"Gandalf!" It had been two out of the six years Harry had been in Arda since Harry had last seen the (apparently) eternally old wizard, and - while Harry wouldn't admit it to himself - he did feel a lot of affection for the wizened old man. "Eärendil shines brightly on our meeting today!" Ever since Galadriel had used the variant of a standard Elvish greeting years before, Harry had taken to using it as his personal way of saying hello. It had gotten raised eyebrows before, especially from Elladan and Elrohir Half-Elven when they visited a year before to see their maternal grandmother, who turned out to be Eärendil's grandsons. Oh yes, it turned out that the star had a person behind it, which was kinda eerie to be honest. It was far too much like Crist to be a coincidence, but a coincidence it seemed it was.

"Harry!" While the wizard seemed happy, he was less so than last time. "Has your magic improved?"

"Leaps and bounds! Lord Celeborn says my grasp of it is better than most elves!" Harry wasn't childish! Absolutely not!

"He speaks rightly." The man paused. "Here." He tossed his curved staff at Harry, which the boy caught immediately. Harry had always had good reflexes, and the intense training that the elves of Lórien provided made them even sharper. Sharp enough to catch something thrown by a man who couldn't even lift a cow, at least.

"Your staff...?" Harry's eyes were wide. Why would he...?

Gandalf laughed. "Not quite." He reached into a massive saddle-pack on his horse, and pulled out a more aged and battered piece of wood. "No, this is mine. That staff is your own."

Harry blinked. "You mean...?"

"You're a wizard, Harry. Now you can go around and impress halflings with fireworks."

"...I'm sorry?"

"Don't ask, it's a very, very long story. I'll tell it later once I've got enough miruvor in me, probably in three-foot lines." Harry laughed. The old man hadn't changed a bit in the last two years. "Anyway, I have ill tidings for Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. We must make haste; time is of the essence."

"Hail, Mithrandir. You need not seek us out." Celeborn walked up, Galadriel at his side and a smile on his face.

"Imladris has been clouded from my sight, Mithrandir. Do you know why?" Galadriel seemed a bit panicked, which - while unusual for the elf - was appropriate; her daughter, Elrond's wife, lived there.

"Nothing good. I know no details - this news is second-hand from Radagast and his bird-friends - but I will give what I know. The Witch-King has besieged Imladris."

Someone new wouldn't have noticed a reaction, but he had known the royal couple for enough time that he noticed the little things, like Celeborn's eyebrows furrowing, that betrayed his fear. "Imladris has its own farms inside the Bruinen, right? Can the forces of Angmar win a siege?"

"Not normally; Elrond's will is strong," Gandalf said. "However, against the Enemy's greatest servant...even the Wise might be worn down after long enough."

"We cannot lose another Elven-haven. We have dwindled enough as it is. The army of Lóthlorien will march to the aid of our northern brethren," Celeborn finally said.

"I'll go with you," Harry said. It was part pure courage and valor, sure. But a part of it was his call north. The destiny Lady Galadriel spoke of would be pursued beyond Lóthlorien, he knew in his heart.

"Harry...!"

"While he is young, Gandalf, he speaks rightly. It is his fate to go north. You have recognized him as a Wizard; I shall impart my own recognitions, then he shall go."

"My Lady?"

"The Mirror of Galadriel. A focus for my sight like none other in all Middle-Earth."

"Why did you want me to come here, my Lady?" She sighed.

"You will not return here for many years. Your story will have been forged by then, your destiny uncovered. As such, any guidance it may provide must be given now. You may take a look into the pool if you so desire. I know not what you will see; I can only offer you this glance. Would you like to take a look?"

Harry was quiet for a very long time. "I will."

"Then gaze. Remember, that which you see of the future is not immune, not set in stone. You may yet change it if the All-Father and the Valar so desire."

Harry walked over to the basin. His feet were heavy, but he continued anyway. He did not fear destiny; he'd grown up the last few years knowing he had one. "Do not touch the water!"

He glanced down onto the sheen of water reflecting the bright light of the Sun, and he instantly was immersed in a vision.

"No! Not my Harry! Take me instead!" A mother's screams pierced the silence, her impassioned plea wrenching at Harry's heartstrings.

"Step aside, foolish girl, and you may live." Harry had no idea who the man in all black was. His face was near-destroyed, snakelike and inhumane. He looked as if of the most disgusting servants of the Enemy.

"No!"

"Then you shall die with him. Avada Kedavra." The woman suddenly slumped to the ground. An infant gave a shout, and started babbling.

