Not Quite a Maia

Fortunately for Neville, Mrs Weasley was every bit as good at Apparating as she claimed to be and even the length of time that had passed since her last side-along didn't hamper her excellent efforts.

After they had Disapparated from the Valar's home, he had known no more until they appeared at the mouth of a great river and sent a company of graceful beings into a raving panic with the crack of their arrival.

"Sorry, dears," said Mrs Weasley to half a dozen heavily armed men surrounding them. "Normally I arrive with a pop, but bringing a passenger along for the ride has quite taken the puff out of me."

She did look a bit pale at that. Neville put his arm around her to lend his support and glared at their potential captors.

"We're not here to hurt you, so you can just put those things down," he said firmly, indicating the swords that were pointing in their direction. "I'm Neville Longbottom, a wizard, and this is Mrs Weasley, a witch. We were sent by Varda and Manwë to help the Peoples of the West and we'll be making our way to Lothlórien in just a short while. Do you have somewhere we can sit down for a few minutes?"

"Bold claims indeed for such a young one," said a voice, and the others parted to allow a tall, silver-haired man through. His grey eyes seemed to pierce Neville's very soul, so the teenager tightened his grip on his Guardian (and not entirely for her own benefit). "Yet we have been given no sign from across the Sea to expect your arrival."

Oh, great. The Valar could have least sent them a post-owl.

"I am Cirdan the Shipwright," said the tall being. "You have entered the Grey Havens, port of the Elves of Lindon.

"Elf?" said Mrs Weasley dubiously. Neville didn't blame her. This 'elf' didn't look at all like the ones back home. His ears were pointy, but not bat-like or hairy - although there was a rather dubious silver growth on his chin. Made him look like a young Dumbledore...

"As I said, Lady. You must forgive my companions their caution: not even Gandalf the Grey, wisest of all the Maiar, arrived in such a fashion."

"Yeah, well, if it weren't for Gandalf the ruddy Grey, we wouldn't have arrived at all!" Neville muttered, irked that they still hadn't offered Mrs Weasley a seat. Weren't these elves supposed to be hospitable?

The sharp ears of the elves caught his low remark.

"I do not know if you are who or what you claim to be, child, but none in Middle Earth speak of the Grey Wanderer in such a disrespectful manner, lest they be enemies," said Cirdan coldly as his people raised their swords again.

Touchy lot, weren't they?

"Sorry, sir, but if good old Gandalf hadn't gone 'wandering' through Time and Space after he died, we wouldn't have been pulled from our beds several thousand years in the future by your friends and asked to step in for him," replied the teenager, still annoyed by their lack of gallantry towards Mrs Weasley.

All swords immediately dropped towards the ground.

"Died? What do you mean? That is impossible!" cried the elf lord in disbelief.

Neville felt a bit guilty for being so short with him; the elf looked quite upset. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know you, well, didn't know. He, eh...he fought a Balrog in Khazad-dûm, apparently."

"Ai! A Balrog - of Moria! The blight of Morgoth! It slew Mithrandir?"

"Well, I dunno about this Mithrandir bloke, but it didn't kill Gandalf - he killed it. Only thing was, he was so knackered afterwards, he died himself."

He wasn't sure if that last bit was true, but after Manwë's description of the giant, fiery lizard, Neville imagined he'd probably keel over dead himself if he'd just spent ten days duelling the ruddy thing.

"A heavy misfortune indeed for Middle Earth - greater than you may know!" declared Cirdan. His elven friends still looked a bit shell-shocked. "And you are to replace him?" he queried, looking at the two unexpected visitors sceptically, his elegant silver brow raised in question.

"Something like that. Look, do you mind if we talk about this somewhere else? Only, Mrs Weasley's still a bit wobbly after getting us here from Mrs Varda's place and she needs to get her strength back up if she's to take us to Lothlórien."

The elf surveyed them speculatively. "You use the names of the Valar freely; have knowledge of deeds beyond our wisdom; and talk in a most peculiar manner - yet I feel no foulness about you. Though your speech be strange and your tongue a little uncouth, I believe you mean no harm." He approached the witch and offered his arm. "Come, my Lady. Let me lead you to where you may take some rest and talk of your quest."

"Why, that's very nice of you dear," said Mrs Weasley gratefully, slipping her hand through the proffered arm.

