"Will you go?"

Harry turned his gaze away from the distant, shimmering peaks and met Glorfindel's eyes.

"I have not yet decided," he said at last, when the silence stretched.

Glorfindel nodded, seemingly more to himself than as a response, and said, "There is still time for your choice, but that time is not now. The feast has already started."

"Has it?" Harry asked mildly, letting himself be steered out. "I thought it began at seven."

"Six," Glorfindel corrected. He paused for a moment, and said lightly, as if an afterthought, "If you do decide to go, I will accompany you."

Harry blinked. "I thought you'd mind your duties here."

"Imladris has other defenders. You are very mistaken if you had thought I would let a friend go before the Morannon alone—I know you, Reviauron," Glorfindel said, stopping abruptly. There was a startling intensity in his eyes as he turned. "I know you, and you would go alone to draw Sauron's gaze if you thought you must. I cannot ask you to stay should that time come, but I can go with you."

Harry paused, unable to stop warmth blooming somewhere in his chest even as he shook his head in vehement disagreement. "You should not. I cannot stop you, but I will ask you not to die so needlessly."

"Is it needless?" Glorfindel murmured, moving again.

Harry bit his lip, closing his eyes against the sun's glare as they turned into the westward corridor. His magic stretched before him, lightly brushing against the walls to direct his path. They walked in silence, footsteps echoing faintly down the empty corridors. Once or twice he heard someone moving in a courtyard below them, or talking in a corridor across them, but they passed no one else on their way to the dining hall.

The soft murmur from the hall long reached them long before they did the hall, and he opened his eyes as they turned the last corner. The sun was partially obscured by the horizon, but the hall was warmly lit with lamps that hung on all sides. They lent the white columns an orange tint, and turned Glorfindel's hair copper as he passed beneath them.

Many were already seated and eating as they strode through the archway, and Harry let the soft chatter wash over him as he stepped in and glanced around. The hobbits were at a table before the dais beside the dwarves, Galdor was seated with several Dúnedain who hailed from western Eriador, and Boromir was holding a tentative conversation with Bilbo. There were a few new faces; Legolas' guard—a reserved elleth who Harry had not yet met—and the younger elves from Mithlond, who were likely sent here by Círdan to meet their eastern cousins and gain some perspective. Certainly they looked to be getting along well with Lindir.

Harry came to the dais and took his customary seat across Gandalf, while Glorfindel went beside Erestor. The table was laden with dishes from all over; mushrooms spiced and roasted in the manner of the Ered Mithrin, saltwater steamed fowl of Mithlond in place of fish, a vaguely-familiar looking grilled dish from the South, artfully sculpted potatoes with touches of the Shire, and so much more.

He stabbed himself some mushrooms and a slice of beef, before turning his attention to the conversation at the centre of the table.

"Gildor has sent word that his company is temporarily stopped in the Old Forest," Erestor said. "His network will be available, but anything that will require personal attention shall be delayed."

"Very well," Elrond said. "There is no urgent need of him at the moment."

"I cannot fathom what he seeks to achieve in that place," Glorfindel said, twirling his knife. "Neither Iarwain Ben-adar nor his chosen spouse will deign to act towards any interest save their own."

Harry snorted. "Who are we to judge his hobby?"

Gandalf gave him an exasperated look, which Harry shook off with well-practiced eased, and turned the conversation to his recent venture to Forlindon.

There was no talk of the Ring nor of the growing shadows in the east. This was a feast to celebrate the arrival of so many foreign guests, and for just this night, they could well afford a little peace.

"I will hold another council," Elrond said, "two week hence so that our guests may have time to decide their course."

"There is rather a lot to do," Harry remarked, counting on his fingers. "Just broadly speaking, we have to decide who is going, how will they go, when will they leave, and how are we to eventually slip the Ring into Mordor."

Glorfindel shook his head. "It is impossible to plan the very end of this quest when it is so far into the future and Sauron's movements are little known to us."

Gandalf nodded. "Glorfindel is right. We cannot see all ends, only do what we may when it comes to us."

"Ah but we can, at least, decide where the Ring-bearer is going once he left Imladris," Harry said, raising a hand. "And there are only so few paths across the mountains, soon to be further reduced when winter comes upon us."

"He must leave either before or after rhîw," Glorfindel said. "And if he is to leave before then we do not have much time, but if he is to leave afterwards, the Enemy will be prepared to besiege him the moment he has left the city."

Gandalf made a face. "Before winter, I would say, lest the snow bury the mountain passes."

"There will be nine in total, I think," Elrond said abruptly, and they all turned to look at him. "Eight companions for the Ring-bearer."

Nine for nine Nazgûl. Harry hadn't thought of invoking numerology that way, but nine did seem a fitting number; the company would be neither too large nor too small, and possibly stealthy enough to sneak into the orc-infested land of Mordor.

"And one of every race, I presume?"

