The Waking
The next morning dawned cool and crisp, the early light spilling over the peaks of the Misty Mountains as the company stirred from their slumber. There was an air of quiet determination as they prepared to set off on the next leg of their journey. The dwarves, hobbit, and wizard gathered their belongings, checking and rechecking their supplies with the efficiency of seasoned travellers. The sounds of gear being fastened and boots stomping on the stone echoed softly in the morning air.
Before they departed, the elves gathered to see them off. Elros stepped forward, a large, finely woven cloak in his hands. Its deep green fabric shimmered slightly in the morning light, embroidered with delicate silver thread. He approached Bilbo, who looked up in mild surprise as Elros held the cloak out to him.
“This is for the Sleeper,” Elros explained, his tone solemn. “A gift of thanks for allowing you to pass through the Sleepers Forest. It is customary to leave an offering for his protection and safe passage.” He handed the cloak to Bilbo, who took it with wide eyes, feeling the smooth texture of the fabric beneath his fingers.
“I’ll see to it that it’s delivered,” Bilbo promised, feeling the weight of the responsibility that now rested with him. He carefully folded the cloak and tucked it into his pack, the thought of meeting the mysterious Sleeper swirling in his mind.
Anárion and Elrond stepped forward, offering a final blessing for the journey ahead. "May the forest guard your steps," Elrond said, his voice steady. "And may you find the path through without trouble."
Gandalf gave a respectful nod to the elves, and Thorin, ever the leader, inclined his head slightly. “Our thanks for your hospitality and your guidance,” Thorin said, though his tone was gruff. It was clear he was not entirely at ease with leaving so much to the mercy of the elves and their secret ways, but necessity left little room for doubt.
With their farewells exchanged, the company set off down the path that would lead them towards the Sleepers Forest. The dwarves marched steadily, their sturdy boots kicking up dust, while Bilbo, cloaked in his usual curiosity, glanced back at the elves one last time before focusing on the road ahead.
The journey unfolded with a mix of anticipation and trepidation as the company traversed the rugged terrain leading to the Misty Mountains. The path grew steeper and rockier, winding through narrow gorges and alongside sheer cliffs. The air was filled with the scents of damp earth and pine, mingling with the distant echo of rushing water from unseen streams. As they moved deeper into the mountains, an ominous feeling hung over them, a sense that the ancient stones held many secrets and dangers.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged landscape, the group made camp. The dwarves set about gathering firewood, their laughter and chatter ringing out in the stillness of the mountains. Bilbo sat on a nearby rock, his heart warmed by their camaraderie, even as a whisper of unease lingered in his mind.
But as night fell, that unease turned to dread. A thick fog rolled in, cloaking the surroundings in an oppressive shroud. The dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf huddled around the flickering flames, sharing tales to keep their spirits high. Suddenly, a guttural growl echoed through the night, freezing them in their tracks.\
Before they could react, a band of goblins surged from the darkness, their twisted faces illuminated by the glint of their crude weapons. The dwarves fought bravely, but they were outnumbered. In the chaos, Bilbo was separated from the others, his heart pounding as he ducked behind a boulder. He could hear the shrieks of the dwarves and the sinister laughter of the goblins as they captured his companions one by one.
In the fray, Bilbo found himself stumbling into a dark tunnel. It was cold and damp, the smell of decay lingering in the air. As he ventured further into the darkness, he felt lost and frightened. Suddenly, he heard a soft voice calling from the shadows. “Precious, yes, precious,” it hissed, echoing off the stone walls. Bilbo’s heart raced as he turned to see a gaunt figure lurking in the dark—a creature with pale skin and large, wide eyes.
“Who’s there?” Bilbo stammered, clutching his small dagger, though he knew it would offer little protection against the eerie figure before him.
“Just a friend, yes,” Gollum replied, his voice low and riddled with madness. “We plays a game, yes, a riddle game, and if you wins, Gollum will show you the way. If you loses, my precious will eat you.”