They followed him past the other elves, across the port and into an elegant dwelling, filled with pale blues, golds and greens. Sea colours. Cirdan took them through an arched hallway and led them into a spacious room with a large window that overlooked the River Lune before offering them a seat. Refreshments were served and Mrs Weasley sipped gratefully on her deliciously refreshing quinberry juice, a local delicacy.

Once the niceties had been observed, the elven Lord quizzed them further on the fate of Gandalf and their part in his tale.

"We're not really in his tale, though," said Neville, after explaining certain (but not all) details of the necessity of their mission. "I mean, the Valar said he was dead - but they also talked about trying to call him back, so he can't be completely dead, can he?"

He shrugged helplessly, barely able to able to believe he'd just said something that sounded quite that stupid, but Cirdan was taking it very seriously.

"There are many mysteries in the world, young Wizard - both on this side of the Sea and in Valinor from whence you came. We may never understand the wonders of the Valar, but we are nonetheless grateful for their beneficence. If any have the power to call the Grey Wizard back to his former life, it is they."

Eh, alright then...if you say so.

Neville sipped on the tangy juice. All this talk of people coming back from the dead made him think of Voldemort and Sauron. The only other people he knew of that shared the dubious pleasure were Inferi - and they didn't really come back from the dead, just sort of stumbled about growling 'ooh', 'aah' and 'grr', or something.

"And you have fought and conquered such a Dark Lord in your own world?" Cirdan enquired. "You are young to have accomplished such a task."

"Well, I didn't defeat him, to be honest. It was Harry Potter, a friend - but I did help to lead Dumbledore's Army, I suppose," replied Neville, feeling suddenly inadequate. It sounded so...trite...when he voiced it aloud.

"There was a bit more involved in it than just that, dear," chided Mrs Weasley gently. "Together with my own daughter, Ginny, and little Luna Lovegood, Neville mounted a year-long rebellion in the school where You-Know-Who's Death Eaters taught. Some of their so -called 'teachers' were followers of our Dark Lord that he placed there to terrorise the children and make sure they grew up to be good little followers of his. They threatened them, tortured them and tried to teach them to hate Muggles - they're non-magic people, you know."

Her voice was heavy with anger.

"When the children - some as young as eleven years old - refused to participate in their awful lessons, the Death Eaters would make them cast torture spells on each other as punishment."

The elf was visibly angered at the thought of children being treated in such a manner.

The witch continued. "But Neville and the girls organised an army of students who wanted to fight them and they trained in secret, practising defence spells and recruiting followers: hiding students who were being arrested because their magical parentage was in doubt. Then little Luna was kidnapped at Christmas and taken to the headquarters of He Who Must Not Be Named because her father was printing leaflets in support of Harry; we didn't send Ginny back after the Easter holidays because our family is closely connected to Harry; and Neville was on his own, having to go into hiding because they suspected him to be the ringleader of the rebellion."

Neville was blushing at this point, never able to take a compliment.

"When the final battle took place in the school grounds, we all thought Harry was dead - but that didn't stop Neville from challenging the Dark Lord or killing his Horcrux snake."

"Horcrux?" asked the elf.

"Yeah, em apparently Voldemort had split his soul into several pieces so he could live forever and put them into certain objects for safekeeping: as long as these objects - and his snake - remained safe, he couldn't be killed. But Harry, Ron and Hermione had destroyed all the rest and only Nagini, the snake, was left."

"And you took care of that, dear!" exclaimed his proud Guardian.

"An unhappy tale, indeed," said Cirdan. "But that such young ones had the strength to rebel and the fortitude to endure, is most impressive."

His eyes were on the red-faced teenager. "I didn't do it alone, you know. We all fought - and Mrs Weasley killed his scariest Death Eater."

Mrs Weasley's cheeks were decidedly more pink than they had been several minutes earlier and she placed her empty glass on the table, slightly embarrassed at the wonder in Neville's voice. Opting for a change of subject, she addressed their host. "Thank you very much for the lovely drink, dear, but we really ought to be going. I had no idea it would be so late when we arrived, it must be nearly mid-afternoon at least! We need to leave while we still can."