"Indeed. Estel will represent Man. He has grown fond of the ring-bearer, and his claim to Gondor will lead him to Minas Tirith, not far from Mordor. If that is as far as he is willing to go then so be it." Elrond smiled tightly. "Besides, I confess that the thought of Isildur's line triumphing over Sauron once again is rather appealing."

"In that case," Gandalf said, tapping his staff lightly on the floor, "I will propose Gimli son of Glóin to be among Frodo's companions. He is in possession of a good heart and many other merits."

"That makes four, if Samwise holds to his words at the Council."

"He will," Gandalf said firmly to Glorfindel. "I suspect the other two will also want to go when they hear of it from Frodo."

They have already doomed two hobbits to this quest. Did they really need to condemn another two to that fate?

"Is that…" Harry searched around for the right word, failed, and settled on, "wise? Neither Merry nor Pippin knows the ways of battle or evil of the ilk Sauron breeds into his orcs."

The Shire was a land of plenty and enjoyed a safety few other places could claim. It did not produce folks who knew and experienced the dangers of the wilderness, much less of pure evil.

They were not yet so desperate as to send children into knowing danger and bloodshed. Pippin was not of age by the reckoning of his people.

"I stand with Reviauron. They do not understand any of the dangers before them."

"Neither does Frodo," Gandalf countered, looking between Harry and Elrond. "But I will hold my arguments until we have seen Meriadoc and Peregrin's decisions."

Grudgingly satisfied by the concession, Harry nodded with a light frown.

"Very well," said Elrond, sweeping his hands behind his back. "We will discuss their presence and the company of the Ring at a later date. For now, I will send scouts to Rhovanion and Eriador, and await what they gather. "

"I can inform Círdan," Harry offered. "And I will ask the Eagles to keep watch over the High Pass and Dol Guldur."

"There is not enough time for scouts to return before rhîw," Glorfindel said. "The company has to leave before some of them returns."

"Then that is a risk we must take." Elrond sighed. "But ere the company leaves we must account for the Nazgûl still eluding us."

"I will lead a patrol," Glorfindel suggested. "The wraiths would not have strayed far if they wished to spy on us. If we broadened the range of patrols around the city, we will find them."

Elrond dipped his head. "Inform my sons of your mission. They will ride with you."

"As will I." Harry met Elrond's eyes. "Though I will require my sword."

The forge was busy, the heat of the furnaces felt even away from the building. Harry spotted one of Glorfindel's vambraces, distinct in its golden fire-like etching, being carefully worked over by a smith.

One of the smiths looked up as they entered, her curious expression melting into understanding when she saw Harry beside Elrond. She turned and raised her hand to swiftly sign a few words at the elf behind her. Siruin met their eyes and dipped his head, laying down his equipment with care before slipping into a side room. He reemerged in a few short moments, carrying a sheathed sword with a more than familiar hilt.

"We have completed the designs for the reforging of Narsil," he reported in Sindarin, eyes glowing from the fires of the furnaces. His hair was pulled into a bun, each strand kept clear from his face even as he presented Caladui with a bow. "You have my thanks."

"You are welcome," Harry said, grasping the hilt. There was a rush of warmth as the magic he'd sunk into the metal during its forging recognised him, and he pulled Caladui from its scabbard in a smooth stroke. The blade gleamed yellow in the sunlight, a forgotten yet familiar weight in his hand that settled like an extension of his arm.

"It has been a while. Thank you," he said quietly, and sheathed it. The scabbard was new, a customary gift by the smiths whenever he left Caladui in their care. There was a pale blue gem set into the golden locket, while the main body was a dark leather. An enchantment was inscribed on the scabbard for the blade to be ever sharp. He would add his own spells to it in his own time.

The weight of Caladui at his hips was comforting, though it brought back a rush of memories—some more fond than others—when he stepped back and they exited the forge.

"You seem troubled," Elrond remarked, when they rounded the corner.

"Aren't we all?" Harry said dryly, and shook his head. "I am just… wondering—the company of the Ring."

Elrond understood his meaning at once, bless him. He folded his hands behind his back, looking thoughtful. "Your skills will be of immense use should you go."

"However?"

"There are other ways you can act. Some methods are more direct than others, but in the end it is all to the same goal."

Harry huffed. "Thank you. I am now more decided."

Elrond smiled. "It is your choice to make. There are no expectations that the company must go with the Ring-bearer to the journey's end in Mordor, only that they go as far as they will and fortune permits. Though I think it is not the end with which you are concerned."

"I can knock on the doors to Barad-dûr if needs must," Harry said agreeably. "It is less the destination and more of what occurs on the journey that concerns me. Erebor-that-is must be fortified, Thranduil warned even if he would ignore all my other goodwill, and Gondor, as Boromir tells, worries me. That is not to include what other nasty surprises slow-creeping evil might have wrought."

"Then go on your own way and do what you must. Frodo's destination is unchanged."

That was true. He could trust the others to protect Frodo as far as they could, and see what he could do to ease the final stretch.

