolas had joined them, acting as mediator between the still angry King and the stunned Wizard. It hadn't quite processed for Harry yet, and his unenthusiastic responses were obviously hurting Thranduil's feelings; though instead of saying as much, he reacted in anger, threatening to re-imprison Harry or to throw him from the Kingdom, until Legolas calmly pointed out that sending away his own fea would cause suffering to none but himself.
Dinner the following night was much the same. The breakfast in between them both was better, attended by only Legolas and Harry, as Thranduil apparently ate early so that he could hear any petitions earlier and get them over with. He spent much of that morning talking with Legolas, who despite refusing to show him the library without his father’s permission agreed to explain in more detail exactly what being a soulmate to an Elven-king would entail. He also took period breaks from their impromptu history lesson to casually mention how very much all of the Elves would love him should he decide to stay with their King, how much Thranduil would love him too, dropping hints of wealth and prestige and, mortifyingly, rumours of Thranduil’s bedroom expertise. Harry didn’t bother attempting to explain that he was rich himself, because none of his wealth had travelled with him and he had no way of proving it, so it was just easier to nod, agree and occasionally blush as Legolas tried his hardest to play devil’s advocate in Harry’s non-existent relationship.
The next day’s breakfast was much the same, except this time Legolas took Harry for a walk afterwards. He was careful to introduce Harry first to the guards who had arrested him two nights ago, specifically mentioning that Harry was the King’s fea and a welcome guest, despite his tantrum two nights ago, which was to be hurriedly forgotten about assuming Harry was willing. The Wizard had simply shrugged, already over it. He was far more worried now about how he might get home (before Legolas tricked him into marriage or something).
Thranduil, when they crossed paths, was polite and courteous and stared at Harry something horrible, but he never raised his voice or spoke in that language that Harry couldn’t understand again. He pulled chairs out for his mate, and pushed them back in, and made sure that Harry was served first at dinner by the servants even though the Wizard barely acknowledged him beyond a quiet ‘thank you’.
"Soulmate?" Harry's voice was soft and unsure, and it came towards the end of the meal, once the servants had cleared away the leftovers and brought out three little bowls of what might have been bread-pudding with honey. His green eyes were fixed on Thranduil's face, watching as the King's features tensed up into a scowl and then softened with sudden understanding. “When you were talking of being able to feel me, that’s what you meant?”
"You did not know of what I spoke earlier?" The Elf questioned his lips quirked once more in amusement. Harry’s face had gone red, and Thranduil raised one eyebrow, outright grinning now, obviously knowing what Harry had been thinking. “Nothing as salacious as that, Melyanna,”2 the Elven-king chided with a wink.
He went through moods faster than a pregnant woman, Harry thought, during their third dinner together while remembering how Hermione had been the months just gone. With Rose she had been practically fine, but still pregnant with Hugo, Hermione’s temper had long won out over her patience and love for her husband, Ron. "No, obviously not, and it wasn't like you explained very much before you had me arrested!"
Thranduil took the scolding with grace. He offered a tilt of his head in apology, though his smile widened as he reached across the table to grab Harry's hand. With their fingers laced, Thranduil began to explain about soulmates and the Valor and his deceased Queen, often repeating things that Legolas had already told Harry. At the end of it, when he asked Harry kindly if the Wizard would stay with him, neither noticed Legolas grab his pudding and slip silently from the room.
"I want to go home," Harry told the blond softly, almost pityingly. "If you help me search, and we can't find a way, then I'll give up." Thranduil watched him warily, not sure if he should agree or not. "Six months," Harry suggested, because if it took longer than that for a Wizard to cross his path, it might take years, and who knew how many years it could take? Perhaps by that point, Thranduil might have realised he was mistaken and Harry would be free to go regardless.
“Then I promise to stay.” Wizards lived for a reasonably long time, and he would live for even longer than that, so what was six months to him in the scheme of things? Thranduil's wide smile more than made up for any loss he might have felt over the promised six months (and anyway, if Hermione couldn't find a way to rescue him within three months from her side of the universe, Harry’d eat his wand).