"It would be my pleasure to offer you both hospitality for the night, if you wish," said the elf generously. "It is a long journey from here to Galadriel's fair city and you may need to gather your strength for the arduous travels ahead."

"Well, that's very kind of you, Cirdan. But it's best if we set off now; get the journey underway, so to speak. Never put off 'til tomorrow what's best done today, you know."

"My Lady, if you leave just now, where will you rest in these unfamiliar lands? It is several days travel to the nearest town and that is of the Periannath, who are most wary of the 'Big Folk', as they name them."

She smiled and patted the ancient one's hand. "Don't worry about us, dear. We'll get to Lothlórien the same way we got here - by Apparating. Anyway, if we land a little outside of it, we can always pitch one of the tents and spend the night there."

"Tent?" asked the elf, looking at their belongings curiously and Neville knew he must be wondering where they could have packed such a cumbersome piece of equipment.

He picked up the larger knapsack and dug through it until he found one of them. Putting it on the floor, he pulled his wand from his waistband and pointed it at the canvas. "Erecto."

It sprang up from the ground before landing back on it, fully constructed, and several tent pegs - which, of course, he'd forgotten about - flew from the knapsack, and thudded through the grey ropes that were pulled taut from the material.

Right through the floor of Cirdan's house.

"Eh, sorry about that."

But Cirdan paid no attention to his oversight, rising instead to inspect the fascinating object in front of him.

"Would you like to come inside?" offered the matronly witch, springing eagerly from her chair and pulling the very much taller elf inside by the sleeve of his tunic.

"Oh, for goodness' sake! It smells like an old shoe in here!" She pulled her wand from her coat pocket and waved it, instantly dispelling the stale odours left behind by Harry, Ron and Hermione during their enforced flight.

"Much better. Of course, the décor isn't exactly inviting, you know; but I'm afraid it'll have to do until we can afford a better one. And it's still better than sleeping on the ground." She turned to offer an apologetic smile to the elf, but he had wandered off with Neville to investigate the little rooms.

"Truly, you are Wizards of strange power to make such a small dwelling on the outside appear so much larger inside. And most unusual furnishings. What is that?"

Neville gave him a brief description of the shower. "It's not good without water though - usually there's a well or something we can tap into, though I suppose we could just fill the bath with a really good Aguamenti."

"Aguamenti?"

He demonstrated, and the silver-haired elf watched in mild astonishment as a jet of clear water came spurting out the end of his wand to land in the bath. "A good Heating charm, and you're all set," said the teenager in satisfaction. He vanished the water as Mrs Weasley came up to them.

"Ah, there you are. As you can see, Cirdan, it's not exactly elegant and I wouldn't dream of inviting guests around for dinner in it - what if they walked into the bedroom by accident and saw the shabbiness of the sheets? - but it do nicely for a day or two in the wild, I think. Now, I hate to spoil your enjoyment boys, but we need to pack this back up and start heading off."

They followed her outside, where the elf silently watched as Neville deconstructed the tent, repaired the gaping holes in the floor with a hasty Reparo and started to pack the canvas back in the larger knapsack (Mrs Weasley removed several items first so he could get it in exactly the right spot, causing Cirdan's eyebrows to climb farther and farther up his forehead in disbelief at what the deceptively small bag could hold).

He excused himself for several minutes and returned bearing several blankets and two sealed jars. Handing the jars to the witch, he explained they contained miruvor and quinberry juice, for refreshment on their travels.

"I would also ask you to accept these, as a small token of goodwill. They will keep you warmer through the night than the blankets you already possess."

Neville accepted them gratefully. "Thanks very much Mr Cirdan...eh,...Lord Cirdan."

Mrs Weasley was thrilled and packed them hastily in her bag. "Well, then. It's time we were off. Thank you so much for your hospitality, Cirdan, dear. Would you like us to send your regards to any family or friends in Lothlórien?"

"My Lady, you are the very essence of cordiality. If you would kindly offer my felicitations to the Lord and Lady of the lands, I would be most grateful."

Picking his little knapsack up from the floor and securing his arms through it, Neville walked towards their host and said in a very respectful voice: "I'm sorry I was a bit brash when we met, sir. I wasn't expecting to have half a dozen swords waved in our faces and I may have over-reacted. I've got nothing but the deepest respect for Gandalf the Grey because I've heard a lot about him. He sounds a bit like Professor Dumbledore; and he was the best wizard I ever knew. Pity we couldn't meet him while we were here - but then, I suppose if we could, the Valar wouldn't have asked for our help in the first place."

