Healing the Heart

AN: I hope that my first chapter wasn’t too confusing. My beta pointed out to me that she didn’t quite understand why I killed Fawkes. The reason is that because Harry is not from Middle Earth, the spirits that act as gods there do not have the power to alter his form. They needed the extra use of Fawkes because he was an immortal creature that is from Harry’s reality. They were able to use his immortality and transfer it into Harry and in doing so were able to make him an elf so that he would have the time he needed to recover from his hardships. I love Fawkes, though, and I’m sad he’s gone but the phoenix also didn’t regret doing it. ^^ we’ll just say he lives on in Harry. Please tell me what you think!

P.S. this chapter is dedicated to Sufinkusu for being the first one to review! ^^ thank you bunches, celestinaluna, Gothvamp, Sage, hiyayaka, angelkitty, Lemo, slash_aholic, and morbidgoddess for reviewing as well. I appreciate everyone’s comments! Special thanks to Vittani for being my beta!

oh, "blah" is Sindarin and "blah" is Common Tongue (I'm saying that Common Tongue is close to Latin just because I can ^^)


Chapter Two: Unfamiliar Surroundings

The first thing that Harry noticed as he fuzzed into awareness was that he hurt. The second thing he noticed was that he must not be dead because he hurt. He was pretty sure with what he remembered about how it felt to be dead that one didn’t have stabbing pains racking their body or aches on almost every inch of their flesh and felt smothered with heat when they no longer had a physical existence. This begged the question…if he wasn’t dead, where exactly was he?

Harry thought for a moment, trying to stay calm and fight the fog around his mind as he attempted to remember just what had happened. He remembered the veil, and pain then falling…then what? Struggling past the headache forming, he managed to catch glimpses of someone holding him…and a man? Someone had obviously found him, but that still didn’t give him any clue as to where he was. It was also not comforting to know that he had been unconscious while in the presence of someone he knew nothing about.

Along with these worries was the indescribable feeling that something was…off. He couldn’t pinpoint just what it was but he trusted his instincts enough to take the feeling seriously. This meant he would have to force himself to get up despite his body’s cries against such actions and find out just what was going on.

Determination set firmly in his mind; Harry worked on trying to get his eyes to open. His eyelids were so heavy it felt like they were being held closed by a sticking spell but after a few minutes of struggling he managed to blink weakly, staring up at a ceiling. Or…where he thought the ceiling must be. It was so dark that for a brief moment he thought he might not have succeeded in opening his eyes at all but slowly things focused more and he could tell that there was a faint glow of light coming from somewhere off to his side. It wasn’t much but it was enough to tell that he was definitely in a room and that he was laying on some kind of bed.

The bed didn’t feel like the ones he was used to but it was softer than what he had slept on in his old cupboard under the stairs – not to mention the ground he had gotten used to sleeping on recently while on the run. There was a thick, semi-rough blanket tucked around him and he didn’t feel any restraints on him. The lack of restrictions led to the deduction that whoever it was that had found him either didn’t consider him a threat because they were confident in whatever security they had, that they didn’t know who he was, or that they honestly didn’t intend him any harm. Not willing to place weight on the last two, he thought it safer to assume that they just believed that he couldn’t do anything. This was probably a fair assessment considering how he didn’t know if he could even move because of the exhausted he felt.

Not letting his tiredness defeat him, however, the boy focused on trying to evaluate his injuries. With the presence of the faintly dulled ache that came with breathing he thought it was safe to say that his ribs were still in the same shape as they had been before or maybe even just a little better. He could still feel his feet and was relieved when they moved slightly as he tried to wiggle them. That was a good sign. The only thing that he was unable to determine was his shoulder. The open wound he’d had there didn’t hurt…or rather he didn’t feel anything. Something must have been put on it because it was numb and he could feel the pressure that pointed to it being bound. That meant someone had taken the time to try and help him or at least keep him alive.

Once he was sure that his body did in fact work and was in one piece he turned his energy towards getting out of bed. He needed to find out where he was and what was going on and the faster he could figure this out the better. The next obstacle…was actually doing so. Trying to move his arms so he could push himself up, he managed to slowly, very slowly ease up onto his elbows. He couldn’t hold back a hiss of pain, however, as fire erupted in his chest at the movement. It wasn’t more intense than it had been before, just sudden. Sweat broke out on his brow at the strain. It took a minute or two of shallow breaths before the pain dulled to a bearable level. Panting softly, he shifted again, ignoring the pain and using all his energy to push himself back and prop up against the hard wood of the headboard.