Bilbo, realizing he had little choice, agreed, his mind racing as they exchanged riddles in the gloom. The game was tense, and with each riddle, Bilbo felt himself growing more desperate, but eventually, he managed to outsmart Gollum with a question he had not even meant to ask: “What have I got in my pocket?”
Gollum’s eyes widened in frustration, and with a furious shriek, he lunged toward Bilbo, who fled through the darkness, heart pounding. Just as he thought he would be caught, a flash of light erupted from the tunnel entrance. Gandalf appeared, a fierce glow surrounding him as he fought off the goblins, his staff crackling with power.
“Bilbo, this way!” Gandalf called, leading the hobbit back toward the exit. With the sounds of battle ringing in their ears, they raced through the twisting passages, finally emerging into the cool night air where the dwarves, battered but free, were regrouping.
Gandalf rallied the company, his presence reassuring as he recounted how he had followed the goblins’ trail. With the dawn beginning to break over the mountains, the group hurried to put distance between themselves and the dark tunnels, the goblins' cackling fading into the distance.
As they descended the mountains, Bilbo caught his breath, reflecting on the peril they had just faced. Though separated for a time and forced into danger, they had come through together, stronger and more united than before. The memory of Gollum’s hollow eyes haunted him, but alongside it was a growing resolve.
He was no longer just a simple hobbit; he was a part of this adventure, and he would face whatever came next with courage.
As the group approached the treeline, the towering trees ahead loomed like ancient guardians, their trunks thick and gnarled, adorned with a rich tapestry of moss and lichen. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, creating a dance of light and shadow on the forest floor. The air was filled with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures, wrapping the company in an embrace of nature's symphony.
The entrance to the forest was framed by an ethereal barrier that shimmered and glowed like liquid light. It radiated hues of soft gold and vibrant emerald, casting a gentle, inviting aura that seemed to pulse with life. The colors were vibrant and rich, reflecting the care bestowed upon this sacred place. It infused the air with warmth, signaling that the protective magic surrounding the forest was thriving.
Bilbo felt a sense of wonder wash over him as he stepped closer. The shimmering barrier was unlike anything he had ever seen. It sparkled in the sunlight, flickering like the surface of a tranquil lake disturbed by a gentle breeze. With each step he took, the warmth of the barrier seemed to envelop him, filling him with a sense of peace and safety that washed away the lingering shadows of his earlier fears.
The dwarves halted at the threshold, their expressions a mix of curiosity and caution. Thorin’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he were weighing the risks of entering this enchanting place. “This is where we part ways with danger, I hope,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
As they stood before the shimmering barrier, a soft breeze whispered through the leaves, carrying with it the scent of earth and blooming flowers. Bilbo took a deep breath, feeling invigorated by the clean, fresh air. He glanced back at his companions, seeing a flicker of determination reflected in their eyes. They were united in purpose, ready to embrace whatever lay beyond the barrier.
With a shared nod, they stepped through the ethereal barrier, the moment of crossing feeling like a leap into a new realm. As they entered the forest, the world around them transformed. The vibrant colors seemed to deepen, and the sounds of the forest grew richer, enveloping them in an embrace of serenity and life. The towering trees arched overhead, their leaves whispering secrets of ages past, while shafts of sunlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating the path ahead.
Bilbo felt a sense of belonging in this magical place, a stark contrast to the darkness they had just escaped. He knew the challenges were far from over, but as he walked alongside his companions, he felt the weight of their shared journey—a bond forged in adversity and strengthened by courage.
With each step, the forest beckoned them deeper, its beauty captivating and its mysteries waiting to be uncovered. Together, they moved forward, ready to face whatever adventures awaited them in the heart of Sleepers Forest.
After what felt like an eternity but was no more than an hour, they finally reached a vast clearing. Here, in the heart of the forest, a sight unlike any Bilbo had ever seen awaited them. Resting on the lush grass in the centre of the clearing was a figure of otherworldly beauty. This was the Sleeper that the twin elf lords had mentioned.
