Chapter 17
As the barrels tumbled and spun down the roaring river, Harry clung tightly to the rim of his barrel, his knuckles white as he braced against the chaos. The rapid pace of the water whipped through his long, elven ears, sending strands of dark hair flying wildly. His tall, thin figure felt the strain of every sharp turn, every crash against the rocks, yet he held on, a glimmer of steely determination in his striking green eyes. He was exhausted, yes, and his body still ached from his days locked up in the dark dungeon of Thranduil’s palace, but he wasn’t alone. That thought alone was enough to keep him going.
Across the current, he could see Kili and Fili laughing as their barrels spun and collided. Despite their dire circumstances, the dwarves couldn’t resist a bit of humour, throwing light-hearted jabs at one another over their misfortunes. He managed a small smile, feeling an odd sense of warmth growing in his chest as he watched them. This was his family now.
He glanced behind, catching sight of Bilbo clinging to his barrel, slightly behind the others. He felt a familiar tug at his heart, the strange yet comforting attachment he held for the hobbit who had, in many ways, saved him from the darkness that clung to his memories. Bilbo had been the first to treat him with kindness, without expectation or hidden motives. It had been centuries since Harry had experienced such warmth and care from anyone, and he latched onto it, needing Bilbo as much as a child needs their mother. It made him feel safe… whole, even.
As they continued down the river, the chase turned chaotic. Orcs burst from the shadows along the banks, arrows whizzing past and splashing into the water around them.
“Orcs!” Kili’s voice rang out, loud and clear.
Harry gripped the edge of his barrel tighter, his heart racing. His mind drifted, detaching momentarily as the flashbacks swelled. He heard the sounds of distant screams from years gone by, felt the bruising grip of his uncle’s hand on his arm, the snap of a belt in the quiet of night. The memories flooded in, pulling him from the present until…
“Harry!” Bilbo’s voice snapped him back, grounding him. Harry blinked, the world around him coming back into focus. Bilbo was staring at him with a worried expression. “Hold on tight, lad. You’re going to be alright.”
Harry gave a small nod, his throat tight. The familiar sight of Bilbo’s caring eyes brought him back, calming his scattered thoughts. With a deep breath, he focused on the present, on the rushing river and the company fighting at his side.
“Don’t let the orcs close in!” Thorin’s voice echoed over the water. “Fili, Kili, cover the rear!”
As they floated into the roughest part of the rapids, Harry found himself moving instinctively, drawing on magic to help his friends. With a flick of his wrist, he focused on the gate’s iron lever that controlled the dam further down the river. Concentrating, he forced the metal to bend, slowly pulling it open. The gate released with a loud groan, allowing them to speed through just as more orcs tried to close in. Thorin, fighting fiercely, slashed at the orcs with fury, his gaze flickering toward Harry with respect.
“Well done, lad!” Thorin shouted, his voice full of pride and approval. It was something Harry wasn’t used to hearing, but in that moment, he felt his spirits lift.
Legolas suddenly appeared, jumping from barrel to barrel with a grace and agility that left Harry in awe. He fired arrows with precise aim, each one striking true as he took down several orcs closing in from the banks. Despite his usual stoic demeanour, there was a fleeting look of surprise on his face as he glanced at Harry, noting the raw magic he’d used to control the gate.
“Look ahead!” Kili’s voice snapped him from his thoughts, bringing him back to the present.
Up ahead, the river began to slow, and Harry could make out the faint silhouette of a dock surrounded by old, worn-down structures. He squinted, catching sight of someone moving about the docks, a fisherman, broad-shouldered and weathered by years on the water.
“Thorin,” Harry said quietly, “there’s someone there. A man.”
Thorin’s eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his barrel. “I see him,” he said cautiously. “Be ready. We don’t know if he’s friend or foe.”
As they approached the docks, the man noticed them, pausing to study the group of barrels bobbing in the water. He walked to the edge, his gaze intense and wary. “What’s this?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Finally, one by one, the dwarves emerged from their barrels, stretching and groaning as they scrambled onto the docks. Thorin stood tall, brushing water off his soaked clothes with a regal air.