Letting out a gasping breath he collapsed against it, his body trembling at the exertion it had taken to move such a small distance. Well that certainly made the idea of getting out of bed seem rather foolish. He’d probably collapse onto the floor if he tried. Reaching up weakly to try and brush his bangs from his eyes, he tried to think of what to do next…but froze. Staring wide eyed at his hand he tried to comprehend what he was seeing.

That…wasn’t his hand.

Harry’s head spun as he experimentally moved his fingers, watching the smaller, smoother appendages bend at his will. His skin was paler than before, the tan he had gotten from his time living outside was gone along with the “I will not tell lies” scar. Wait. How could he see so well in the dark!? The panic rose in his throat as he looked down on his body to find that it wasn’t his body! His clothes had been replaced by a simple shirt and cloth pants. They didn’t hide the fact, though, that his muscles had disappeared and he was shorter, probably only like four feet something! He was a kid! How did that happen!? Was this even his body to begin with!?

Desperately he began feeling his face – tracing his nose, eyes, and scar - confused when he felt…it was him but…but it felt a little different…softer. He reached up to his hair to make sure it was still there and gasped when his fingers brushed something… POINTY EARS!? WHY IN THE NAME OF MERLIN DID HE HAVE POINTY EARS!? WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL WAS GOING ON!?

Just as he was about to fall into a hyperventilated fit the sound of footsteps reached his ears – his pointed ears – and he looked up to see the door opening and a man holding a candle and bowl step in. He didn’t have time to act like he was sleeping still so he just stared at the man cautiously, tensing and trying to scoot back a little when the stranger stepped closer.

The man wasn’t too old, probably about Bill or Charlie’s age with dark hair and a faint scruff of a beard. His clothes seemed worn and out dated. Like something you might see in a history book or an old King Arthur movie. He was built, Harry could tell, with his broad shoulders and toned arms. A fighter. A threat. He didn’t seem to have any weapons on him but he had learned from experience that what you saw wasn’t always truth.

The man seemed shocked and almost relieved to see him awake. He carefully set the candle down on the nightstand then eased down into the chair beside the bed that Harry hadn’t even noticed until then. His movements were slow and deliberate, obviously trying not to startle him. Harry watched him closely, his body tense and his nerves a wreck. If the man made one move for him he was going to react on reflex and strike out at him, no questions asked. The man seemed to understand this, though, and just offered a calm smile before saying something to him in a gentle voice. Harry didn’t understand. The words sort of sounded like Latin but he couldn’t be sure.

The man saw his confusion and spoke again, this time in a different language.

“Sorry, little one, I did not mean to frighten you.” He said gently, the words smooth and almost lyrical. “My name is Isildur. My brother, Anárion, and I were the ones who found you. You were unconscious and injured so we brought you to our home to heal…How are you feeling?”

Harry hesitated; confused at how he was able to understand this new language when he could tell that it wasn’t English. He also couldn’t trust this man until he knew what was going on. He couldn’t risk giving something away that might get him in trouble. So he just watched him warily …

The man didn’t seem fazed by this and carefully set the bowl down on the blanket so it wouldn’t tip over and picked up the rag that was hanging over the side. He gently dipped the rag in the water before ringing it out a little and held it out to Harry.

“I’m going to wipe your face with this if that is okay. You’ve had a fever for the past four days and we need to try and keep it down.” He explained gently.

Harry panicked, trying to pull away but his body had lost all the energy it had just sitting up. Not even the adrenaline from the panic attack was enough to help him anymore. The man saw his fear and shook his head.

“No, it is okay…see? I’m not going to hurt you.” He whispered, leaning in to lightly wipe the sweat and heat from the other’s forehead. “Just relax, you’re safe here. I don’t know who hurt you but they won’t be able to touch you again. We’ve sent word to Elrond of Imlandris at Lórien that you are here. He is on his way. He will be able to help you find your home.”

Harry remained tense at the touch but he couldn’t help but admit that the cool cloth did feel good against his spinning head. He didn’t know who this Elrond was or how exactly they thought they were going to help him…or why, but he wasn’t so stupid that he couldn’t realize that he was in no condition to fight. He’d just go along with this, act like he doesn’t remember what happened, and see where it took him…at least until he could get the strength to walk again. An escape plan didn’t amount to much if he couldn’t even stand.