"Your apology was not required, Master Longbottom, but I will accept it if that is your wish," said the elf, nodding his head in acknowledgement. A smile touched his face. "If the Valar themselves deemed you worthy to fight in Mithrandir's stead, then I know that you must be a great Wizard..."

Crikey, he wasn't too sure about that!

"...and the tale of your own valiant deeds confirms this. I wish you both the greatest success in your quest. For all our sakes."

"Thank you, sir," replied Neville, grateful the bearded one didn't hold a grudge.

Mrs Weasley offered her arm to him and he grasped it in readiness to Disapparate.

"May the grace of the Valar go with you both," said their host, and they smiled their thanks before turning on the spot and disappearing from sight before his amazed eyes.

The two travellers appeared in a remote clearing as the dark fingers of night began to unfurl across the western sky. Short, gnarled fir trees ringed it and the steep banks were awash with long, strap-like fronds of harts-tongue ferns and whortleberry shrubs.

"Where are we?" asked Neville, wishing now that he'd paid more attention to the Window of Arda and less to the hopeless cause that was his love life.

"Oh, dear - I must still be a little off balance with the side-alongs, I'm afraid. It looks like the little dell somewhere south of Khazad-dûm I saw in the Window - and I had so tried to concentrate on the elf city, but I kept thinking about here and there and Mirrormere."

Mrs Weasley looked a bit miffed.

"Don't worry. At least we didn't end up in all three places!" he said gratefully, not particularly thrilled at the possibility of having left his legs by the lake, his torso in Lothlórien and everything else in the clearing they stood in. "Come on, let's see if we can get our bearings."

He helped her up the edges, pulling on the shrubs for leverage to haul themselves over as it was quite steep. Reaching the top, they looked around.

A road near the dell lay parallel to a bubbling stream; to its north, mountains and darkness; to the distant south, a slight golden haze - but that was several hours away by foot.

"Well, I'd guess we're going that way, unless you can Apparate us any nearer," said Neville, looking at his Guardian dubiously.

"Not now dear, if you don't mind. Two side-along Apparitions in the space of an hour have left me a bit washed out. A brisk walk and a bit of late afternoon air won't do me any harm though. It's not dark yet, but it won't be far behind us and I'd rather camp as near to the forest as we can get, than be stuck out on the road for anyone to see before we lose all light."

The road was clear and they were the only living beings in sight, but he agreed with her sentiment: these were dark times for this world - best they get out of the open as quickly as possible.

"Alright then. Let's get going, but keep your eyes and ears open for anything suspicious," he replied, grasping his wand tightly in his hand.

Daft thing to say, really, he thought, as they set off quickly towards the distant gleam in the south. Everything in this world would probably look suspicious, except the ruddy trees. Thank goodness some things remained constant. They set a brisk pace on the narrow road and Neville absorbed his surroundings.

Apart from Middle Earth Elves, nothing seemed different about the terrain. In fact, everything seemed exactly the same as back in their own world: same kind of grass, same clear water, sun still dipping in the west; they may as well have been camping in the English countryside - and he felt a slight pang of disappointment. It would've been nice to find something unusual to set the place apart; like a new type of plant, or a green sky. Perhaps even an extra moon or something.

Well, maybe not. That might send the werewolves into a mad frenzy.

This made him shiver and he wondered if there were werewolves in Middle Earth, ready to spring out at them as soon as the sun sank. Glancing at the sky, he attempted to determine if the moon might be a full one that evening, but it was too early yet for the celestial body to show her garments.

Bloody brilliant. That would be all they needed. A Middle Earth Fenrir Greyback.

Two and a half hours later, the stream had widened into a river, gushing along beside the road like yet another eager traveller anxious to enter the golden forest of the elves. The sky was significantly darker, forcing them to light their way with a Lumos, and many stars sparkled untold miles above them. Fortunately, the moon was a mere crescent and no werewolves or other travellers had disturbed their journey - it was as if they were entirely alone in the world.