The fisherman, eyeing them suspiciously, took a step forward. “You lot don’t look like the usual cargo. You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Not exactly,” Thorin replied, his tone careful but measured. “We seek safe passage to Lake-town.”
The man raised an eyebrow, his face a mixture of curiosity and guardedness. “Lake-town, you say?” he replied. “That’s a risky journey for strangers.”
Harry, now out of his barrel and cradling the sleepy bunny he had accidentally created, watched the exchange with a quiet intensity. His tall, lean form gave him an ethereal quality; he looked almost too delicate among the rough-and-tumble dwarves, but his presence was quietly commanding.
The fisherman noticed him, eyes widening slightly as he took in Harry’s features, especially the long elvish ears that poked out from his tangled hair. “And what are you, then?” he asked, his tone softening slightly in wonder. “Not quite dwarf, are you?”
Harry looked down, feeling a bit self-conscious, but he felt a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder from Fili, who smiled at him encouragingly. He took a steadying breath and replied, “No, not a dwarf. I’m… Well, it’s a long story.”
“Bard,” the man introduced himself, curiosity evident in his expression. “I’m Bard. And I know better than to pry when someone looks like they’ve seen more than I’ll ever know.” He gave Harry a slight nod of respect.
Thorin stepped forward, his gaze firm. “Bard, we need your help. There are those who would… rather we didn’t reach Lake-town,” he said carefully, thinking of the elves and the orcs alike. “Can you get us across without raising suspicion?”
Bard considered them, studying Thorin’s determined eyes and the strange assortment of weary travellers before him. After a moment, he sighed, nodding. “I’ll take you,” he said. “But you’ll need to keep a low profile. Trouble’s been brewing in Lake-town for some time.”
As they moved to follow Bard, Harry kept close to Bilbo, instinctively seeking his presence. Every time Bilbo looked at him, Harry felt something in his chest loosen, the comfort of being with someone who made him feel safe. It was the kind of comfort he hadn’t known as a child, enduring the cruelty of his aunt and uncle. Bilbo had given him something precious, a sense of belonging, of being valued without conditions. The thought warmed him, and he gave Bilbo a soft, grateful smile.
The group moved quietly through the docks as Bard led them onto his boat. They packed themselves into the cramped space, gripping the edges as Bard guided them onto the lake’s murky waters.
The ride across was silent, save for the gentle slap of waves against the boat’s hull. Harry kept his gaze on the dark waters, lost in thought. His mind drifted to his unexpected bond with Bilbo, and he felt a surge of protectiveness, a fierce need to keep Bilbo safe from any harm that might come. This journey was dangerous, and though Harry was strong, his long elvish ears and delicate frame spoke to a life of magic and miracles, not of strength and war.
As they neared Lake-town, Bard turned to them, his voice low. “Once we land, we’ll need to move fast. Keep your heads down, stay close.”
Harry nodded, his grip tightening on the bunny. He whispered softly to it, “You’re going to be safe now, just like all of us.” He glanced over at Legolas, who had moved to his side, a small smile on his lips as he observed Harry’s care for the creature. Legolas had quickly come to appreciate Harry’s gentleness and uncanny wisdom, despite his youth in appearance.
A s they approached Lake-town, its dark, looming silhouette seemed to rise from the mist, the wooden structures perched on stilts casting long shadows across the water. The scent of smoke mingled with the fish-laden air, thick and heavy with the humidity from the lake. Harry’s eyes darted over the town, taking in the maze of wooden walkways and sagging rooftops, each building appearing to cling precariously to its neighbours. There was something hauntingly beautiful about Lake-town, its mystery drawn from the shadows and mist that clung to it.
Bard led them off the boat with careful urgency, gesturing for them to stay close and move quickly. He seemed to know every alley and narrow pathway, weaving them through the quiet, sleepy town. Harry clutched his bunny closer, feeling its warmth against his chest. Bilbo stayed close to him, keeping a watchful eye on his young, adoptive son, as the dwarves huddled nearby, some shivering from the chilly lake breeze.