Coming to this conclusion seemed to drain every ounce of strength from his limbs and he sunk limply against the headboard once more. The man, Isildur, made a soft sound of concern and reached out to gently lift him carefully as if he was made of paper and move him back down into the pillow and cover him up, brushing the long raven bangs from his eyes.

“Rest little elfling, you need to recover. You don’t have to worry anymore, you are safe.” he whispered soothingly.

Harry tried to fight the exhaustion, he knew he would be vulnerable, but his eyelids were just getting too heavy and he did need sleep... Finally giving in - figuring if he was going to be killed going it in his sleep wasn’t so bad - he sunk down into the pillow and let himself drift off into blessed oblivion once more. He couldn’t stop the thought from fluttering through his mind, though…

He’d better not be calling me a house-elf…



Prince Isildur frowned faintly as he watched the small elf-child slip unconscious again. The youngling had fuzzed in and out of awareness since he and Anárion had brought him back to the castle. When he hadn’t been shivering in pain or fever chills he had been mumbling deliriously about a ‘Siri’. He didn’t know who this Siri was or if it was a person at all. What he did know, however, was that if it was responsible for the little elfling’s condition there would be more people than just him that would want to tear it apart. There was no doubt when the elves found out that one of their own precious elflings had been hurt in such a way that every warrior and maid would empty their homes to track down the villain. No one harmed an elfling. Ever.



That was another subject of confusion for Isildur. Elves were very protective of their children almost to the point of fanaticism. It was rare for other races to even SEE an elfling from far off, let alone find one abandoned and hurt in a field. It didn’t make sense that the child could disappear without every elf knowing of it. It would have caused such a huge disruption that surely even they would have heard about it in Gondor. The fact that there had been no news and no strange actions from the elves made it obvious that they did not know anything of the situation. Still very curious. Had the elfling been an orphan? Where had he come from? How had he gotten so injured? So many questions that he wanted answered but he knew he wouldn’t get until the child was better or at least coherent enough and trusting enough to talk.



Sighing deeply, he leaned back in the chair and settled for watching over the elfling once more. He had been at his side ever since they had found him, trying his best to keep the fever down and ensure that his injuries didn’t become infected. He was the best healer they had after all…but even his constant care didn’t seem to be enough. He just didn’t understand how an elfling’s body worked. He didn’t know their physiologies or anything really that could help him in treating the small, frail creature. That had been part of the reason that he had sent word for Elrond. Surely the Lord of Rivendell would be able to accomplish what he could not.



Hopefully they would arrive there soon. The elfling’s fever seemed to have broken for the moment but he wasn’t foolish enough to think that this was a sign that he was getting better. The child was still in very real danger of getting worse again and if that happened he didn’t know if he had the skill to be able to save him. It was not an outcome that Isildur wanted to imagine.

His own son, Valandir – the youngest of his four - had been born just months ago and so seeing this small youngling in such danger with horrible injuries like this made a great deal of righteous anger and protectiveness surge in his heart. Only a creature with no heart or soul could purposefully harm a child of any race. And if he ever found out who was responsible for it he would ensure that they were never able to harm another again.

Isildur was brought out of his thoughts, though, when the door creaked open slowly, obviously trying to be as quiet as possible. He looked back to see his brother and Ciryon – his now second youngest son – peaking in cautiously. Anárion might have turned out bigger and more ferocious in battle than his older sibling but he had been a savior to him when his wife had died in child birth with Valandir. The soldier prince had gladly turned his attention to his brother’s family and was helping to keep the grief stricken boys together and out of despair. Isildur could not have been more grateful. He did not think he could do so on his own.

Smiling softly at his son and brother, he held his hand out to let Ciryon know it was alright to enter. The small, lighter haired boy seemed to relax and instantly hurried in to his father’s side. Ciryon was much like his father but also very much like his mother. He was smaller than his brothers – being younger – but he was also showing signs of becoming a skilled healer if he was taught like Isildur. The young boy was also not as inclined towards learning the sword and instead spent time in the stables with the horses. Isildur didn’t truly mind. He understood that his children were not the same…he just hoped that the growing threat of Sauron would not force his gentle son into the battlefield.

“What troubles you Ciryon? It is late and you should be in bed.” He said softly as the boy climbed into his lap.

