Chapter 15
Harry stared at the elven king as he sat regally on his throne, his gaze piercing, observing them with the sort of detachment that only centuries of ruling could cultivate. The king’s crown, woven intricately from twigs and leaves, seemed almost to blend with the nature around them, a testament to the bond between his people and the forest. This was a world foreign and unyielding, with beauty laced with hostility, and every passing second in this throne room only heightened Harry's awareness of the precariousness of their situation.
As they were forced to walk past the throne, flanked on all sides by elven guards with narrowed eyes, Harry felt a hand on his shoulder, rough and unyielding. One of the guards, seemingly impatient with his pace, gave him a hard shove. The unexpected force sent Harry stumbling forward, and his hood was violently pushed back, exposing his face to the elven court.
For a breathless moment, the room fell silent. The elven king’s gaze, which had previously skimmed over them with indifferent contempt, zeroed in on Harry with a newfound intensity. Harry felt as if he were being scrutinized down to his very bones. The elven lord’s icy blue eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable, though there was an unmistakable flicker of something, recognition, perhaps, or shock, as if he’d seen something unexpected.
Harry’s heart hammered against his chest, the weight of that gaze making him acutely aware of just how vulnerable he felt. He wanted to reach up, to pull the hood back over his head, to shield himself from the penetrating stare, but he resisted, knowing it would only reveal his discomfort.
The cry of "The Sleeper!" echoed throughout the throne room, every elf present turning toward Harry with expressions of awe, fear, or wonder. Harry’s breath hitched, and he felt rooted to the spot, his mind racing as more guards stepped forward, each one bowing low before him, as though he were some myths come to life. He wanted nothing more than to pull his hood back up and blend into the shadows, to disappear from the throne room entirely.
Thranduil, the elven king himself, narrowed his eyes, his attention laser-focused on Harry. For a moment, the entire room was silent, each figure waiting to see what the king would do. Then, slowly, Thranduil rose from his throne, his posture regal and imposing, every inch of him exuding command.
"Is it true?" Thranduil’s voice cut through the room, his tone both cautious and intrigued. “Are you… the Sleeper?”
Harry swallowed hard, inching closer to Thorin, who gave him a look of quiet support, though his confusion was evident. Thorin seemed as bewildered as Harry, his gaze darting from the elven king to the guards still bowing low.
The room was thick with expectation, the silence almost suffocating. Harry could feel every eye on him, and his own uncertainty only made it worse. Taking a shaky breath, he tried to muster the words, but they seemed to die in his throat. He didn’t understand why these elves, would regard him with such reverence, or what The Sleeper even meant to them.
They never stayed past the visits of getting healed so why would they care for him?
"Well?" Thranduil’s voice was low but carried an edge of impatience. His gaze sharpened as he looked from Harry to the dwarves, a hint of suspicion creeping into his expression. "Speak, boy. How is it you are awake?"
Thorin cleared his throat, finally stepping forward. “He’s no ordinary child,” Thorin said, though his own voice held a hint of uncertainty. “But… we don’t know what ‘The Sleeper’ means. He’s simply Harry to us and he is a part of our group.”
Thranduil’s eyes flicked back to Harry, studying him as though seeing him for the first time. "Harry,” he repeated slowly, tasting the unfamiliar name.
The elven guard bows deeply to Harry. He stares in wonder at Harry and then confused at the dwarves.
“They trespassed lock them up.” Thranduil states and the elves that knew of the Sleeper look scandalised but those that don’t start to drag them off. When they reach the dungeons they are locked in their separate cells.
It wasn’t long before Harry started to panic soon Harry’s breaths were shallow and rapid, his chest tightening with every second he remained in the dim confines of the elven cell. The cold stone walls around him seemed to close in, trapping him in a space that was far too familiar, far too much like that stifling cupboard from his childhood. His mind was pulled back to those nights when he’d sit in darkness, listening to the heavy footsteps above, dreading the moment his uncle would fling the door open with that cruel glint in his eye.
Thorin’s voice was the first to break through the fog of panic. “Harry!” he called, his voice tinged with worry. “Harry, lad, listen to me. We’re here. You’re not alone.”
The words should’ve been enough to soothe him, but in his current state, it was as if he could barely hear them. His vision blurred, and he pulled his knees to his chest, pressing his back against the unforgiving wall as if he could make himself vanish into the stone. He could still feel the phantom grip of his uncle’s hands, the cruel whispers that left him feeling small, vulnerable, and utterly powerless.
“Harry!” Thorin tried again, a touch of desperation in his tone.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded nearby. Legolas appeared, his usually impassive expression softening as he saw Harry’s distress. The guards had been talking about ‘The Sleeper’ ever since they had locked him up, but this was no figure of ancient tales—this was a boy, barely more than a child, frightened and on the verge of breaking. Without hesitation, Legolas unlocked the door and stepped inside the cell, crouching beside Harry.