"That seem like a reasonable request," Thranduil acknowledged softly. His hand stayed holding Harry's, but his free hand moved back to his pudding, happily spooning some of it up and feeding himself. With a sly grin, he held the next spoonful out to Harry, who looked from it and his own pudding in confusion. The spoon was suddenly jammed in his mouth, silver clacking off of his teeth and the Wizard scowled even as he swallowed.
"That isn't endearing you to me at all," he matter-of-factly stated, his words lost under the sound of Thranduil laughing.
XXX
Harry couldn't tell if Thranduil was keeping his promise or not.
He had been shown the library in all of its wonder. Other Elves had offered themselves to his service, though somewhat reluctantly once they were told Harry was searching for a way to leave their King; but they helped him nonetheless. Sometimes Thranduil stayed in the library, seated at the mahogany tables beside his fea with a scroll in one hand and his head cradled tiredly in the other, eyes not really reading the words before him. But no one had found anything yet. And no one ever came through the Mirkwood. Harry couldn't decide if they just didn't really like strangers, and similarly, strangers really didn't like them (or perhaps the spiders got them first?), or if Thranduil was purposely keeping him away from any outsider that might know where an Istari could be found. He didn't quite want to ask either, because after mentioning it passing to Legolas and seeing how upset the other looked, well, Harry would rather Thranduil not look at him like that either.
But still. Surely, someone had to know how he could get home?
Or Hermione had to have found a way, any way, and her messages just weren’t being passed along?
He couldn't stay here forever! It had been two months already, and Harry only had four months left to find a way home, but he hadn’t expected it to be so hard. Things usually just fell into place for him, and he’d always known that Hermione was invaluable, but it wasn’t until now that he understood just how much he and Ron had truly relied upon her for all of these years.
Harry glanced to his left, where Thranduil was sitting and silently watching him, one leg crossed at the knee and his arms hanging over the arm rests. He was making no attempt to even seem like he was helping Harry research, but every now and then he'd lick his lips, remembering the taste of Harry's kisses from moments before when he'd pulled Harry away from his own scroll and into his lap, until his head librarian's pointed coughing broke them apart.
"Not so near the books!" The she-Elf had whispered, eyes cast down respectfully even as she scolded the King. Harry had laughed softly, reminded fondly of Hermione and her wonderful priorities, but he had obediently climbed back into his own chair and resumed his reading. He hadn't found anything to help him yet, but he did find that he missed the taste and feel of Thranduil Oropherion... but that was something he'd just have to get used to, since he wasn't planning on staying in Middle Earth forever.
XXX
It was two weeks into June before Harry realised that Hermione wasn’t coming for him (at least not before the three month mark). He wasn’t actually going to eat his wand, since no one knew he had promised to and so no one could make him, but he did bar himself in the library at one point, with his desk pushed right up against the heavy, oak doors, hiding.
Harry curled up under it, legs to his chest and face tucked against his knees. Agelosdis, the head Librarian, was too busy pacing back and forth before him, feet and shins visible from Harry’s hiding place, muttering angrily to herself to think of actually moving the table away from the doors personally. The Elves seemed to forget that they were stronger than humans, worrying about how to move back a table that Harry had levitated over without the help of others, especially Thranduil whose fingerprints were bruised into Harry’s skin.
It was accidental and Harry had rather enjoyed the activities that led to him being marked up, but every time he changed his clothes the bruises were there, plain to see. At every sight of them, every brush of clothes against them that stung, or accidental touch from another Elf, Harry was reminded of the time he spent with their King instead of in the library trying to find a way home. On the other hand, he didn’t want to not spend time with the King, because Thranduil, when he wasn’t being petulant, was charming and funny and intelligent. He made Harry smile and his heart beat faster and his stomach quiver with nerves and excitement. The Wizard was locked in a perpetual state of arousal for hours after every touch the Elven-king placed upon him; like being a teenager again, hard in his pants hidden under his robe because a pretty girl had winked at him in the hallway. Harry liked him. Harry liked Thranduil, like he had once liked Ginny, and Cho, but he didn’t love him. Not like he had loved Ginny (and still sort of did), and Ron, Hermione, and the other Weasleys, not like he loved his little Rose, and would love Hugo (who was probably screaming the Burrow down right that minute-and hey maybe that was why Hermione hadn’t rescued him yet?) Yet the Elves continued to be surprised that Harry wanted to go home.