The Sleeper lay in peaceful repose, surrounded by small gifts—lembas bread wrapped in delicate leaves, finely woven clothes, and vibrant herbs planted in the soft soil. His long black hair was meticulously braided with silver threads that caught the sunlight, glimmering faintly like starlight. His robes, made with fine craftsmanship, flowed elegantly around him, clearly cared for with deep reverence.
Around him, the clearing was immaculate, as if those who visited had taken great care to maintain the space. The trees here seemed even grander, their branches reaching protectively over the figure as though offering their own vigil. The air was thick with the scent of earth and blooming flowers, and the gentle rustle of leaves formed a soft symphony that enveloped the clearing.
Bilbo stared in awe at the sight before him, feeling as though he had stepped into a realm of dreams. His heart raced, both from excitement and trepidation. Thorin, standing at his side, seemed equally entranced. However, his gaze fell upon a beautiful dagger placed next to the man—a glimmering blade with an intricate hilt that caught the light in a way that made it appear almost alive.
Unable to resist the allure, Thorin slowly reached out, attempting to steal the dagger.
Tried being the key word.
In an instant, he was no longer by the Sleeper's side. With a startled gasp, he found himself standing at the edge of the barrier, forced to walk back, embarrassment flushing his cheeks as Gandalf barked out a laugh. “A little too eager, are we?” the wizard teased, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Bilbo, shaking his head with a wry smile, pulled out the cloak that Elrond had given him to gift to the Sleeper. It was tailored to his size, designed to cover him and keep him warm. The dark green fabric was adorned with intricate embroidery of trees and plants, each stitch a testament to elvish artistry. The hood was large and inviting, perfectly shaped for comfort.
As Bilbo approached the Sleeper, he felt a rush of nervous energy. He carefully settled next to the man, the soft grass cushioning him. With a gentle hand, he draped the cloak over the Sleeper, his heart pounding with anticipation. In his excitement, Bilbo had forgotten about the small treasure nestled in his left pocket—the ring he had stolen from Gollum. The ring that allowed him to be invisible slipped out and rolled away, barely catching his attention in the moment.
As Bilbo covered the Sleeper with the cloak, he noticed a minor twitch beneath the fabric. Startled, he leaned closer, his breath hitching in his throat. Looking down, he met a pair of beautiful emerald eyes wide open, gazing up at him.
The Sleeper was glaring at the ring almost distantly, as if he weren’t really there at all. Bilbo’s heart raced at the sight, his instincts kicking in. He nervously picked up the ring from where it had rolled away and tucked it back into his pocket, hoping the action would somehow ease the tension in the air.
“Hi,” Bilbo managed, his voice a mix of awe and uncertainty. The Sleeper’s gaze flicked up to him, and his neck snapped almost in surprise. Confusion washed over his features as he took in the small hobbit before him. “I’m Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. I’m sorry I accidentally woke you up.”
For a long moment, the Sleeper simply stared, a myriad of emotions playing across his face. Bilbo, feeling a surge of empathy, reached out a tentative hand. To his dismay, the Sleeper curled into himself, almost as if he were trying to shield himself from harm. The instinct to withdraw struck Bilbo, but he quickly suppressed it, sensing the vulnerability emanating from the figure before him.
Instead of pulling away, Bilbo gently patted the Sleeper’s head, hoping to convey kindness and safety. The contact seemed to catch the Sleeper off guard, his body tensing for an instant before he relaxed into the warm, kind touch. A soft sigh escaped him, and his emerald eyes softened, the confusion giving way to something almost tender.
Bilbo couldn’t help but smile as the Sleeper leaned into his hand, as if seeking solace in the small gesture. The minutes passed in a quiet cocoon, the world outside the clearing fading away. The Sleeper, still dazed, nestled closer to Bilbo, his head resting against the hobbit's side. Bilbo felt warmth bloom in his chest, his earlier fears easing as they simply existed together, wrapped in a moment of unexpected comfort.