If they reached the final stretch.

He looked to Elrond, who seemed wearier and more worn, weighed down by far too many losses. He did not ask if Elrond also felt as if he had sent someone entirely too small to their death.

They will make it through.

Glorfindel was already in the stables when Harry found him, briefing Elladan and Elrohir of their task.

"You are to return if you see them," the Elf-lord said sternly to the grim-faced twins. "You will not challenge the Nazgûl and you must return before it is dark."

"Understood," Elladan said with a firm nod. "We will notify you immediately if we see the wraiths."

"Do not go far today. We will ride further when Estel joins us tomorrow."

"We will search the glade and the hidden pass?" Elrohir asked.

"Yes."

"Alright. Let's go, brother. We have a Nazgûl to find." Elrohir bumped his shoulder into Elladan's, and both of them turned.

"Good hunting," Harry said as the twins mounted.

Elrohir grinned at him and tipped his head, while Elladan offered a terse smile, glaring into the trees on the opposing cliff as if orcs were hiding just behind their branches.

"Noro e!" He called, and both riders stirred their horses into motion, cantering swiftly down the path that led to the stone bridge.

"You and I will circle the barrier," Glorfindel said, standing before Asfaloth's stall. He was lightly armoured but unhelmed, and his hair hung freely behind him. Asfaloth's headdress had been replaced with a golden mask, and all the bells removed from his mane.

Harry hummed and looked around. The other stabled horses stood their ground as he passed, pawing at the ground, but Ithilum surged towards him, ears pricked.

"We're hunting Nazgûl again," Harry told him, running a palm down his dark forehead. "You've been very brave before, so I doubt it's an issue now."

He was replied with a snort, and a searching muzzle.

"Later, alright?" Harry said with a smile, unlatching the door with a flick of his fingers. He caught Glorfindel's eyes as he mounted. "Let's go."

With identical commands, they thundered down the path in a flurry of hoofbeats, passing swiftly beyond the stone sentinels on the bridge.

As a starting point, they returned to the Ford. The water rushed about its way downstream, marking a clear boundary between the wilderness and protected lands. Imprints in the gravel shore showed where they, and other patrols, had once stopped to look around. Halting the horses, Harry hefted himself higher and looked around with amber eyes, sweeping over the trees on the opposing cliff.

"I do not see them."

"Neither do I," Glorfindel agreed, and clicked his tongue. Asfaloth began to move forward at a slower pace, and Harry nudged Ithilum to follow.

He scanned the cliff-face and the paths etched on it, but they showed no signs of recent travel.

There was no hint of the Nazgûl around the Ford. Harry narrowed his eyes when they had passed the area completely and moved north. It was one of the few main paths to Rivendell and would surely be watched—so where was the watcher?

Apparently not in the north, nor the eastern and southern passes either.

They returned to Rivendell with nothing to show for their efforts save for a fallen leaf caught in Ithilum's tail.

"Where could they be?" Harry asked, more than a little miffed.

"Hiding further away, perhaps," Glorfindel said. "The dismounted ones would be fleeing to their master, but the other three may be watching the paths rather than Imladris itself."

Elladan and Elrohir's report was similarly disappointing. Harry ran his hand through his hair, wishing—not for the first time—that he could tag the Nazgûl with tracking charms, or even a Point-Me. Alas, all these spells only lead him to Mordor, where Sauron held the nine Rings of Men.

The next day bore a little more results.

"Our trio of trackers have reported sighting a wraith in Emyn Ring," Glorfindel announced, strolling into Elrond's study, where Harry was measuring the distance between Lórien and Dol Amroth on a copied map. "They also say that there are far more trolls in the area than to be expected."

"Our Nazgûl friend calling on allies?" Harry said absently, tapping his conjured quill against his forearm. "Is Belfalas still protected by the Nandor?"

"There are remnants of their presence and the land is favourable, but only the Avari now guards the woods. Why?"

"I may be able to persuade the Eagles to fly Frodo southwards, but if he is to remain unknown then I need a somewhere free of watchers to land."

Glorfindel frowned, looking thoughtful. "I have heard that the Corsairs of Umbar are increasing their incursions into Lebennin."

Harry muttered something distinctly uncomplimentary about Corsairs and sighed. He'll have to scout out Dor-en-Ernil and determine if the hills provided any sort of cover himself. Then he remembered Glorfindel's words.

"Shall we go to Emyn Ring now?"

"Now would be the best time. Do you have all you need with you?"

Harry stood up, banishing the map to his quarters. He always had all he would need with him; the Elder Wand in his sleeves, his Cloak around his shoulders, and now with Caladui at his hip. "I can bring us there directly. Will we be riding?"

"I think not; the undergrowth are too dense for the horses to move smoothly, and we have not the girth nor mass of trolls to clear a path by trampling heedlessly."

Harry extended his arm, grinning at Glorfindel's grimace as he grasped it without pause.