Rescue, he thought to himself, still hiding beneath the table. Did he actually need to be rescued? Not since that first night had Thranduil done anything to him without his permission, nor had anyone else accosted or arrested him. He wasn’t hurt and he was well fed, he had access to wherever he pleased though the King had asked that he remain within Mirkwood’s borders (Legolas assured him that it was a general request, for everyone, and not just Harry being singled out, which made it completely acceptable as requests went). He didn’t need to run from anyone, and he could have hidden in his own bedroom if he really needed to, instead of upsetting Agelosdis. No, rescue was the wrong word to use, but that didn’t mean Harry didn’t want to leave. He liked Thranduil, sure, and Legolas too, but he missed his home and he only had three months and two weeks to find a way to get back there.
XXX
When the second last week of June was upon them, the Elves changed, seemingly overnight, from the most composed of races to a wild horde of party planners. It was the starlight festival (again, apparently) and they hadn’t left much time to prepare.
“Last year it was on the 23rd day,” Tauriel told Harry, arms full of carefully woven flower crowns. “But this year it’s on tomorrow, two whole days early.”
“We already celebrated the festival of starlight? I got arrested, remember?” Harry reached out to help her, taking the top two crowns before they could crush the others.
“There are four each year, and each follows the change in the seasons. We give thanks at each of them, as the stars change positions and the weather changes its pattern in the hopes that the Valor will bless the coming season.” A male Elf had snuck up behind them, his voice making Harry jump in surprise. He was Noruinivon, one of the guards Thranduil had assigned to Harry for whenever his wanderlust struck him.
“Are you talking about the Summer Solstice? That’s, uh, June 21st?” Harry tried to remember the celebrations Hermione had tried to teach him and Ron, insisting that as Wizards they should celebrate the Pagan holidays rather than just Christmas (Ron should have anyway, considering he had been raised magical, but the Weasleys had never been too strict on their worshiping). “And I was here for the Spring Equinox, right?”
Oron had joined them by this point, his own arms laden with trays of food, stacked one on top of the other. Noruinivon was cradling four oak staves, carefully carved so that they already looked as if ribbons had been twined around them. Harry smiled at the sight of the may-poles, despite their being a month late, wondering if there were even any children in the Woodland Realms to tie the ribbons to the poles. But maybe that was why the poles were carved already?
"Perhaps," Oron said, carefully turning so that he could see Harry without dropping the silver platters he carried. "But we do not call them that."
"What are the other names?" Tauriel asked. The four of them walked together, though Harry lagged behind at one point to help another Elf who was attempting to lift actual daisy chains (huge big ones, with red blossoms and briars and ivy interwoven with them)by herself. Harry explained about the Spring and Fall Equinox and the Summer and Winter Solstice as best as he could remember, dates and names and general ways of celebrating them included. "Yes, that is what we celebrate, though there are many names for them. We call your 'Fall' day the feast of Eranith5 and the Dwarves call it Durin's Day. It is a time of celebrating the harvest, so that we may have enough to sustain us throughout the winter."
"The Winter Solstice is the first day of winter, the longest day of the year before the nights start getting longer and the days shorter. I remember a few years ago, a few of my friends decided that we should celebrate it; none of us were particularly religious, Pagan or Christian, you know, but we thought it'd be a great excuse for a party. We were all busy at the time, I think I was half way through my final year of training as an Auror and all I did at night was fall asleep wherever I was standing. Everyone else was the same, so, you know, we decided to give ourselves a break. We lit this huge bonfire, learnt all the dances and made the food ourselves, and my friend Seamus ended up dropping a bottle of Ogden's finest into the bonfire!" Harry laughed, lost in the memories. The others listened silently, half-smiles on their faces, because it was nice to hear their friend's stories but at the same time each of them knew the Wizard would rather go back to those friends than to stay with them.