“Stay close,” Bard whispered over his shoulder. “We can’t afford to draw attention.”
They moved through dimly lit streets, their footsteps barely making a sound against the damp wooden planks. Bard’s house was modest and tucked away near the town’s edge, close enough to the water to be concealed by shadows, yet far enough from prying eyes. As they reached the door, Bard glanced back at them with a cautious nod, then pushed the door open, ushering them inside.
The interior was simple yet cozy, with walls lined with worn wooden furniture and a warm hearth in the corner. The low glow from the fire cast soft, flickering light across the room, illuminating the tired faces of the dwarves and the cautious, lingering worry in Bard’s eyes. He closed the door behind them, bolting it securely before he turned to address the group.
“You can stay here for now,” Bard said, his voice low and firm. “But make no mistake, this town has ears everywhere. People will be suspicious if they see so many strangers coming and going, so it’s best to stay out of sight.”
Thorin gave a slight nod, his eyes filled with quiet gratitude. “We appreciate your hospitality, Bard,” he said, his voice echoing the exhaustion they all felt.
Harry let out a quiet sigh of relief, settling himself near the fire. Bilbo quickly took a seat next to him, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Harry’s elven ears twitched slightly, still somewhat self-conscious about their length and unmistakably ethereal appearance. He’d spent centuries hiding, avoiding notice, and the idea of drawing attention unnerved him. But being here with the dwarves and Bilbo brought him a strange sense of calm and a fierce determination to protect them.
After a few moments, the silence was broken by Dwalin’s curious, gruff voice. “So, Bard… why take in strangers like us? What’s the catch?”
Bard crossed his arms, looking thoughtful. “Let’s just say I don’t care for the master of this town, nor his greed,” he replied. “You seem to have a purpose, and that’s more than most folk around here can say. Besides,” he added, casting a glance at Harry, “there’s something… different about you all.”
Harry felt his cheeks flush faintly as Bard’s gaze landed on him. He fumbled slightly with the bunny in his arms, unsure of what to say.
“I’m not…” he started, his voice barely a murmur. “I just… don’t belong anywhere, really. Bilbo, he’s my family now. I want to protect him and all of you.” His voice trailed off, but the quiet determination was clear.
Bilbo gave Harry a warm smile, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “And we’ll protect you, Harry. You’re one of us now.”
Thorin’s gaze softened as he looked at Harry, the hardness in his eyes replaced by something almost like pride. “Indeed,” he said quietly. “Family protects each other. That’s what makes us strong.”
They all fell into a comfortable silence, each finding their place in the modest but welcoming space Bard had provided. For once, Harry felt a sense of belonging, he wasn’t a burden, nor was he simply tolerated. Here, he was needed. It was a quiet, reassuring feeling that warmed him far more than the fire ever could.
After a time, Bard cleared his throat. “You’ll be safe here for the night,” he said, stoking the fire. “But if you plan to continue, you’ll need to be careful. Orcs have been sighted in the area.”
Harry’s hand instinctively tightened around the bunny. He knew orcs posed a danger, and he didn’t want his newfound family to suffer any more than they already had.
“We’ll manage,” Thorin assured Bard, his voice filled with an unshakeable resolve. “We’ve come this far, and we’ll make it further. Orcs or no orcs.”
The dwarves murmured in agreement, each one echoing Thorin’s quiet determination. Harry took a deep breath, feeling the strength of their unity buoying him up. Together, they were unstoppable, a family bonded not by blood but by loyalty and shared struggle.
As they settled into the warmth of Bard's home, a quiet knock echoed from the back of the room. The door creaked open, and a woman and two young children stepped cautiously inside, eyes wide as they took in the gathering of dwarves, the tall, thin figure of Harry, and Bilbo, who was fussing over a rather dusty-looking Kili.
The woman, with dark hair pulled back and a strong, determined expression, held her children close as she looked at Bard. Her eyes softened as she took in the scene, and she managed a small smile, though there was clear worry in her gaze. Bard motioned for her to come forward, introducing her with a gentle nod.