"Harry Potter. The one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. Truly a pity. Avada Kedavra."

All that Harry was left with as the vision faded was the screaming of a man - not an infant.

Another one swam into reality, this time on a bright summer day in a large stone room. A castle, maybe? "Professor! The Dark Mark! It's gone!"

"Gone? How?" responded a man who resembled Gandalf. In fact, the resemblance was uncanny - down to the clothes.

"No idea."

The Gandalf-man started search throughout the wooden desk he was sitting behind, before he pulled something out. Harry had no idea what it was, but it wasn't doing anything. The man's face fell. "This was connected to young Harry. I suspected him to hold or to be a Horcrux, and it seems I was right. The soul fragment has died, and with it Voldemort. However, it was also connected to Harry's life-force, though...which it isn't detecting either."

"Good riddance, I say."

"Serverus..."

And then a final vision. It was of a man, with hair of raven and a cloak around his shoulders of the finest Elven make, standing on a mountain-top.

Harry saw the silhouettes of others, standing to the man's side and behind him, though Harry could identify none of them. These were...This was probably an image of him. This was a point on that which Galadriel and Gandalf called his high destiny.

He'd make it come true. He stepped back from the basin, and turned towards his patron and friend. "Thank you, my Lady. I can't say it revealed everything, or even enough, but I know better the path I must take."

Galadriel smiled. "I am glad." She sighed, looking out over Lórien from their perch a bit above most of the trees. "You've grown much since you came here. Very much indeed." She paused. "Not just in stature, but in courage and bravery."

"I'm a true Gryffindor, huh?" Harry paused. "What does that mean?"

"It may be a term from your home. My mirror's visions are not merely the images you saw, but feelings. Memories. Breaths of Eru. Anyway, there is a spirit in you far beyond that of a normal man. You carry yourself like the great heroes of old, like Tuor and Beren, and yes, like Eärendil. While your destiny - like theirs - is great, you have single-mindedly pursued becoming a Man any Elf should be honored to know. As such, I name you Elf-Friend. Count yourself as no less than the Kings of Númenor itself, child."

"Than-thank you, my Lady."

"No thanks are necessary. I am simply putting to name what is already true. Now, go north to the Last Homely House and reforge Middle-Earth."

"Of course, my Lady." Harry smiled in return.

"Hail, Elf-Friend Potter!" Marching for Elves was slightly different than marching for the armies of man. Elves marching was looser, and elves - and the occasional psuedo-elf like Harry - would drift throughout the mass moving through the trees.

"Falathiel?" She nodded. "Hail. How did you know I'm an Elf-Friend?"

"Lady Galadriel may have helped you to see without the crippling vision you once held, but your sight is still blind in many ways. It is clear you are an Elf-Friend. It is painted visibly in your heart."

Harry blinked for a few seconds. "What?"

"You carry yourself in that way only Elf-Friends do." Harry hadn't realized he was carrying himself differently. "Anyway, I heard you are coming with us to break the siege on Imladris?"

"Aye. I've got a destiny to pursue."

"I've never quite understood the idea of your 'high destiny,' to be quite honest."

Harry chuckled. "Honestly, neither have I. Lady Galadriel and Gandalf seem to know more, but I can't get any answers out of them."

"'Elves seldom give unguarded advice, for advice is a dangerous gift.'"

"I suppose. Doesn't mean I enjoy traveling blindly, but I suppose I shall find my way eventually."

"That's the spirit, Potter! Now, it's been quite a while. Have any interesting tales to tell me?"

"No, sorry. Unless you find tales of me being beat up by Nibencarden interesting." He laughed. He was getting quite good with the sword, but he was still nothing compared to elven swordsmasters. However, he could probably deal with orcs and such just fine. "Oh, but I did get a staff!"

"Congratulations. I'd venture to say you are the first new wizard since Mithrandir came from over the seas."

"I never really thought of it that way, but I suppose you're right."

"Alright," began Lord Celeborn. "Imladris lies just ahead." He began motioning to different leaders of the groups of elves. "You should loop around and strike from the north, while you all and you all attack from the east. The rest of you should be attacking from the southwest, with intent to recover the Ford. Harry, you will be with me. We will be attacking and trying to rout the Witch-King."

"Me...?" Harry had volunteered to come, but...the Witch-King of Angmar? The greatest servant of Sauron...?

"Indeed. Trust me."

Harry stood in silence for a while. "As you wish, my Lord."