Mrs Weasley had more colour on her cheeks and had unbuttoned the top of her tweed coat to let some fresh air circulate. Neville was glad she was feeling more like her old self, but he himself was beginning to feel uneasy. This unnatural quietness was like the calm before the storm and he strained his ears for any telltale signs of unfriendly pursuit.

"Listen!"

Mrs Weasley did as instructed, stopping to strain her own ears as much as she could. "Why, that sounds like trees - we must be near the edge of the forest!" she exclaimed in excitement.

"Yeah. Come on, let's go a bit faster and see if we can get inside it and set the tent up. It's getting too dark to go any further tonight."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her in the direction of the rustling leaves, forcing her into a quicker pace. The hairs on the back of his neck were beginning to rise and he had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being observed.

"Neville, dear," asked his Guardian in an uneasy tone. "Is there any particular reason you're frogmarching me towards the forest like a naughty five year old?"

"Can't you feel that?" he whispered.

"Feel what?"

"Like we're being watched?"

She shook her head, but he could barely see it in the gloomy light despite the Lumos, so she verbalised. "No, not really. I just thought it was night creatures - they must have owls here, you know."

The young wizard frowned. "No, I don't think so. We would've heard them hooting or something."

"Perhaps you're just being a bit overcautious, dear? After all, we're too near to the elf lands for there to be any real threat, surely? All the danger is farther south, in Gondor and Rohan, and we're a bit too far away from there to be under any real threa..."

She never finished her sentence, for out of nowhere came a loud, piercing cry which it was soon joined by many others.

"What was that?" Mrs Weasley gasped. The Lumos spell was quickly extinguished, leaving them in the encroaching gloom of dusk as they readied for fight. Brandishing their wands before them, they stood back to back, turning in tight circles.

"Dunno - I can hardly see a thing," said Neville in concern, before whoosh! - several projectiles could be heard flying towards them.

"Protego!" he cried, and a shimmering wall burst before him, deflecting what appeared to be arrows. "We're under attack!"

At least a dozen swarthy creatures in filthy, dark garments rushed towards them, some as short as Mrs Weasley, others taller than Neville and all with yellow teeth bared viciously at the sight of two apparently helpless victims. Several continued to fire arrows at them, while others brandished lethal looking knives and swords, depending on their height.

"What the bloody hell are they?" cried the teenager. "They don't look anything like elves...Tarantallegra!"

He caught the nearest one with the jinx, and its lower limbs began to wobble uncontrollably, sending its arrow flying off to the right. The creature screamed in fury.

"They must be those orc-things from Moria - Varda said it was likely some had tracked the Fellowship here, but I thought they would all have left by now," called his Guardian, waving her wand wildly at three large orcs heading in her direction. Their skin instantly erupted in painful boils which incapacitated them, their cries of agony ringing out in the darkness.

Neville was unable to cast many more offensive spells as he was so completely occupied with his Shield charm, attempting to deflect the increasing rain of arrows that seemed to be appearing from nowhere in the gloom. "I can't see a thing!"

Suddenly, Mrs Weasley tilted her wand upwards and cried: "Lumos Liberatis Maxima!" A ball of silver light shot from her wand and hovered above them for a few seconds, before exploding in all directions above their heads. Instantly, the landscape around them for twenty metres became more visible and he heard furious cries from some of the orcs as they shielded their eyes. The light wasn't strong enough to repel them, though and he saw that the number of their opponents was greater than he initially thought. Wave after wave of bloodthirsty orcs flowed towards them from the tall grasses and surrounding hills, making the young wizard's eyes boggle in dismay.

"The light will only last for a few minutes, so let's try to shake them off and get as far into the forest as we can," Mrs Weasley called, hurling Impediment charms at the screaming masses as fast as she could.

That sounded like a good idea to Neville. The temporary light allowed him to get a better lay of the land: the forest eaves were perhaps a mile or less in the distance and he doubted the enemy would dare trespass into the haven of the elves. He abandoned his Shield charm and opted instead for a Revulsion jinx, happy to see his targets flying back into their rather confused comrades. A smile started to creep along his face. Mrs Weasley was having a merry old time, dancing around the field, wand flying, and Neville almost laughed when half a dozen orcs bent over double in revulsion at the soapy bubbles streaming from their mouths.