"Three, two, one–"

There was a whisper of displaced air, and then they looked up to see the bent trees of the Coldfells, gnarled and twisted by wind and more solid things. Harry had brought them to the southernmost edge of the moors, where plains gave way to rolling hills. It was as unkempt as the last time he'd been here, and the trees had begun encroaching onto the dried plains. A cold gust swept through the almost bare branches, and Harry wrinkled his nose at the stench of trolls.

Stone trolls could not roam under the sun, but hill trolls could be persuaded, given enough incentive.

Glorfindel tilted his head, sweeping the area with keen eyes. "I hear a troll; it is approaching."

"Good hunting," Harry replied grimly, spreading his magic out close to the ground.

They separated, moving deeper into the woods at different points.

There was a short little tree that had precisely the right canopy for hiding in, so it was that tree Harry climbed. He crouched on its lower branches, drawing down air from above the forest to give himself something to breathe that was untainted by troll. The forest was silent—he could hear the troll now, its every thumping footstep accompanied by the creaks and cracks of breaking branches and toppling saplings as it lumbered down its path. Words in Common became distinguishable as it neared.

"Bare and empty, bare and empty. Why did shadow make Gert come?" There was a long, harsh sound like two boulders grinding against each other, then the troll spat at a bush. Slimy troll mucus dripped slowly down the poor bush's branches.

"Eye in Lugbúrz says so. Catch people, he says." The troll growled. "What people? Only tree and stick deer here. No fat no good."

There was a pause. "Farmer was good. Dog was not good."

Harry caught a flash of gold from the corner of his eye as the troll debated the goodness of a work horse to itself. He eyed the troll—now well within range—and leapt.

It didn't see him coming, but it did felt his weight. With a roar, the troll reared backwards, large hands scrabbling to its back. Harry kicked himself off, sword extended, drawing a deep cut into the troll's scaled skin. Glorfindel sprang forward as it shrieked, twin blades flashing silver. Dark blood sprayed the branches above them. The ground shook as the troll fell backwards, followed moments later by its head.

With a grimace, Glorfindel retrieved a scrap of cloth and wiped his swords clean.

"So it is true. I will ask Elrond to send word for travellers to avoid this area for a time," he said. "And inform the Dúnedain."

Harry shook his head. "The Dúnedain are stretched too thin across Eriador. I heard from Aragorn that the Nazgûl has destroyed their station in Sarn Ford with few survivors. They will not be able to counter–"

Both of them stilled.

Neck prickling, Harry looked to his left.

Something darker than a shadow was hidden between the trees.

For a moment, Harry and Adûnaphel stared at each other. Then she turned to flee.

The Nazgûl was hindered by the dense shrubs, preventing its skeletal mount from picking up its pace. Glorfindel swiftly ascended the trees, running upon the branches in pursuit. With a roll of his shoulders, Harry shifted forms and broke through the canopy. A glance around later he dove down, skimming over the topmost layer of browning leaves.

Adûnaphel was calling out in Black Speech as she rode, urgency driving her cries sharper and louder.

His head pounded. Harry shook himself, wincing, and folded his wings quickly to prevent a collision with a lone branch. As he turned his head, he saw the canopies in the distance trembling, trails of rustling leaves that was rapidly converging towards them.

He cursed a little and reached for Glorfindel's presence, rising up to see the full picture. Trolls trolls trolls, he chanted, shoving the thought at Glorfindel, and flashed a glimpse of the scene through his eyes. Four on the left and three on the right.

As the first troll burst before their path, Harry tucked his wings in and dropped down, penetrating the treetops in a rain of leaves and twigs. In a blink he had his sword drawn, and he plunged down, blade first, into the troll's neck. Three more burst from the side, their bellows mixing with the Nazgûl. Harry gave Caladui a twist before pulling it out, shielding his eyes against the spray of blood as he rolled off the falling troll. Glorfindel soared above his head in a flash of silver and gold, landing silently somewhere on the other side of the troll.

Shaking a strand of wet hair from his eyes, Harry turned to look at the Nazgûl. She had stopped to look, her black steed pawing at the ground as foam dripped from its mouth.

"Go!" Glorfindel called. "I will hold them."

Harry peered over the rapidly petrifying body. Glorfindel deftly twisted out of the circle the trolls were trapping him within, and was now dancing the thin line between a bait and a meal.

He would end this quickly. With a near silent pop, Harry apparated, sword readied. The Nazgûl's horse reared up with a cry when he appeared, bearing the wraith out of reach. A dark sword swung down at him, and he met it with Caladui's flat edge.

"The Ring! Give me the Ring!" Adûnaphel hissed, leaning down to reveal the red eye imprinted on her long-rusted breastplate.

Grimacing, Harry held his breath against the rancid smell. "It is not here."