"Good. The battle-cry will be a light sent into the sky by our wizard. Wait until then." Celeborn motioned for Harry to come closer, then they started walking through the trees to a small hill overlooking the river. "That," he pointed a man cloaked in black, who resembled the man from Galadriel's mirror in many ways, standing amidst a group of orcs on a steed as black as night, "is the Witch-King of Angmar. This will be a hard-fought battle, but I believe you will succeed. This is far too early for you to fall."

"I understand." And Harry did. He breathed in, and he could feel a deep seated urge in him, trapped in his forehead, screaming to bow, to hate, to slaughter and revel in evil. But he refused it. He was Harry Potter. Wizard. Elf-friend. Planetary traveler. He'd stand by Lord Celeborn's side and fight for good and for peace no matter what. He shifted his staff to his left hand, and pulled out his sword. She wasn't pretty; Harry had been using the thing for training since he first came to Lórien, and even Elvish forging isn't made to be bashed against a wall or a training dummy repeatedly. However, he trusted it implicitly, and he knew they would stand together against this massive army.

"I'm glad. You may send the sign when ready."

Harry closed his eyes. This wouldn't just be a light show, it would be a sign that Angmar's loss was inevitable. Ilúvatar, watch over us. Elbereth, let the stars watch over us. Oromë, Tulkas, let us reign victorious! He raised his staff high in the air, then slammed it down with a force nobody could miss. Deep down, in the deepest recesses of his soul, he could feel his magic. He pulled it out, and allowed it to find its way into the air. It already knew what to do, what image to form.

"Vingolë? The Star of High Hope shines on our victory today! Wise, Harry. Let us fight the greatest of the Ringwraiths!" With the grace only an elf or those taught by elves could match, they ran down the hill. Any Orc or goblin that got in Celeborn's way fell within seconds, and while Harry was not quite so swift, he found he was dealing with the fight better than he expected. After about a minute, they finally stood before the Witch-King.

"That hatred...you are no elf. What is a Man doing here? I thought your kingdoms were estranged from the elves."

"They are," Harry agreed. Gondor, alas, was occupied with itself. "I am no Númenorian." He sighed. "You have been a plague on Middle-Earth for far too long, Witch-King. You will fall soon. Maybe not by Mannish hand, but it will be soon."

"Someone indeed shall fall soon, though I must admit I cannot see it being myself. Your army is too small, petty Elf-king."

"I disagree. Enough talking, though. Engage us, craven wraith!" Lord Celeborn's vitriol surprised even Harry.

"As you wish." Harry was barely able to get his sword up in time. As it was, the sheer force of the blow sent Harry back a step.

Celeborn took the opening to leap forward, blade flashing silver as he lunged. Even as it curved around from a strike to the side to hit his collarbone, the Witch-King snapped his sword back and halted the blow in its tracks. Harry didn't let that stop him, however. His sword came down from a high guard he had been holding and slammed against the Witch-King's, even as he whipped his staff around, slamming it into the Ringwraith's side. Alas, the enemy showed no reaction.

"Harry, the Witch-King has no corporeal body!" Celeborn shouted between breaths and lunges and parries. "Destroy the cloak!" Harry's eyes widened as he realized what Celeborn wanted. He focused on the magic deep down in his heart, then breathed out. He hated borrowing from his scar-evil, the "Horcrux" as his vision had put it, but it made this far easier. He felt the rage spread through his blood, but he maintained focus even as he blocked. Then he breathed back in, and his sword began to glow. Fire! It worked! He'd never tried to light his sword before, but it worked like a charm.

Celeborn dashed forward, and a mighty swipe upwards opened up the Witch-King's chest. That was Harry's cue. This better work... He lunged forward with reckless abandon, praying to the All-Father and every Vala out there that it worked. Otherwise, he would soon be without a head.

"Agh!" The wraith's scream pierced his thoughts. Bullseye! The King of Angmar backed away, eyes aflame with fury and cloak aflame with fire.

"Run, and we will not pursue." Celeborn spoke with all the certainty of a rock that it would fall to the ground or a river that it would flow to the sea.

"You aren't strong enough to!"

"Would you like to try? Your army is falling apart."

"You can't stand against us for much longer, Witch-King!" Harry's shout wasn't as...forceful...as Celeborn's, but he felt no less the certainty that they were victorious, at least today.

There was a long silence. "That hatred, child...you will not long stand against us. This is your victory, however." The Witch-King turned, and with all the nobility a man on fire could muster, he ran away.