He continued, still chuckling fondly. "It's alcohol, Ogden's, I mean. The bonfire seemed to explode! It was terrifying and brilliant and everything was crazy. We were trying to put it out and dance around it at the same time, half of us too drunk to stand and then of course someone called the Aurors, and of course I get their memo, little flying pieces of paper that tell me where I have to be. I had to go into the office, get dressed and go back to put out the fire, officially, that I couldn't put out before. I'm surprised they didn't make me arrest myself!"
Thranduil was waiting in the same clearing the first party had been in when they arrived. Harry helped to unload the other Elves' burdens after setting his two crowns down by the King's throne. His two were more elaborate than the ones Tauriel still held, so it was safe to assume that they were for Thranduil and Legolas.
"What is an Auror?" The King asked, overhearing the end of the conversation.
"Sort of like magical police, or guards I guess. We keep the peace. I changed jobs though, quite recently actually.
That's what my friend and I were arguing about when I had my accident. I'm an Unspeakable now."
"Sounds terrifying," Tauriel said grinning. She offered the King a quick bow, as did the others, before going back to her duties.
"Did you not enjoy keeping the peace, Melyanna?" Thranduil was smiling softly when Harry turned to look at him, but there was a tightness around his eyes that said clearly that he didn't enjoy hearing Harry reminisce about his old life so wistfully.
"Well, once I stopped aging it was difficult to be taken seriously in my job. Also, as a collective, Wizards don't deal well with strange occurrences and I'm everything that's strange in the world." Harry gave a self-deprecating smile.
Thranduil's hand moved to cup his cheek, thumb brushing lightly across the bow of Harry's mouth. "You are perfect, if a bit young," the Elven-king whispered, dipping down to offer him a chaste kiss.
"I'm twenty eight years old, and I'll never look any older. It's pretty strange."
"Not among my kin." Thranduil waved his free hand around, indicating that Harry should look. He turned his head left then right, watching the gathered Elves as they worked to ready the clearing for their party that night and the next; each of them looked young, though none as young as he did. But none looked older than their King, who according to Legolas had lived for over half a millennium already. "Here, you fit right in."
XXX
Harry spent the first night sitting quietly by Thranduil's side in the clearing while everyone else danced around the may-poles. Legolas asked him to dance once, refusing to take no for an answer, and Harry found himself stuck in a strange game of red-rover-come-over, ducking under Legolas' arm until the Elf beside him tripped and knocked down three others at once. They spent some time laughing in a pile on the ground, the wine having gone to their heads by that point, while Harry left them there in favour of Thranduil's more comfortable lap.
He wore the second flower crown, not Legolas; though, it was more accurate to say Harry hung it on the back of the small throne the King sat in, while the King wore his own instead of his usual crown of briars and berries and antlers. It was nice, and Harry was happy, even though he only danced once and Thranduil never let him too far out of his sight, but it was nice.
Like three months ago, Thranduil didn't attend the festival on the actual night of the Summer Solstice. He, once more, invited Harry to dine with him and Legolas in private, and unlike last time the conversation was much less stilted. Harry didn't stay for long though, politely waiting until desert was finished before asking if anyone would mind if he retired early. Thranduil waved him away nonchalantly, appearing completely unconcerned as Harry pressed a kiss to the back of the King's raised hand and left. Legolas squeezed his father's shoulder, but said nothing as they watched the door swung closed behind the Wizard.
"Three more months, min hên,"3 Thranduil whispered.
Legolas thought of asking his father if he could truly be happy knowing that he had trapped his fea here, that whether putting a time frame on the other man, the expiration of which was the only reason that Harry wouldn't leave him, hurt him, the way his Queen's death had hurt him, or if it was alright because at least Harry would be there. Unwilling or otherwise. But he bit his tongue and kept eating his desert, one hand staying on Thranduil's shoulder in silent support and the other fisted in his lap, nails biting into his palm as he prayed to the Valor his own fea would not be so complicated.