"Scourgify!" she cried, over and over, sending the orcs into a disgusted frenzy as they spat furiously and clawed at their throats. "You could do with a good wash! What a terrible state to leave the house in - you ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"

Not to be outdone, the wizard jabbed his wand at several targets, hitting at least eight orcs with Slug-Vomiting charms. More violent retching filled the night air as the ranks of their unfortunate enemies began to lose cohesion. Confused at the ability of two apparently defenceless individuals to not only withstand, but successfully repel, their vicious attack, the smaller creatures began to break off and head north in the direction the visitors had come from, deciding not to take the chance that the female may give them the only wash of their lives to date.

None of them much fancied the slugs, either.

The fleeing orcs reduced the number of opponents drastically, only two dozen or so of the larger ones were left. Several others littered the ground, either Stupefied or vomiting various substances, and most of those wobbling unsteadily under the effects of the Tarantallegra were being slain by their own ranks for getting in the way.

A particularly nasty orc caught Neville's eye; a tall, flat faced one whose black eyes burned with hatred. It thundered across the grass towards him, wielding its dull sword high and the teen hit it with a Trip jinx. The orc fell like a log, screaming in rage, but picked itself back up and tried again. Another Trip jinx, another fall, another angry cry of frustration. He had to keep one eye on the stubborn creature while shooting spells at the others, but successfully managed to keep the raging orc from its intended goal.

He was quite enjoying himself, actually.

The improvised Lumos spell Mrs Weasley had provided started to wane and Neville knew the time for fun was over. He pointed his cherry wand at the rampaging fury still trying to reach him and a bolt of red light shot forth. The orc fell, Stupefied, and bothered him no more.

"Time to go!" Neville yelled, grabbing the witch by the arm of her tweed coat and they ran towards the forest eaves. The remaining orcs followed them, their shrill cries reaching the pairs' ears before the creatures themselves could get anywhere near them.

"Stubborn little things, aren't they dear?" gasped Mrs Weasley, red-faced and panting at the exertion. "I don't think the elves will thank us for leading them into their home."

Well, there wasn't much he could do about that for the moment, he thought, throwing a few Stinging hexes at the orcs following in their wake. His only priority now was to get them as far away from himself and the witch as he could.

An arrow whizzed by so closely that it grazed his cheek and he grimaced in pain as a burning sensation spread over his skin. Mrs Weasley heard it and saw the dark line of blood dripping down the side of his face. Furious, she turned to face the orcs and lifted her wand, but before she could utter the words of her wrathful vengeance, a brilliant white light burst forth from the pendant cushioned on her breast. Its intensity caused the pair to stagger, temporarily blinded, but they recovered quickly and he turned towards the piercing screams issuing from their enemies.

The Light of Varda streamed from the pendant and carried itself towards the two dozen or so orcs at their backs, its brilliance making them shield their eyes as their cries of pain echoed in the night. Abandoning any further attempts to capture and slay the troublesome humans, they turned on their heels and fled, leaving their vomiting comrades to stumble after them.

As soon as they were out of sight, the wondrous pendant resumed its normal state of illumination, merely sparkling prettily under the starlight.

"Bloody hell!" said Neville in admiration. "That's some necklace you've got, Mrs Weasley!"

The witch buttoned her coat back up and looked very pleased with herself. "Yes, it is, isn't it? And language, dear."

He rolled his eyes. His Guardian, it seemed, was ever the mother. "C'mon. Let's get into the forest and see if we can set up the tent somewhere safe."

They headed off towards the looming trees and, thanks to the distance they'd covered during their recent flight, reached it a lot sooner than originally planned. Crossing the boundary into the forest itself, the road into the woodlands soon blended with the mossy carpet of the forest floor.

Neville and Mrs Weasley walked for another mile, admiring the silver bark of the ethereal trees, another Lumos from his wand lighting their way.

"Look, the leaves are golden," he said in awe, pointing to the boughs. "I've never seen anything like it."

He was dying to stop and examine them more closely, but his travelling companion pulled him along after her. "You can have a better look at them once we're safely with Lady Galadriel, dear," she admonished, as he tripped along beside her.

She had a point. He focussed on the way forward and soon, they heard the bubbling sounds of a stream some way ahead. Another few minutes walk delivered the travellers to its source. The merry waters of the little stream ran before them, merging with the river that followed their weary footsteps.