For nearly an hour, the Sleeper remained in this state, drifting in and out of consciousness, his body relaxing under Bilbo’s gentle touch. The gentle rhythm of Bilbo’s breathing seemed to anchor him, grounding him in a reality that had eluded him for so long. He appeared almost childlike; the worries of the world forgotten as he found solace in this new presence.
Eventually, the Sleeper began to stir, the haze of his slumber slowly lifting. His emerald eyes blinked rapidly, as if trying to adjust to the brightness of the clearing and the warmth of the sun filtering through the leaves. As clarity returned, a look of bewilderment crossed his features. He took in his surroundings, the vibrant gifts scattered around him, the ethereal beauty of Sleepers Forest, and the small hobbit who had offered him comfort.
“Hi,” the Sleeper said, smiling at the small man, hobbit, his mind supplied, in front of him. “How long was I out?”
Bilbo looked at him, a mix of concern and curiosity in his expression. “Um, I’m not quite sure. A little while, I think?”
The Sleeper raised an eyebrow, his confusion deepening. “A little while?” he repeated. Then, with a wave of his hand, he cast a quick Tempus, summoning up magic. The air shimmered around them, and a date materialized before their eyes, floating in ethereal light.
Both of them stared in shock at the date that appeared, blinking as if they were trying to comprehend what it meant. The Sleeper’s emerald eyes widened, the shock evident on his face. “Merlin’s balls,” he murmured, “I have been asleep for longer than I realized.”
Bilbo felt a chill run down his spine. “How long?” he asked, almost afraid to know the answer.
“Too long… Oh, Circle!” The Sleeper’s expression shifted, and he looked at Bilbo with sudden urgency. “I never introduced myself. I’m Hadrian Potter-Peverell, though everyone calls me Harry—or, well, now apparently Sleeper, or so that’s what Prongs tells me.”
“Harry,” Bilbo repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with a sense of familiarity, as if he had known him all along. “It’s nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.”
Harry blinked at the hobbit, a mix of confusion and curiosity dancing in his vibrant eyes. “Baggins? Shire? I’m afraid my knowledge of the world has become a bit… fuzzy.”
Bilbo offered a reassuring smile. “Not to worry. It’s a quiet little place, but we’ve had our share of adventures. And from the looks of it, you’ve had quite the tale yourself.”
Harry chuckled softly, the sound filled with a mixture of warmth and sadness. “You could say that. My life has been anything but ordinary. But I never expected to find myself here, waking in a magical forest with a hobbit at my side.”
Bilbo leaned in closer, intrigued by Harry's story. “What happened to you? How did you end up sleeping here?”
“Um… I can’t quite remember.” Harry stared into space, his brow furrowing as he struggled to piece together fragmented memories. A groan escaped his lips as he gripped his head, trying to clear the fog that clouded his mind. The memories were elusive, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
As he took a moment to collect himself, his gaze drifted to his ears. He could feel the subtle points, longer than an average elf’s. Harry’s heart raced as he brushed his fingers through his hair, realizing it cascaded well past his shoulders, a rich waterfall of black that glimmered in the dappled sunlight. He could have sworn it had only been halfway down his back the last time he checked.
In theory, he knew his hair would have grown significantly during his prolonged slumber, but it still shocked him to see how well the elves had taken care of him. They had tended to him in ways he had never anticipated, nurturing him while he lay in the depths of his sleep.
Harry sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know I’m not great with self-care, but this is a bit excessive, don’t you think?” He laughed, a hint of self-deprecation coloring his tone.
Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle along with him, though a look of concern flickered in his eyes. “It seems they wanted you to be well cared for, Harry. You must have been important to them.”
“Or maybe I was just a curiosity,” Harry replied, a faint smile gracing his lips. “Either way, it’s strange waking up like this, feeling… different.”