Harry knew he shouldn't have left like that, knew he should have smiled and invited Thranduil to take a walk with him or at least offered to join him in the King's bedchambers later on for a drink. But he had wanted to be alone. Hermione - not that she knew it - was out of time, and Harry had three months left until the Elves would stop helping him search and the thought was terrifying, made scarier by the whisperings in his mind that suggested, like Tom's locket had suggested things, that maybe he wouldn't mind.
It was hard, despite how kind Thranduil was to him, to truly like the King, because though Harry enjoyed his company and his attention he knew that if he could have Thranduil would have made him promise to stay from the offset instead of allowing him the six month reprieve. The Wizard was half surprised every morning when he woke to find himself not locked back in the dungeon cell, if only to keep him from leaving (though with his magic it wouldn't have been a hardship to escape). The Elves hadn't seen much of his magic, just a couple of Lumos' at night when Harry stayed out too late walking and got lost on his way back, or a few levitation charms to move things like desks and books about the library (much to a certain head librarian's displeasure). Most of them thought he was like Mithrandir, capable of great feats of magic only on limited occasions and the rest of it was parlour tricks; Harry chose not to correct them, wanting instead to keep his advantage just in case he did have to escape someday. He didn't think Thranduil would actually keep him there by force, surely the Elf knew that no relationship could come of such behaviour, but desperate men did desperate things (no matter their race) and it was best to be safe than sorry.
He walked out towards the clearing, but skirted around it, careful not to be seen. A notice-me-not spell helped with that, and he tried to walk quietly so as not to draw the attention of the Elven mouse-like ears. They were singing in Sindarin again, soft, clear voices calling to the sky and the Valor and Harry found himself humming along despite not knowing or understanding the words. He found the tree he had long ago favourited, close to where he had woken up but not too near to where the spiders had first appeared: it's branches were high enough to keep him safe from uninvited creatures, but there were two lower down, just within reach if he jumped, and from there Harry managed to haul himself higher and higher, until his head pierced the leaves at the top.
Butterflies scattered around his face, reds and browns fluttering away like autumn leaves displaced by wind, soaring through the sky as the moon and the stars bathed the lake in silver. Harry glanced around at it all in awe, smile wide on his face, and he stayed there, watching the stars twinkle and the fish make ripples on the lake in the distance and the men in the town, tiny like ants, at their own celebration.
It was beautiful and calm and lovely, and Harry was half tempted to climb back down and ask Thranduil to join him, but he refrained. The King didn't leave his palace, and Harry couldn't stay cooped up in there forever, even if he did stay in Mirkwood, so Thranduil might as well get used to it now.
And wasn't that scary? He was already planning his future here. But he didn't want to; he wanted to go home. So he pushed the thoughts from his mind, eyes narrowing on something in the distance, a lump in the horizon like a mountain, all on its own. It looked so lonely, sort of like how Harry felt here, cut off from magic and his friends and his life. He purposely ignored the thoughts that his traitorous mind whispered to him, of his new friends, and how the King and Prince would be his new family. He wanted to be childish and petulant for once, he wanted things to go his way, so he focused on the bad things. So Harry watched the lonely mountain, and he felt alone.
XXX
4 - French: Don’t come back, according to Google. (Accidentally put this one in the last chapter’s notes).
1 - Fea, meaning soul (or- plural). Imaginary plural of soulmate.
2 - Quenya: dear gift/gift of love
5 - No idea how to spell the festival of starlight’s actual name. Also, these notes are so not in the right order…
3 - My son.
XXX
Thanks for reading. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that James II and Albus Severus have been born by this point; I’m getting to them. Also. Why is this so long? There’s so much more I want to put into it, what the hell?
Thanks to everyone who commented and read and enjoyed the first chapter. Let me know what you thought! 600 words of chapter 3 done… so many more to go…
Words: 6,458
Chapter 3
CHAPTER OVER HERE