"I think we should cross it and then look for a decent clearing to set up the tent," said Neville.

"Alright dear. It might be a good idea to put some sort of obstacle between us and those orcs just in case any have decided to keep track of us."

Lifting her coat, she stepped into the stream, which was at first ankle-deep, but soon came to their shins as they made their way across. Emerging on the other side, Mrs Weasley cast a quick drying spell on their lower halves, for which the young wizard was very grateful.

The rush of falling water could be heard in the distance, no doubt a waterfall which the darkness kept concealed from sight. Neville felt strangely relaxed after crossing the stream - as if all weariness had left him. His Guardian seemed to feel it too.

"There's something about this place," she said, looking around at the trees lining the forest.

"I know. It feels sort of...magical, doesn't it? But not like any magic I've seen or felt before. C'mon, let's get a little farther in. If any of those orcs have been stubborn enough to follow us, a little water's not going to stop them for long."

His cheek stung as they went farther into the woods and he wished he'd thought to cleanse it with some of the clear stream water before they'd abandoned it. Never mind. He'd have a look at it when they...

Just as Neville was debating when to treat his scratch, a slight rustling above their heads caused witch and wizard to brandish their wands in defence once more. Mrs Weasley leapt back in alarm as three figures clothed in soft greys descended from the tree tops before their eyes. Other tall figures emerged from the surrounding trees and for the third time since their trip to Middle Earth began, the two visitors found themselves at the wrong end of a weapon.

"Halt! State your business in the lands of Lothlórien," demanded one of the figures. Their captors closed in, arrows nocked and soon they were contained in a circle of hostile glares.

Well, that was just brilliant. Couldn't these people just once offer them a handshake in greeting? Did the Free Peoples of the West have no manners?

Pulling himself straight, Neville took a bold step forward. "I'm Neville Longbottom and this is Mrs Weasley. We're looking for the Fellowship - you haven't seen them by any chance?"

Uh, oh. That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. The arrows came several feet closer as their bearers tightened the circle with long steps in their direction. He raised his wand higher in defence, ready to throw a couple of Stinging hexes at the next ruddy person to shoot at him, when one of the grey-clad figures moved closer still.

"I am Haldir, Marchwarden of this forest. Of what Fellowship do you speak, Neville Longbottom - and why do you imagine we would give news of it to you, if it existed? You trespass on hallowed grounds and we do not take kindly to intruders."

Bloody hell! He looked like a Malfoy! In fact, they all did...

The silver light streaming from a lamp that one of their captors held fell on the companies faces. Six elves surrounded them, all silver hair and grey eyes. Regal features regarded the visitors warily and the teenager almost felt the sneer on their leader's lips.

"Let me guess: you didn't know we were coming either, right?" he asked. "Honestly, you lot need to invest in post-owls or something. How d'you ever stay in touch with what's going on outside?" He lowered his wand as a sign of peace, but Mrs Weasley kept hers trained on the elves.

"We were sent by the Valar to help the Fellowship after Gandalf fell. We're wizards...well, I'm a wizard, Mrs Weasley's a witch. And if I were you," he added, throwing a look at the frowning face of the matronly woman, "I'd think about lowering those bows of yours before you really annoy her. Trust me, you don't want to be coughing up soap for the rest of your lives."

The bows remained trained on them though. "Your claim is a bold one indeed, Neville Longbottom. But there are only five Wizards in Arda and three of those we know by sight; of the remaining two little is known, however neither you nor your companion are clothed in the robes of Blue Wizards."

Good grief, was the pompous git getting fussy about their clothes? He sounded just like Gran before a trip to Great Uncle Algie's.

"Well, I'm sorry if my trousers don't measure up to your exacting standards," he said sarcastically. "We didn't exactly have time to put on something that you might find more acceptable; being a bit too busy fighting a horde of those bloody orcs roaming about your forest, and all that. But if it helps, we bring greetings from Cirdan the Shipwright."

That made their captors lower their weapons and Mrs Weasley, satisfied that they were seeing sense, lowered her wand as well.

The snooty one, Haldir, spoke again. "You have seen the Grey Havens?"