Thorin stormed over, his expression a tempest of confusion and anger. He glared at Harry and Bilbo, who were lost in their conversation, oblivious to the brewing storm at the edge of the clearing. “THE HELL IS GOING ON?!? WHOSE THE BLOODY TREE HUGGER?!?” His voice echoed through the forest, causing a flock of birds to take flight from the nearby trees.
Bilbo jumped, startled, while Harry turned his gaze toward the dwarf, raising an eyebrow in bemusement. “Tree hugger? Is that what you think of me?” Harry replied, his voice laced with humour despite the tension in the air.
Thorin’s eyes narrowed, clearly not in the mood for jokes. “You’re in our way, whatever you are! We were led here by elves, and now we find you sleeping in a forest surrounded by gifts and… and what’s that cloak doing on you?” His tone was accusatory, as if he believed Harry had somehow tricked them.
Bilbo took a step forward, attempting to diffuse the situation. “Thorin, this is Harry. He’s not a threat. He was just…”
“Not a threat?!” Thorin interrupted, his face turning a shade darker. “You wake him from his slumber, and now he’s suddenly part of our company? We don’t know anything about him! For all we know, he could be an orc in disguise!”
Harry’s amusement faded, replaced by a mix of confusion and irritation. “I assure you, I’m no orc. I don’t even remember how I got here. All I know is that I woke up and found this hobbit next to me.” He gestured toward Bilbo, who stood wide-eyed between them.
Thorin took a deep breath, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “Waking up in an enchanted forest doesn’t make you innocent. You could be a spy for the elves, or worse.”
A sharp intake of breath came from Bilbo, who couldn’t help but interject. “Thorin, can we not judge him based on assumptions? He doesn’t even remember who he is or how long he’s been asleep. He’s just as lost as we are!”
The dwarf’s expression softened, albeit slightly, but he remained sceptical. “And what if he leads us into a trap? We have enough dangers lurking in these woods without adding another unknown element.”
Harry stepped forward, determination blazing in his emerald eyes. “Oh, and who do you think makes this forest so enchanted? I formally greet you. I am Hadrian Potter-Peverell, though I prefer to be called Harry. I am also the reason you got thrown out of the forest for attempting to steal one of my first and favourite gifts.”
Thorin’s mouth dropped open in disbelief, his anger momentarily forgotten as he processed Harry’s words. “You? You’re the Sleeper? And we were thrown out of this forest because of you?” His incredulity was palpable, disbelief mixing with a grudging respect.
Harry crossed his arms, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, that’s right. It seems you have a knack for causing trouble, dwarf. The forest has its ways of protecting itself, and I suppose it’s rather protective of me.”
Bilbo, still trying to grasp the gravity of the situation, chimed in, “Wait, so you’ve been asleep here for a long time, and you’ve enchanted this place? How does that even work?” His curiosity overrode his apprehension.
“Magic. Are you alright, Bilbo?” Harry's attention shifted immediately to the hobbit; concern etched across his face. He could sense Bilbo's unease and wanted to offer reassurance, though he wasn’t sure how.
Some of the other dwarves approached their expressions a mixture of shock and curiosity. Gandalf, too, stepped closer, his gaze keen and assessing as he took in the scene before him. The sight of the Sleeper, this figure who had stirred after so long, captivated them all. They stood in a semicircle, eyes wide, not quite knowing how to process the revelation.
Harry, suddenly feeling vulnerable under the weight of their scrutiny, nervously pulled up the hood of his cloak, wanting to hide his face. “Um, perhaps this is a bit too much all at once,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the fabric.
Bilbo stepped closer, his own surprise giving way to empathy. “Harry, it’s alright. They’re just… trying to understand.” He glanced at the dwarves and Gandalf, who remained silent, their eyes darting between Harry and each other, trying to piece together the bizarre situation. “What you did for us, waking up and… well, being you, is something remarkable.”