“This is my wife, Sigrid,” Bard said quietly, as he put a protective arm around her shoulders. "And my children, Bain and Tilda.”
Sigrid glanced around the room, meeting each gaze briefly before her eyes lingered on Harry. She seemed taken aback for a moment, likely noticing his unusual height and pointed ears. Despite his worn, slightly ethereal appearance, she could see the kindness in his eyes.
Harry gave her a small smile, awkwardly shifting under her gaze, and gently clutched his bunny a little closer to his chest, as if it could somehow shield him from the attention. The children were curious, though, and they took a few tentative steps forward, gazing at him with awe.
Bain, the older boy, looked at Harry with curiosity. “Are you an elf?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, as if he weren’t sure whether he should even ask.
Harry hesitated, glancing at Bilbo before nodding slightly. “I suppose… I am,” he said softly, unsure how much to explain. “Though, I think I might be a little… different than most elves.”
Tilda, the younger girl, gave a delighted giggle. “Mama, he has ears like in the stories!” She reached out a small hand, only for Sigrid to gently take her hand back, offering Harry a look of apology.
Balin let out a soft chuckle from the corner, his gruff but kind voice filling the room. “Aye, lad’s an elf all right. And a special one at that.”
Bilbo, sensing Harry’s growing nervousness, chimed in, a warm smile on his face. “Yes, Harry is very special to us. He’s been through a lot to be here with us.”
The other dwarves murmured in agreement; a sense of pride clear in their expressions. Harry’s heart swelled at their words, feeling a warm rush of gratitude and a little bit of embarrassment.
Sigrid, her initial hesitation melting into warmth, offered a gentle smile. “You’re all welcome here,” she said, looking between Bard and the group. “It may not be much, but you’ll be safe for the night.”
Thorin stepped forward, his expression filled with quiet respect as he gave her a slight bow. “Thank you, Sigrid. Your kindness will not be forgotten.”
Bard’s children gathered closer, whispering amongst themselves as they watched the strange group with wide, curious eyes. The little girl, Tilda, wriggled out of her mother’s grasp and approached Harry with innocent excitement.
“Is that a bunny?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the little creature nestled in Harry’s arms.
Harry chuckled, his tension easing as he looked down at the small, curious face. “Yes,” he said, lifting the bunny slightly. “She’s… a friend.”
The bunny twitched its nose, and Tilda gasped in delight, clapping her hands. “Can I pet her?”
Harry hesitated, glancing at the bunny, then back at the girl. “If you’re very gentle, I think she’d like that.”
He knelt down to Tilda’s height, extending the bunny out toward her. Tilda’s tiny hand reached out tentatively, her fingers barely grazing the soft fur. She giggled as the bunny nuzzled her hand.
Sigrid smiled, looking on as her daughter’s face lit up with happiness. "Thank you, Harry," she murmured softly, her eyes meeting his. "We haven’t seen Tilda so happy in a while.”
Harry gave her a small, shy nod, still unused to this kind of warmth and welcome. It was strange to be accepted, to be part of something as comforting as family, even if it wasn’t his own.
Bilbo looked at Harry, a gentle understanding in his gaze. He knew how much this small moment meant to Harry, and how deeply Harry yearned for this sense of belonging.
Thorin, standing near the fire, gave a nod to Bard. “We’ll be out of your hair by morning,” he promised, though his voice was less assured. “But know that you have the thanks of all my company.”
Harry nodded, sharing a quiet, reassuring smile with Bilbo. In that moment, he knew with absolute certainty that they would face whatever lay ahead together. No matter what dangers awaited, Harry would do everything he could to protect the people he held dear, the family he’d found, the friends who had welcomed him, and the kindness he’d never dreamed possible.
As they settled in for the night, Harry lay close to Bilbo, taking comfort in the warmth of his adoptive father beside him. With his eyes closed, he let the gentle murmurs of his friends wash over him, and for the first time in centuries, he felt truly safe. Surrounded by trust and companionship, he drifted into sleep, a sense of peace and anticipation for the adventures awaiting them beyond the mist-covered lake.