"Of course we have, dear. Cirdan was a very nice chap, very well-mannered you know. He offered us refreshments, at least," she said pointedly, glaring at the haughty elf in disapproval. "Varda did tell us to expect to meet you, but we didn't think you'd be waving arrows at us. I'm getting rather tired of people shoving them in my face, I must say."

She demonstrated her annoyance by transfiguring the pointy weapons into daffodils. All six elves jumped back in shock, the flowers that now sprouted from their quivers shaking at the sudden motion.

"Do you see how unpleasant it is when someone catches you unawares?" she demanded, after returning the arrows to their former shape. She walked up to Haldir and shoved a hand on her hip while waving a finger in is face. "Where are your manners?"

"Forgive us, Lady," he replied, with an elegant nod of his head. "These are dark times for all. You must understand that we need to remain cautious, lest the Enemy take us unaware."

"She's not your enemy - neither of us are. Mrs Weasley, show them your pendant."

The witch opened the top of her coat, allowing the indigenous people to get a better view of the silver chain and gem. It seemed to reflect the starlight and glowed softly, lighting the small clearing in which they stood.

"Elbereth Gilthoniel...the Light of Varda! A priceless treasure indeed!" declared Haldir as the rest of his company gazed at the brilliant gem in wonder. His haughty tone had finally been dispelled and he approached the boy with a newfound respect.

"Is this the source of the great light we saw an hour since?" he asked in wonder.

"Erm, yes, actually. Got rid of those orcs very nicely, too," replied Neville, relieved the elf wasn't looking down his nose at him any more. "Mrs Varda gave it to her when I asked if she could be protected while we stayed here to help the Fellowship."

"Then allow me to offer my apologies, Neville Longbottom, Lady Weasley. Any who may boast the honour of such a gift will be offered safe passage through our lands, for none but the true of heart could ever hold Varda's Light. It would be our honour to escort you to Caras Galadhon, where the Lady Galadriel will no doubt receive you as her esteemed guests."

Neville could have happily kissed the elf for his change of heart, but drew the line at showing his gratitude for their happy change of fortune in such a manner. He was not a pervy elf fancier (especially when they looked like Malfoys).

"Thanks very much."

"Oh, that's very nice of you, dear," gushed the witch, buttoning her coat once more and returning the daffodils to their former glory as arrows. "I'm so glad you changed your mind - I really didn't want to have to turn you into a bullfrog, but I was quite running out of patience for a moment there."

The image of a silver-haired bullfrog pointing an arrow at him was quite amusing, and Neville had to bite on his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

"An alarming thought indeed. I can not be certain that my brothers would thank you for it," admitted Haldir.

"Perhaps we would," said another grey-clad elf, not bothering to hide his smile. "Orophin and I have longed to see our fearless brother meet his match. It appears that he now has, good Lady."

The company laughed as he executed a graceful bow in the witch's direction, causing her to blush and his brother to scowl.

"Yes, well, shall we make camp? It's a bit late to go any further tonight, so perhaps you'd be so good as to lead us to your city tomorrow, if you don't mind?" she said, flustered at the realisation she was the only woman amidst the company of incredibly attractive males. Neville smiled widely, wondering what her husband would say if he could see her now.

Actually, now that he thought about it, what would Gran say? Would she have tried to stop him? And was Trevor aware that he was gone, too?

Haldir and the elves agreed to keep guard that night, so they unpacked their tent (his Guardian flat-out refused to 'scale the trees like a monkey', and he quite agreed with her) and erected it quickly. Their new friends politely declined the invitation to sleep inside the extra one and three of them made their way back to the boughs of the beautiful trees that so fascinated the teenager, while the others kept a discreet guard over their little camp.

Neville lay on one of the narrow bunks ten minutes later, covered in a soft, green blanket provided by Cirdan and thought of all that had happened to them over the past few hours. It wasn't long before his herbologist's mind fixated on the magnificent trees inside the forest and he couldn't wait for daylight. He really must have a better look at them in the morning, inspect them for any mysterious magical qualities. They really were like nothing he had ever...

His eyes drifted shut as sleep captured him, leading him into dreams, not of bloodthirsty orcs or over-cautious Elves with swords and arrows aimed at him; but of silvers and golds and bright, shining lights that streamed from magical pendants and protected both him and his slumbering Guardian.