The dwarves exchanged glances, their scepticism softening as they listened to Bilbo's encouragement. Thorin crossed his arms, the lines on his forehead deepening as he struggled to reconcile the idea of magic with their often pragmatist outlook. “We’ve faced our fair share of strange occurrences, but this…” he began, gesturing toward Harry, “this is different.”
Harry chuckled softly, the sound lightening the mood as he settled onto the grass in the clearing. “I promise I’m not going to bite,” he said with a playful grin, attempting to ease the tension. “At least, not unless provoked.”
The dwarves, still casting curious glances his way, began to relax as the evening wore on. Bilbo moved closer, sitting beside Harry and nudging him gently. “You see, Thorin? He’s not so scary after all.”
Thorin’s brows knitted together as he watched Harry, his gaze sharp and assessing. “Scary or not, we must be cautious. There’s no telling what kind of magic he wields.” Despite his words, there was an underlying curiosity in his eyes.
The group settled into a comfortable circle around a crackling fire, the warmth of the flames illuminating their faces against the encroaching twilight. As they shared stories of their journeys and adventures, Harry listened intently, his emerald eyes sparkling with interest. He found their tales of bravery and camaraderie compelling, and he felt a growing bond with the small band of travellers.
As night deepened, Thorin occasionally shot Harry pointed glares, making it clear that he was still on guard. Each time Harry caught the dwarf’s eye, he returned a sheepish smile, which only seemed to aggravate Thorin further. The tension between them simmered, but it was tempered by the camaraderie blooming among the others.
Eventually, Bilbo reached into his pack and pulled out some lembas bread, breaking it into pieces and sharing it with the group. “Here, everyone,” he offered. “This should help keep our spirits up. Even you, Harry.”
Harry accepted the offering with gratitude, the taste of the elvish bread bringing a wave of nostalgia. “Thank you, Bilbo. This is delightful.” He savoured each bite, appreciating the warmth and fellowship surrounding him.
As the evening continued, the stories flowed freely. They spoke of battles fought, treasures found, and the bonds formed in the face of adversity. Harry shared snippets of his own life, choosing his words carefully to weave his past with their tales, even as he kept some secrets tucked away.
Thorin, still casting glances in Harry’s direction, finally broke his silence. “So, Sleeper, tell us more about this forest. What other secrets does it hold?”
“It is old and was created long ago...”
Thorin cuts him off. “By whom?”
Harry gives him a look and left a long pause to annoy him before finally saying.
“By me.”
As the company settled down, the tension in the clearing began to ease, though Thorin still shot him wary glares from time to time. Bilbo, ever the peacemaker, took it upon himself to help bridge the gap between the dwarves and this enigmatic figure who had been slumbering for what seemed like an eternity.
“Harry,” Bilbo said, shifting his position to face him more directly, “if you created this forest, does that mean you can control it? Can you help us navigate through?”
Harry nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “In a way, yes. My magic… it reacts instinctively to the needs of those within the forest. It creates the safe haven that it is, but I’ve been asleep for so long, I can’t say I know every detail of how it works anymore.”
The dwarves murmured among themselves, and a flicker of hope sparked in Thorin’s eyes. “If what you say is true, then perhaps you could guide us through it. We’ll need all the help we can get to avoid any more encounters with goblins or other dangers lurking in these woods.”
Harry smiled softly, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. “I’ll do my best to help you. If the forest is as protective as I remember, we should be safe as long as we respect its boundaries.”
As the night wore on, they shared stories around the fire, with Harry recounting tales of his life before his long slumber. The dwarves listened with a mix of disbelief and fascination, drawn into his world of magic and adventure. In turn, Bilbo shared his own experiences, weaving a tapestry of camaraderie and understanding between them.
By the end of the evening, the tension that had hung heavily in the air began to lift. Harry’s laughter rang out like music, filling the clearing with warmth and joy. The dwarves found themselves softening to this unusual companion, realizing that perhaps, just perhaps, their destinies were intertwined in ways they had yet to understand.