"The halfling," the Nazgûl sneered, ghostly lightning crackling in her hands. It flickered onto the sword and Harry quickly struck it away. "We will–"

She broke off with a cry of rage. A spark leapt from Harry's hand, wrapped up in the Nazgûl's cloak from where he'd grabbed her collar. It caught with ease, turning into flames that swept down the cloak. The horse reared up in terror and Harry pulled the burning cloak off, dispelling the enchantments that gave the Nazgûl its form.

He dropped the cloth in disgust as the horse bolted, crashing through the woods in blind terror.

That was one down. Harry turned back to the roars of wounded and angry trolls, watching as Glorfindel swept around them in a streak of deadly steel. With the Nazgûl gone, its hold over them was dispersed and their coordination vanished. Individually, they were no match for an Elf-lord.

He kept half an eye on the fight as he sat down and examined his right hand. Black veins threaded through his fingertips, inching up his fingers with deceptive slowness. It didn't hurt, but already his hand had lost all feelings save for a pervasive chill.

Harry scowled. Next time he'd take more care and use his sword for future Nazgûl touching. Magic swirled around him, whipping about as he ground the Black Breath in his hand out of existence. There was no finesse involved, just brute force and raw magic.

Black spots danced in his vision. Harry drew in a gasping breath, shaking his hand. "Ow."

His jaw ached hard, as if he'd all but ground his teeth to stubs, and there was a resonant ache in his fingers when he flexed them. Still, the Black Breath was gone, which was great because he refused to die over an encounter with Sauron's second-in-command's third-in-command. He had standards.

He looked up to see Glorfindel coming towards him, sheathing his sword. His golden hair and armour were splattered with dark blood. There was a fey light in his eyes, and one could be forgiven for thinking him a Maia of Tulkas' order as filtered sunlight set his hair aglow.

"Are you hurt?" Harry asked, because that had been a lot of trolls.

"Only from assuming I was more flexible than I am," Glorfindel said, rolling his right shoulder. His gaze sharpened. "Are you?"

"Black Breath—but I have dealt with it," Harry added quickly, showing both sides of his hand. He reached for Glorfindel's dirtied vambrace as the Elf-lord neared, and a quick charm cleared all the blood from his armour.

His magic twinged, still tender, and he folded it closer to himself.

"Thank you," Glorfindel said, tying his hair into a high tail.

They looked back at the clearing.

"That will not be all of the trolls in Emyn Ring," Glorfindel said, following as Harry got up and walked to the site.

Some of the trolls were not of full-blooded trolls, and in death they remained limp instead of returning to stone. He raised the Elder Wand to his lips before turning it down. At his will, blue flames spilled from its tip, flaring white as it reduced the trolls to dark ash.

"We do not have the time to clear all the hills," he said when the fire burnt itself out. "The Nazgûl has been unseated, but there are still two more whose whereabouts we do not know."

"Then we will return and look elsewhere," Glorfindel concluded, accepting Harry's offered arm.

There was a twist, and then they were in the crevice of the hidden pass, which presented a shorter walk than from the ford.

"I have not walked this way since Celebrían sailed," Glorfindel said steadily, looking around. The shadow left his face before Harry could respond, and he shook his head with a wan smile. "Lead on then, Reviauron. You know the paths better than I."

Elrond had just ended a conversation with Galdor when they found him in his westward office, handing a folded letter to the Falathrim as he left. Galdor was already in full riding gear, clad in a shimmering grey cloak.

"Leaving so soon?" Harry asked.

"It was never my intent to linger," Galdor replied, pausing in his tracks. "There is already much work to be done in Mithlond and I do not doubt there will be more to come when news of the Council reach their destinations."

Ah. He'd forgotten about the coming exodus. Whether the shielded lands of Rivendell and Lothlórien were lost to war or time, many would choose to leave before they see their work fall to ruins. How many would leave these shores before the quest's end? Who would still remain?

"Then may the swiftest winds speed your journey," Harry said, dipping his head low.

Galdor bowed and took his leave. His long strides made quick work of the corridor's length and soon he was out of sight.

Behind his desk, Elrond looked at them pointedly. "I hear from Estel that one of the Nazgûl has been found."

"Found and removed of form and horse," Harry said smugly, coming to lean against the desk.

It was Glorfindel who, ever the general, reported in great detail the happenings of their trip. Elrond frowned at its end, another letter already drafted in his elegant script before him.

"Your warning will be passed on to the Dúnedain," he said at last. "Will you be on the hunt for the Nazgûl tomorrow as well?"

"I will tarry a day in case another is spotted," Harry said. "Then I'll leave for Erebor, unless there is something that needs me here?"

"There are no tasks that require your presence." Elrond glanced at the sheet by his hand. "When will you return?"

"By the next council."

"Very well," Elrond said, standing up as he slipped the letter into his sleeve. "Glorfindel, will you organise the scouting parties?"

Glorfindel nodded sharply.

"I will inform Estel of your discovery."

The Dúnedain who'd been in Rivendell departed swiftly once they heard of the news, and by dawn the next day there was only Aragorn and the ones still recovering from injuries left.