“Stay with me, Harry,” Legolas murmured, his voice gentle but steady. He reached out, a hand hovering as if unsure whether he should make contact. “Listen to Thorin, try to focus on his voice.”
Harry’s head jerked up, his eyes wide with terror, and he flinched away from Legolas instinctively, his back pressing harder against the wall. It was as if every instinct told him to keep his distance, to protect himself from harm. Legolas saw the reaction and withdrew slightly, keeping his movements slow, giving Harry space.
Thorin’s voice drifted through the bars, gruff but insistent. “Listen to me, Harry. You’re safe. There’s no cupboard, no…” He broke off, clearly struggling with the words. “We’ll get out of here. I swear it. Just look at Legolas. He’s… ” Thorin hesitated, visibly wrestling with his own frustration. “He’s… well, he’s trying to help you.”
“Trying to help?” Harry’s head shifted slightly, his breathing still shallow but slowing as he focused on Thorin’s voice.
Legolas shot Thorin a sharp look but refrained from comment. Instead, he continued speaking softly, his voice calm and soothing. “It’s okay, Harry. I’m here with you. You’re not trapped. You’re just in a room, and we’re right here. Try to feel the ground under you, the stone walls—let that remind you that you’re safe.”
Thorin huffed. “Don’t make it sound like the elf is doing you any favours, lad. Just listen to him for now.”
Harry’s eyes flickered between them, the familiarity of their voices pulling him further away from the memories that haunted him. With a shuddering breath, he managed to whisper, “It’s… it’s like the cupboard.”
The words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on everyone present. Legolas’ brow furrowed slightly, though he kept his expression calm. “What was it about the cupboard, Harry?” he asked, keeping his tone as gentle as possible.
Harry’s gaze dropped, his hands clenching into fists. “He… he’d lock me in there… after…” His voice wavered, and he fell silent, unable to continue.
A look of fury crossed Thorin’s face, though he quickly masked it for Harry’s sake. “That’s enough, Harry. Just listen to our voices. This isn’t that place, and no one will hurt you here.”
Legolas nodded in agreement. “I promise you, you’re safe now. No one will lock you away again.”
Harry swallowed hard, the tension beginning to ease from his shoulders as he took in their words. The ache in his chest began to subside, his breathing gradually slowing down to a steadier rhythm. Legolas, with cautious movements, settled beside him on the cold floor, his presence calm and solid.
Thorin, seeing Harry’s reaction, finally acknowledged Legolas with a grudging nod. “You’re doing well… elf. But don’t think for a moment I trust you with him.”
Legolas raised an eyebrow, though he kept his attention on Harry. “I’d expect nothing less, Thorin Oakenshield,” he replied evenly. He kept his hand close, offering it if Harry needed, but didn’t push. “This forest is no place for someone like you to endure such memories, Harry. But we’ll help you get through it.”
Harry glanced up, seeing the concerned expressions on both their faces, and he managed a small nod, feeling just a bit of the weightlifting from his heart.
Harry’s gaze drifted, his earlier sense of connection slipping away as he seemed to retreat somewhere distant. “Miss Bilbo,” he murmured softly, eyes glazing over as he sank into himself.
Legolas glanced at Thorin, his confusion evident. "What does he mean?" he asked, reaching out to gently touch Harry’s shoulder. But when Harry’s eyes flicked to Legolas, they seemed hollow, as if he were peering through him rather than at him. Then, unexpectedly, Harry lifted a hand and lightly patted Legolas on the head, a faint, dreamy smile on his lips, as if he were seeing someone else entirely.
Thorin's face tightened, and he muttered, “You don’t know what you’re getting into, elf.” But the usual sting in his tone was dulled, replaced by reluctant concern. “He’s… he’s gone somewhere. And only Bilbo usually knows how to bring him back.” Thorin’s frustration was apparent, but he also knew Legolas was trying to help.
Legolas stayed by Harry’s side, unsure but unwilling to abandon him. “Tell me what I should do,” he asked, his voice softer.
Thorin took a deep breath, struggling with the idea of guiding an elf. “Start by staying calm. Don’t crowd him. Try talking to him gently, about things that would feel safe to him.”
Legolas gave a small nod, crouching beside Harry and speaking softly, “Harry, you’re not alone here. We’re right beside you, alright? You’re safe, I promise.”
In the dim light, Harry’s faraway look softened just a little. The walls of the cell felt a bit less suffocating, and the cold stone was no longer a reminder of past fears. Though not quite free of his mind’s labyrinth, Harry felt less alone, with Thorin’s steady guidance and Legolas’s quiet reassurance anchoring him to the present.
Harry’s gaze softened for a moment, a faint glimmer of awareness flickering as he heard Legolas’s quiet words and Thorin’s reassuring presence nearby. But then, the exhaustion of his spiralling emotions took its toll. With a barely audible sigh, Harry’s shoulders slumped, his posture curling inward, and he slowly collapsed in on himself, sinking to the cold stone floor. His eyes drifted shut as he curled into a small, vulnerable ball, breathing heavily as sleep overtook him.