The sandy blonde boy shifted sheepishly, ducking his head and mumbling something under his breath embarrassed. Anárion chuckled fondly as he stepped closer, ruffling the boy’s head gently.

“The little imp was worried about our guest and when I found him sneaking out of his room for the third time I thought it would just be easier to let him come and visit.” He said amused, his eyes turning to the small elf curiously.

Isildur nodded in understanding, looking down to his son.

“I’m sure he will appreciate your concern, Ciryon.” He smiled before taking the wet cloth from the elfling’s head and placing it in the water again. “Would you like to help me? Perhaps another closer to his age would give him ease of mind.”

Ciryon blinked before looking up hopefully and nodding eagerly at the idea.

“Can I? Please?” he asked, causing Isildur to chuckle again and nodded.

“Of course, you’re my best healing helper after all.” He said with a gentle smile before letting the boy take the rag. “Now just ring it out, you don’t want it to be too wet, and then lay it carefully over his forehead.” He instructed.

Ciryon did as he was told, being as careful as possible to not disturb the small elf before pulling back and watching him for a long moment.

“Papa…will he be alright?” he asked softly, his dark hazel eyes filled with worry. “I thought that elves couldn’t get hurt.”



Isildur was quiet for a moment, weighing his words carefully before gently kissing his son’s hair.



“We are going to do everything we can for him, Ciryon, and when Lord Elrond arrives he will know better how to care for him. He is the best healer in all of Middle Earth and one of the elfling’s kin. He will know what to do.” He said gently. “We will not give up hope.”



The boy nodded, seeming to relax a little in that knowledge and leaned back into his father’s chest. Seeing that the elf was in as good of hands as he could be, his sleepiness was creeping back up on him and he gave a wide yawn that made the brothers chuckle softly.



“Will we get to keep him, papa?” he asked softly, wondering if he would be getting another brother…one that might be more inclined to play with him.



Isildur smiled fondly, holding his son gently in his arms and keeping him from sliding off.



“I would gladly accept him into our family, Ciryon, but it is not up to me…it is up to Elrond. He is an elfling and because of that his well-being is going to be their responsibility. If he is able to stay, however, I would not argue.” He whispered.



Ciryon nodded faintly, yawning widely again as his eyes began to droop tiredly.



“He can share my room…so he won’t…be alone…” he whispered, causing the princes to chuckle fondly again and watch as the boy fell asleep.



Anárion smirked amused and leaned down to gently gather his nephew in his arms. He carefully situated him so his head was resting on his shoulder so it wouldn’t fall back and be hurt.



“I’ll put him back to bed…I know you’ll want to stay.” He said, nudging his brother in the leg teasingly. “Don’t forget to eat soon, though, your sons are beginning to worry.”



Isildur nodded, smiling sheepishly.

“I know…I am sorry, I do not mean to cause concern. I am simply worried that if I leave something will happen.” He admitted, knowing how close they had been those first couple of days to loosing the little elfling.

His brother nodded seriously, looking to the small figure lying on the bed again.

“Has there been any change?” he asked softly.

Isildur nodded. “He awoke for a little while, I found him when I went to go retrieve fresher water. He seems afraid, though with his situation I don’t believe I can blame him.” He said.

Anárion frowned, his arms unconsciously tightening around his nephew a little.

“No…I don’t suppose we can. I’d like to meet the one who attacked the poor child…just a few minutes alone with him would do my conscience good.” He growled before pushing back his anger again. “Well…keep an eye on him. Elrond should be here soon. Hopefully that will help him not be so frightened.”

The elder brother nodded, watching his sibling gently carry his son out of the room before turning his attention back to the dark haired figure on the bed. He reached out to check the rag and found that it was already warm again. With a sigh he pulled it away and dipped it again in the cold water. Ringing it out, he leaned up to place it back on the elfling’s forehead but stopped to trace the strange scar there once more. It looked like a lightening bolt, a slash across his otherwise smooth skin, but it was strange. Isildur had seen many injuries, knew what different wounds were caused by and how a weapon’s blade would affect the appearance of scars. This one, however, was different. It didn’t seem to be made by a sword or dagger, or any blade he knew of for that matter. It didn’t look to be the result of an accident with something sharp either, glass would have made more broken edges and even something like a needle would leave some kind of evidence of broken skin. No…for some reason it looked as if this scar had just been pressed into his skin like a brand, but there were no burned edges to support this. It was just there…

Sighing as he knew that this was yet another mystery about the elfling, he gently laid the rag over the fevered skin once more and sat back to wait.