"I fear our numbers will not make a significant impact," the Chieftain said, as he sent off the last of his people with his solemn gaze.

"You made a significant enough impact on those you have already protected," said Harry, who'd come to keep him company when he'd saw Aragorn standing alone from afar. "Those who scoff at the Rangers' presence need only remember the times of their absence to feel fortunate."

Aragorn laughed bitterly. "And then they curse us for our failure and letting evil slip through our dwindling net."

That was a sentiment Harry understood too well.

"It is a good thing you did not become a Ranger for fame and praise," he said, and Aragorn snorted.

"I'll seek my fame in the orcs that we foiled and the wargs that tasted the bite of my sword."

"And the soldiers that had served you loyally."

Harry'd seen the way Thorongil's men fought for their captain and their grief when he'd eventually left. Denethor II had a lot of politicking to do to appease his people.

Aragorn raised his eyebrows. "I did not think you would know of that."

Harry only grinned at his stare, and waited for him to look away before letting his eyes flicker yellow in amusement. What's a wizard without some mysteries?

He came across Legolas by accident, though he had been planning to look for the elf later.

"Legolas!" Harry called.

Legolas turned from the tapestry he'd been examining.

"Mae govannen ithron," he said warmly, looking curiously as Harry approached.

"I govad minui balan Araw ar edhel," Harry said, nodding at the tapestry.

"A," Legolas said, looking back. "We do not depict the belain so plainly in our art."

Oromë was shown not dissimilar to the elves he was meeting save for his height, which towered over their heads even though he was not mounted on Nahar. The great horse was standing behind him, exhaling a cloud of mist from the force of its breath. Feathers were entwined in both horse and master's hair, braids of colour against the shadows behind the pair.

"Were you there?"

Harry frowned. "At the very first encounter? I do not recall, but I do not think so."

He'd been setting up the Beleriand eyries some time around there, and was riding less with the Huntsman.

Legolas nodded slowly, stepping back from the tapestry.

It was as an opportune time as ever. Harry cleared his throat. "I am leaving for Erebor and Mirkwood soon, within the next few days should nothing else occur. Are there messages that you would like to be passed on?"

"Yes, of course," Legolas said. He paused, looking thoughtful. "I will write the letter tonight. I did not expect to have to send word so soon."

"There will doubtless be more to write about in the coming weeks." Harry shrugged, leaning against a column. "I figure that Thranduil will be more welcoming if I bring word from his son than if I go empty-handed with just me myself and I."

"That is an accurate assessment of ada," Legolas said, grinning. "But I do not know if he will be any more welcoming when he knows what has happened here."

Harry smiled, drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders. "Then I will take the risk and keep my visit short."

Glóin was a lot harder to find.

"Ah, Glóin? He went to one of the pavilions," Lofar said, his beaded braids clacking together as he shook his head. "Said he wanted to revisit the places from the last time he came here."

"He left a while ago," the dwarf introduced as Hannar said with a shrug. "Somewhere that way, I didn't ask."

"Aye, I passed him just now," Gimli said, peering up curiously. "He was going to the fountain. How may I be of service?"

"If–" Harry shook his head. "I will be leaving for Erebor shortly, are there messages that you or yours would like to send back? I will appraise Dáin of the happenings, but he may want to hear it from your own account as well."

"I will let Glóin and the company know," Gimli said solemnly. He paused, gaze turning sharp. "Will you be aiding the strengthening of Erebor?"

"I'll see what I can do," Harry said, lowering his voice. "I… am not most pleased with Dáin, now that I heard of Moria, but I will not leave the city open to siege by Nazgûl or foul creatures alike. Nonetheless, dark things find ways to creep through regardless of how I may fortify the gates."

"It will buy us time regardless," Gimli replied. "I have heard of what your enchantments can do, wizard, and they give me hope that ere spring comes the Durin's folk still stand in the great halls of Erebor."

"You have perhaps too much confidence, but I will do my best."

"And that is enough assurance for me," Gimli said, clasping Harry's arm in the same way that dwarves marked those of their brotherhood.

Harry looked from his hand to this young dwarf, surprised by his boldness but hiding it behind a placid smile. Few dwarves gave their trust so easily, especially to someone who had yet earned it before their own eyes. Gimli withdrew his hand with no indication that he had done anything out of the ordinary, and bowed.

"I will go look for my father now. His letter will be delivered to you in the morning."

True to words, Harry found two letters placed before his door in the morning, one sealed in vermillion wax with the crest of Erebor, and the other simply a scroll, tied with golden twine. He slipped both into a pocket, then straightened to see the sun finally clear the peaks of the distant mountains.

A breeze swept through the corridor, crisp and chill from snowy peaks. Harry glanced up to see only clear blue skies. It was as good a time to set off as any. He took out his wand and summoned Prongs.

"Let Elrond know I have left for Erebor," he said to the great stag, who dipped its head and slipped away in a swirl of silver mist.