Thorin moved closer to the bars, fists clenching as he watched. “Poor lad,” he muttered, frustration giving way to a deep, protective sorrow. For all Harry had endured, the battles he waged within were invisible to those around him. Thorin cast a brief glance at Legolas, a touch of gratitude flickering in his eyes, despite their longstanding tension.
After a couple of minutes, a magnificent stag emerged from Harry's chest, its form ethereal and shimmering. Its coat sparkled in hues of silvery white and soft blue, intertwining like a gentle mist caught in a beam of moonlight. The stag stood for a moment, its deep, expressive eyes surveying the dim dungeon, taking in the worried faces of the dwarves and Legolas. The calm is interrupted at the high pitch shriek of one of the dwarves at the sight of the Stag.
With a graceful motion, it approached the cell bars, nuzzling each dwarf in turn, offering comfort and warmth. Dwalin who was staring at it in horror slowly reached out tentatively, his rough hands brushing against the stag's soft fur, a surprised smile breaking through his usual stoicism. “Aye, now that’s something,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe.
Legolas, too, knelt closer, captivated by the creature’s serene presence. “He’s beautiful,” he whispered, feeling an inexplicable connection to the magnificent beast. The stag’s ethereal glow seemed to wrap around him, easing the tension in his shoulders.
As the stag continued its gentle nuzzling, Thorin felt a flicker of something profound in his heart, a sense of hope. Perhaps this was a sign, a reminder that even in their darkest moments, light could find a way through. He turned to Legolas, his voice steady but low. “We need to protect him. Whatever this means, we have to ensure he knows he’s not alone.”
Legolas nodded, understanding the weight of Thorin’s words. “Agreed. We will stand together for him.”
The stag, sensing their resolve, gave one last affectionate nuzzle to Harry before stepping back, its shimmering form dissolving like mist into the air, leaving behind an almost tangible sense of peace.
The stag nuzzled against the cell bars, its gaze gentle and wise as it regarded each of them, particularly Thorin, whose protective instincts were in overdrive. With each nudge, it seemed to whisper reassurance, as if to say that hope still flickered even in the direst of circumstances.
Then, almost as if sensing another presence in the palace, the stag bounded away, its movements fluid and graceful. It navigated the halls, eventually finding Bilbo, who was hidden from view by the dark influence of the One Ring. The stag approached him with a knowing grace, nudging gently at the space beside him. Bilbo had never encountered such a creature before, and his heart raced as he reached out to touch its shimmering coat. The stag, in turn, radiated a healing warmth that washed over Bilbo, dispelling the lingering shadows of doubt and despair that clung to him.
In that moment, the stag served as a balm for Bilbo’s worried heart, soothing his fears for Harry’s safety and his own unspoken feelings for Thorin. The creature stood steadfast by his side, a silent guardian in a world that felt so chaotic. After offering this comfort, the stag lingered for just a moment longer, as if encouraging Bilbo to hold onto hope, before it turned and dashed back into the depths of the palace, leaving behind a trail of shimmering light.
Nimheil, the patronus stag, bounded gracefully through the grand halls of the palace, its ethereal light illuminating the dark corners. The creature, once a manifestation of Harry's deepest emotions, now carried the name bestowed upon it by the elven twins. Its shimmering coat glowed with an otherworldly radiance, a beacon of hope amid the shadows that plagued the hearts of those within Mirkwood.
As Nimheil ventured deeper into the palace, he came across a man sitting alone in a dimly lit chamber. This man was enveloped in shadows, each one representing the weight of sadness and despair that clung to him like a shroud. The stag paused, sensing the man’s anguish, and approached with gentle steps.
The moment Nimheil drew near, the shadows began to recede, drawn back by the stag's luminescence. The man looked up, his eyes widening in astonishment at the sight of the majestic creature. Nimheil nuzzled against him, offering warmth and comfort, a silent promise that he was not alone in his struggles.
Thranduil, who had been passing by the doorway, froze in shock at the sight before him. The glowing stag seemed to radiate a joy that filled the air with an uplifting energy. It was a sight that stirred something deep within the Elven king, a reminder of the light that still existed, even in the face of overwhelming darkness.
The shadows around the man began to dissipate entirely as Nimheil remained by his side, filling the room with a sense of peace and serenity. Thranduil couldn't help but step closer, drawn in by the stag's presence and the inexplicable joy it brought. For a fleeting moment, he felt the weight of his own burdens lift, if only slightly, and he realized that this magnificent creature was a force of healing, capable of mending broken spirits.
As Nimheil continued to comfort the man, Thranduil watched, transfixed. In that moment, Thranduil felt a flicker of hope ignite within him, a hope that perhaps, they could overcome the shadows that threatened to engulf them all.