Two figures raced tirelessly through the lands of Calenardhon, their steeds of dark walnut brown and silvery white were as the wind atop the clouds. Swift and light, they threw every ounce of energy and strength they had in getting their elven companions to their destination as quickly as possible. They could feel their worry, their concern, and both elves were notorious for their well kept tempers and calm reasoning. For them to feel so unsettled was a clear sign to the two stallions that something was wrong and so they did their best and ran as fast as their legs would carry them in hopes that it would help in some way.

The two elves, one with long chestnut hair and the other with golden hair and silvery blue eyes, could feel their animal companions’ determination and were grateful for it. When Elrond had gotten news from a Gondor messenger that an injured and possibly dying elfling had been found in their borders panic had flashed through his mind. The NEED to help the youngling tugged viciously on his heart until he had forgone all calm discussions and argument with Galadriel and simply left Lórien without word to anyone. He had to go as soon as possible to see the youngling and trying to fight with his mother-in-law about how many should go just took precious time. He had merely told Glorfindel to get their horses ready and pleaded with Erestor to keep the Lady of the Galadhrim busy while they left to help the elfling. The more elves that went with them the slower they would go and right now speed was essential.

It had taken the Gondor rider four days non-stop to get to Lothlórien and the two elves were determined to make the trip in half the time.

“Do you know of anywhere the elfling might have come from!?” Glorfindel called over to his friend and Lord.

After all, he had not heard of any elf cities down in the lands of Gondor, and especially not so close to the dark kingdom of Mordor. It had only been a year since Sauron had launched an attack on Gondor, one of the great kingdoms of men, and had taken capture of Minas Ithil. It was obvious that his control and power was spreading, so the idea that any elves would stay in hiding nearby seemed unlikely to him… Elrond would know more, however, if there was a group staying in the lower lands or mountains.

The Lord of Imlandris was just as confused as he was, however, and just shook his head, the wind catching his bangs and pushing them off of his face.

“I know nothing, my friend, and it worries me that this is so. I should know the locations of all our people and yet there was a youngling that we know nothing about and they were harmed because we were not there to protect them. It is very unsettling…” he called back.

Glorfindel nodded, frowning at the thought and turning back to look ahead. No elfling should be left unprotected by their people. It was their duty to nurture and shelter their younglings until they were capable of doing so on their own. It was so important because younglings, until they reached at least a hundred years old, did not have the impervious immune system that adult elves possessed and this left them weak against illness and injury. They could just as easily die from a heavy fever as any mortal child could. For this reason, elves kept their younglings close and protected them with every means they had. Should this elfling die – even if they did not know them or know where they came from – it would mean a time of mourning throughout the elven community. For even one lost elfling was too many to bear.

They could only hope that they arrived in time to prevent the worst from happening…

“Do you think this is the work of Sauron’s orcs?” he asked suddenly. “If he is the one responsible for the attack on an elfling, we will have to call the council sooner than you thought, my Lord.”

Elrond nodded seriously, his mind rolling over all that would have to be done and how they might have to try to call the council.

“I agree, Glorfindel, if the elfling is able to tell us who attacked them and if it was tied to Sauron we will have to move faster that we had originally planned. I believe that Gil-galad will want to know of this as soon as possible as well. We may need to move all of the elflings to Lindon to ensure their safety until we can put a stop to Sauron’s terror.” He said grimly, knowing that Lórien and Greenwood were far to close to Mordor for their liking and even Rivendell wasn’t a safe enough distance for protecting elflings should the war escalate.

The blonde agreed silently, his fingers tightening on the reigns as they continued to ride, even as the first rays of the sun began to peak over the horizon. His thoughts remained on the young elf that was hurt and probably fearful of what was going on without one of the Eldar there to comfort them.

“Hold on, little one, we will be there soon.” He whispered under his breath, wishing some how that his words could reach them and give them even a small amount of comfort.

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AN: Thank you all for reading! Next chapter: Harry meets the elves! X3 tell me what you think! Yes I didn't make Isildur evil but I truly don't think he was. He was just an unfortunate human man who was ensnarled like Boromir. This is how I think he was before anything with the Ring happened. ^^