That settled, he vaulted over the railings and shifted forms, beating his wings to catch a small updraught that carried him high over the city.

Flying to Mirkwood would take longer than he'd prefer, so apparition it was. The scene below him changed; gone was the Bruinen and the gleaming white of Rivendell, and in its place was a sea of brown. Fallen oak leaves drifted above the trees, over patches of deep red that still clung stubbornly to the branches. Nearing winter, the canopy had grown sparse enough to see the narrow road on the forest floor below. Harry landed on a bare branch and hopped steadily down the tree, finally falling onto the leaf-strewn path and straightening as a man.

Just ahead was the gates to the halls of Thranduil, across a slender bridge over a dark and swift river. Harry stepped on the bridge, looking above the closed gates to where he knew there would be guards keeping watch.

"State your purpose!" A voice called in the Silvan tongue.

"I come from Imladris," Harry said, holding out the scroll Legolas had given him. "I bring news for Thranduil."

There was silence. Then the gates swung open.

A guard greeted him on the other side. "Welcome, ithron. The Elvenking awaits you in his hall."

He was escorted silently through the city. Red torches shone where the filtered sunlight did not reach, and though Harry could hear the activities of the realm echoing from somewhere distant, the path the guard led him was devoid of anyone else. It was probably the fastest he'd ever traveled from gate to hall.

Thranduil was not on his throne. He turned as they entered, dismissing the guard with a cool nod. A crown of scarlet leaves and berries rested on his silver hair, lending a sharp splash of colour against his silver gown.

"Reviauron," he said in greeting. "It has been long since you passed through these halls."

"I would never presume to disturb you," Harry said cheerfully, and held out the scroll. "From Legolas."

Thranduil removed the twine and unrolled it quickly. His expression was unchanged as he read its contents, and he stood so still it was as if he was carved from the same living rock as his throne.

"So the ruling ring has been found."

"Yes."

"And the halfling was using it to play hide-away under the noses of my guards."

"Yes."

Thranduil fell silent for a moment. "I do not know if I should be disgusted that something of his was scurrying in my halls for so long."

"It has been a few decades," Harry said with a careless shrug.

"Shorter than a mere blink, I assure you," Thranduil said. His gaze turned distant, and in the slightest waver of attention Harry saw him properly, almost glowing in the sunlight slanting into the room. The Elvenking had always been an unmovable rock in the stream of time, but this… He looked away.

"It is not healthy to keep your wounds from healing, you know."

Grey eyes bore into him.

"Burns from dragon-fire last, but on your people even those will fade, when given enough time and will. It has been time enough–"

"You dare to lecture me in my own realm?" Thranduil hissed, sweeping forward to loom over him. His eyes gleamed like cold steel, unyielding and sharp.

"I would never," Harry said lightly, but his smile was firm, and he met Thranduil's gaze evenly. "I know what the flames took from you in that war. I know what it feels like. Keeping the injury open will not help you remember more."

"It is no business of yours what I choose to do," Thranduil snarled, drawing himself back. "Be gone."

Harry bowed.

"Take it from a well-meaning acquaintance, if nothing else," he called, turning on his heels. "How do you see far ahead if you are still in the pain of the past?"

There was no guard to escort him out, though Harry felt eyes on him as he took the arched paths back to the gate. They opened as he neared, and he murmured his thanks to the silver helmed guards on either side. They swung shut closely behind his heels, and he took barely two long steps before throwing himself up at the skies.

High up above Mirkwood, he could see Erebor, alone in the horizon. It was to that single cloud-veiled peak that he sped, over Dale, over Esgaroth-that-is, and the waterlogged ruins of Esgaroth-that-was.

Ravens met him as he spiralled down. They trailed beside him slowly, and the leader of the flock gave him a curious, gurgling croak.

Harry chirped in reply, passing over the heads of dwarves and men at the gates of the city. His raven escorts fell away, leaving only the leader to glide behind him.

Erebor restored was not, visually, very different from Erebor before the desolation of Smaug came upon it. Dark pillars reached from far below and stretched all the way to the ceiling high above. One row of the pillars bore the visages of dwarven kings upon them, beginning with the Father of all Dwarves, Durin, standing from the back of the hall and ending with Thorin, the first pillar. Pale dwarven lanterns illuminated the deeper walls, where light streaming in from the outside could not reach.

Harry followed distant memories to the king's court, and spotted Dáin easily on the throne. He let out a long whistle, the same he used in the Iron Hills to get Dáin's attention above the din of forges. Dáin looked up immediately, putting down the pen he held on a tray by his side.

"Give me a moment, will ya?" He said to the dwarf who was holding the lengthy missive. The dwarf nodded and retreated, and Harry waited until the doors swung closed behind him before descending from the throne's backrest where he'd perched.

"Good afternoon, O King Under the Mountain," he said, sweeping into an extravagant bow.