Harry's forehead screamed, and he knew no more.

"That was foolish."

The corner of Celeborn's lips was upturned, giving him the slightest of smirks. "Is it appropriate to reprimand your father-in-law that way?" It fell off as he shook his head. "It was. But Men have never learned quite as much from training as from being thrown right into the jaws of danger."

Elrond's eyes lost focus, presumably because he was looking back on his memories of Men. "Bar Isildur, of course."

Celeborn nodded. "Bar Isildur."

"But what drove the child to unconsciousness?"

"I cannot say. Galadriel told me, before we left, that he should fight the Witch-King alongside me. Why is beyond me, but I suppose she saw this." The older Elf sighed.

"That would make sense. Maybe this will serve as a warning? Keep him from foolish engagements?"

"I doubt it. All things considered, the battle wasn't very hard for him. He has a magic that goes far beyond any I've ever seen since the War of Wrath."

"How so?"

"The elements...bend to his whims, it seems. Reality itself."

"That does not sound unlike the Great Enemy's dark sorcery." Celeborn nodded. That was an understandable concern - the path down the dark arts of Morgoth was a path nobody had ever come back from.

"That, at first, was my thought as well. Thankfully, Mithrandir was there, and explained that...it wasn't. It was something else."

"Like the Istari's magic?"

"Or something close. It was never made quite clear. But..." Celeborn tapped the staff Mithrandir had given Harry not even days ago on the ground, having picked it up after the boy collapsed. "Clearly, the grey wizard trusts his magic."

Elrond nodded. "And if Mithrandir cannot be trusted, who can?"

"Aye. And so, you think that the force of this magic was what induced the Witch-King to flee?"

"I think the surprise of it, rather. Arts like his, wielded by a Man bearing a darkness as potent as his..."

"That would surely be a surprise to anyone."

"I fear, though, that the coincidence is not only evident to us and to him..."

"But that it is no coincidence at all. You fear the boy and the Witch-King will meet again on the battlefield."

"Perceptive as always, Elrond. Aye...I fear that Harry's path will bring him before Angmar before long."

"And his path is not one either of us can follow."

Harry had a track record of waking up on the ground with people above him. This, however, was one of the more unusual times. Usually, it was either Gandalf or an elf who was teaching him. Either way, they were typically displeased by his unconsciousness, and dragged him to his feet as soon as he was awake. But this time was less usual. The first thing he noticed was gray. Now, this wasn't the gray of Gandalf's cloak; no, this was a gray like a mist, or like the sky on a starry night. Belatedly, he realized he was looking into eyes.

"Ah...hello?"

The eyes widened, before closing as the person shook their head. Harry wasn't sure how to react to that, as it resulted in her hitting him over the side of the head with her hair. Thankfully, she backed up, and Harry was able to take stock of the situation.

"You're awake!" Harry swallowed, his throat fairly dry, before attempting to sit up. While it took a while - he had to brace his arm underneath his body to prop himself up - he managed it, then turned to the woman. "I'm-I'm sorry! Are you okay?"

He blinked. "A little bit exhausted, but yes." He looked around. "Am I still out on the battlefield?" It looked like it, but there were no corpses and the was no blood staining the grass.

"No, you're in Imladris. Grandfather said you didn't like healing indoors. I've just been watching over you, since you didn't seem injured."

"'Grandfather'?" he echoed.

"Lord Celeborn." Wait. If this was Lord Celeborn's granddaughter, then this must be...

"You're Arwen Half-Elven?"

She blinked, before nodding. "Yes. And you're Harry Potter, right? The newest wizard?"

Harry preened despite himself. "Yep! It's a pleasure to meet you, my Lady." He tried to stand up, to greet her politely, but he lost his balance, and started falling forward.

"Woah!" He was of a height with the Elf-Maiden, and so her arms - lifted up presumably to keep herself from getting crushed - caught him on his shoulders.

"While I am glad to see you are awake and healthy, child of Man, I do ask that you give my daughter at least a foot or so of personal space."

Harry pulled himself back up, this time managing to get his footing. He turned. A man's voice calling Arwen his daughter? "Lord Elrond!" He turned, to see the tall Elven lord bearing stern eyes but a shadow of a bemused smile. He looked back at Arwen. "My apologies, my Lady."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young Elf-Friend." Elrond inclined his head. "I owe you much for your efforts in fighting the Witch-King. I know not whether Lord Celeborn would have succeed alone."

