Chapter Text
Chapter 1
"Did you hear that Legolas?" Aragorn looks at his companion nervously. "It has only been a day since we left Imladris and yet I feel like there are eyes watching us from every corner of Middle Earth."
"Aye, I heard it too, but do not let your imagination cloud your judgement my dear friend. It has not happened before, so don't let it happen now. We are in the wild, noises will follow us wherever we go." Just as the elf says that, a loud crash is heard from deeper within the forest. Then... Silence.
Quietly they wake the others, shushing the Hobbits as they start to complain for getting woken up in the middle of the night.
Aragorn whispers: "We heard something out there, a crash. Legolas and I will go scout the area, all of you, prepare to flee, and if worse comes to worst: fight."
The Hobbits, anxious, grapple for their little swords Gimli had so aptly called toothpicks. Gimli himself is less nervous, used to fight or flight situations and starts re-braiding a part of his beard that came loose.
Frodo, as always, looks pale and weary, blue eyes wide open, flickering between the trees.
So as the group makes ready to leave their little camp, Aragorn and Legolas make their way to the source of the disturbance with little noise.
When they finally arrive at the small clearing of the forest they sought refuge in, their breaths still.
In the middle of the clearing, surrounded by a ring of pale blue flowers, stands a man. His figure is illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, wavy black hair falling to his shoulder blades. He faces the sky, his features calm yet striking, as if carved from the night itself. His skin, pale as though untouched by time, reflects the moonlight, giving him an almost ethereal quality.
Emerald green eyes, sharp and knowing, shimmer as he slowly turns his head, locking gazes with them as though he’s been waiting for their arrival. The air feels different around him—still, yet charged, like a storm on the horizon. The flowers at his feet seem to sway toward him despite the lack of wind, as if drawn to the quiet power radiating from his very being.
"Well, looks like it's not just me and the moon tonight..." The man says, his voice smooth and lilting. "Oh, I apologize, the moon and I, of course." His smile is gentle, almost playful, but there’s a weight to it—a quiet grace that makes even the stars above seem to dim in his presence.
Legolas takes in the scene before him slowly, a sense of calm and delight filling him. It feels as though a weight has been lifted off his heart just by hearing a few words from the man's mouth.
Then Aragorn breaks the spell with an aggression that startles Legolas, or perhaps his interruption was normal and it is just Legolas' cloudy perception: “Who are you?” Aragorn’s voice is sharp, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword. There’s something unsettling about this man—an effortless confidence that feels out of place in a world so fraught with danger.
As he locks eyes with the ranger, Harry feels a surge of triumph. He’s done it—escaped. A new world, a new life. "You may call me Hadrian," he says, the weight of his past still clinging to his voice. "Although in the past, I have been known by a different name..."