"Harald!" Dáin boomed, standing up. "It has been a long time since we last saw each other."

"A long and eventful time," Harry said, and let himself be drawn into a quick hug.

"Verily so. You have come at the most opportune and inopportune time," Dáin said, pulling away.

"I came from Rivendell," Harry said, retrieving the letter he received from Glóin's company. "Perhaps you should read this first, before we say any more."

Dáin paced as he read, then stopped, abruptly. "Least of rings my arse! We knew it couldn't be some small matter, but I had never imagined it would be the One."

Behind his back, Harry traced his wand in the air. The air around them stilled, a private enclosure around only the two of them.

"So it is in Rivendell, now? With the hobbit?"

"Yes."

"And the solution is to destroy it? In Mordor?"

"It is the only way."

Dáin sighed deeply. "Gimli will have my blessings for this quest. He's a young lad and a fine warrior. I can think of no one better."

"He will be heartened to know of it," Harry said. "But I came here only in part for him. Tell me more of what is happening here in the north."

The gates of Erebor was an imposing presence, made more spectacular by the row of dwarven guards that lined the top. They stood like silent statues, as Harry and Dáin passed below, circling the front of the gates.

"What other entrances are there to the city?" Harry asked at last.

"There is only the Front Gate," Dáin said, patting the thick wall fondly. "All other routes were blocked by Smaug when he occupied it, and I have seen no reason to restore them at the time. The cliffside door cannot be found for two more seasons, so good luck to the orcs if that's how they want to come."

Harry hummed in response, tracing the chiselled dips and rises of the green stone with his fingertips. Behind him, he heard Dáin make a sound of disgust.

"This was where the messenger from Mordor stood."

Curious, he turned and walked over. The grass, though browning and drying all around, was blackened at the spot. Harry nudged it with his boot, scattering the lingering impression of whispered death to the autumn winds. "Looks like a good place for the wildflowers to bloom next spring, I think."

Dáin barked a laugh. "Would it be that all our worries are so easily dispelled. Should we all see spring return to these lands, I will change my crown to that weaved from those wildflowers. Come, it is too late to do work on these gates. A feast is waiting for us."

Behold, I live!

and in two years I'm heartened to know that a) somehow ppl still read this thing, and still review/fav/follow/pm me about it (I love y'all, really), and b) ffnet doc manager is still a terrible thing that needs to be wrangled.

don't need to tell me about updates/punctuality/stuff. hahahahaa a lot has happened in these few years. I'm just continuing this because it entertains me to read, and I hope it is as entertaining for y'all. if it sounds disjointed: thats cos half of it was written in 2017 and the rest of it like, yesterday. and I haven't really written anything in the long time in between.

notes for the very nerdy: (some of them r notes left by 2 yrs ago me, I lowkey forgot my thought processes for some)

Siruin: Siria-flowing. Ruin-fire

Noro e: e (/ed) — forth/away, adverb and preposition. Use as adverb in this case thus follows 'noro' ride.

Emyn Ring: Sindarin for Coldfells (fells = hills/moorland), Place where Arador, Aragorn's grandpa died. Emyn = pl. hills. Ring = adj. cold

stone trolls vs hill trolls: self-made distinction of the trolls in Hobbit: AUJ vs the ones in LOTR that killed Arador.

Lugbúrz: dark tower, Black Speech.

*Adunaphel: Adun = west (eg adunaic). Phel = daughter (speculatively) since zimraphel = jewel daughter. Thus daughter of the west. Borrowed from MERP.

ithron: wizard (S.)

(i) govad minui balan Araw ar edhel - (the) first meeting of vala orome and elves

Lofar Hannar Onar: dwarven names taken off Dvergatal aka source of Tolkien's other dwarvish names.

*On Female Nazgul and Nazgul names:

Upon looking for the names of the other eight Nazgul, I found the names provided by MERP: Er-Murazor (for Witch-king), Dwar, Ji Indur, Akhorahil, Hoarmurath, Adunaphel, Ren, and Uvatha. They're not official names, but useable and makes sense in lore; by the books, three of the Nine were lords of Númenor corrupted by Sauron, and one was a king among the Easterlings. The Númenórean names are Er-Murazor, Akhorahil, and Adunaphel.

Succession in Númenor became absolute primogeniture after Tar-Aldarion, who changed the previously agnatic succession rules since he only had one daughter and very much wanted to pass his throne to her. Therefore from him on the eldest progeny can inherit regardless of gender–which is why there were Ruling Queens in Númenor, of which Ancalimë was the first. I find no reason why lordships in Númenor don't follow the same rules as their monarchy, so it is well possible for there to be a female Númenórean lord. And therefore, no reason why Sauron didn't give a ring to a female Númenórean lord.

It's never said that there were female Nazgul, but it's also never said that there weren't, so creative licenses were taken, and the MERP names have deep roots in fanlore, so it's not like they're very contrary. (and also it's a fanfic, canon has only as much power as you give it.)