"Ah...thank you, Lord Elrond." Harry wasn't really sure how to react. "...could I ask a favor?"

"But of course."

"Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel said that I have something that only you could identify of all in Middle-Earth. Could you look at it?"

"It would be my pleasure to help you, as you helped me and mine. Where is it?"

"My forehead." He pushed away his raven-black hair that covered the scar normally. "Under the scar."

Elrond reached up, touching the scar with his palm. Though most of his face was blocked from Harry's vision by his arm, Harry could see the man's left eye widen. "By Lúthien the Fair...!"

"Do you know what it is?"

"No. But I know what it feels like. Far too much like."

Arwen had apparently made a connection Harry hadn't, as her face too was white, and her eyes wide. "The One Ring."

"Indeed. It is not the Ring itself - in that the Valar are merciful - but it has the feeling of the One."

"Excuse me...but what's the One Ring?"

Arwen giggled. "Sorry. You seem so much like an elf, I figured you already knew."

"I'm a bit tall for a sixteen-year-old elf, though."

Elrond coughed. "Anyway, the One Ring was the chief tool of the Enemy, and ultimately brought about the death of Isildur."

"At the Gladden Fields? I thought that was simply an Orc assault gone wrong."

"No...the Ring led him into the trap, and betrayed him at the worst possible moment."

"Betrayed him?"

"Indeed. The Ring was imparted with the foul will of the Enemy, and had a sort of sentience. So much of him was with it, it practically held part of his soul."

Harry's thoughts flashed back to the Mirror. "Horcrux."

Elrond's eyes snapped to his. "What is that disgusting word?"

"It's a word for a soul fragment. I think. I saw a vision - in Lady Galadriel's mirror - of a man talking about...me, think. About him suspecting a soul fragment in me. I think he was from my old world."

"Your old world?" Arwen asked.

Harry wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm not from Arda, originally. I just...found myself here one day."

"Gandalf told me of this. I must admit, child, I would doubt your words unless he had already mentioned that."

Harry chuckled, despite the rather serious topic. "I'd doubt myself too, all things considered."

"Anyway, yes. A soul fragment seems to describe it well. You believe this to be the soul of a follower of the Great Enemy from your old world?"

"I suppose."

Elrond closed his eyes. "Beyond you traveling West, I know not how to purge this fragment, this Horcrux." As horrible and wretched as the word sounded when Harry said it, it sounded so much more foreign and awful from the Elf. "And of course, being a Man..."

"I cannot go West." Harry sighed. "So what should I do?"

"The only solution I can think of is to build up a resistance."

"A resistance?"

"That fragment is no Ring, as I said, though it resembles it. You were able to ward off the foul will of the Witch-King, at least until your exhaustion overcame you."

Harry's eyes widened. "So you mean I should...!"

"Actively fight against the forces of the Enemy? Yes. The corruption of the Great Enemy present in most of the servants of evil should pull on the fragment, if only slightly. Enough that you can suppress the fragment even in the presence of one of the rings." Elrond smiled. "But today, rest. You're protected from any evil while you reside here."

It ain't perfect, not by a long shot, but I'm trying to go for consistent weekly chapters rather than listening to my inner critic. Anyway, Tolkien lore of concern:

The Staff - By no means is Harry equivalent to the Order of Wizards. However, Gandalf can give a staff, which for Harry is simply a focus, because the Order doesn't exist yet. (It was founded later in the Third Age.)

Imladris - Rivendell. Much of the dialogue in this story, and certainly all in this chapter, is in Sindarin, the vernacular Elvish language. Imladris, thus, is the name I use. When the dialogue is in Westron, the common language, then I will usually render it as Rivendell (unless the speaker is particularly pretentious).

The Mirror of Galadriel - Using it is not a one-way thing, it sees you just as much as you see it, as seeing the Eye of Sauron for Frodo can prove.

Elf-Friend: Based off of early parts of The Fellowship of the Ring, there is some je ne sais quoi about Elf-Friends that makes it instantly clear they are such.

Elbereth - also known as Varda.

Oromë - Huntsman of the Valar.

Tulkas - Champion of the Valar.

Vingolë/Star of High Hope - The flying boat of Eärendil.

Yeah. So...thanks for reading, and yay to the reviews. Just to make it abundantly clear, Harry is a Man through and through. Also, if anybody recognizes the source of the title, you get...uh...eternal fame and glory plus a galleon donation to a joke shop of your choice. Yeah. That.