The Green Rider

Rating: M

Warnings: Violence, Language, Gore

Summary: Harry is the Master of Death. After his death during a robbery in the muggle bookshop he owned, he jumped from reality to reality. He has lived many lives, some taken right out of the stories he fell in love with during his first lifetime. Now, Harry is being reincarnated for the fourty-seventh time in Alagaesia. Like many of his other lives, his comming has been fortold.

"blah" - common human language

'blah' - thought

'blah' - thought speach

"blah" - Ancient Language

:blah: - Dwarvish

Chapter 1: The Grey Folk's Rider

Harry sighed as he felt the now-familiar sensation of falling. He had just died and was being thrown into another reality. As he was thrown from one life to the next, he had always wondered why he didn't get bored. Why did he always engage the stories he was implanted in. In his last incarnation, Harry had been thrown into the blessed realms of Arda, the West where the twelve Valar dwelt, incarnated as a maiar. He could have stayed in the blessed lands… but no! He couldn't stay put. He just had to accept Manwe's proposal to accompany the Istari to Middle Earth. Like Curumo and Olorin, Harry needed a new name for his journey since his name was known to the Noldor. So Harry had gone from Eonwe (the name Harry had been given when he had entered Arda, since, evidently, 'Harry' just didn't cut it) to Ulstafo. And so, Harry became known as Ulstafo (a name which he hated by the way) the Green. His mission accomplished, Sauron defeated, he had returned to the West. As a reward, the Valar, after about thirty-seven thousand years of service, allowed the Master of Death to move on to his next reincarnation. Bloody Hallows!

Now, Harry was here… wherever here is.

He sat up with a jolt and surveyed his surroundings.

He had landed in a field. Great trees lined the clearing. These trees even rivaled those found on the forest moon of Endor which he had visited in an incarnation a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.

He shook himself to bring himself back to the present. He could reminisce about past lives later. He needed to figure out where he had been reincarnated. He didn't even know if he was human in this world. While he had learned that the majority of his lives had been (and most likely would be) human, it was not a given. Hell, he had been a pixie in one of his lives. Although, he had to admit, the Lower Elements Police LEP Recon squad was rather entertaining. Foally was could always be relied upon for a good laugh. He had slightly reminded Harry of a centaur Luna Lovegood, hyped up on way too much caffeine.

Harry shook himself again. This had always happened when he was reincarnated. For some reason, attaining a new body made him sentimental and reminiscent. 'Focus Harry! There are more important issues to attend to!'

Noticing that there was a small stream winding its way through the clearing, Harry made that his next destination. Carefully leaning over the edge of the mossy bank, he checked his reflection.

'Okay, definitely not human: slanted eyes, exotic facial structure, pointed ears, no facial hair…most likely an Elf… but what story am I in? Let me think… the Shannara universe? No, the ears aren't elongated enough. It can't be Tolkien since I just left there,' Harry bit his lip, a habit that had stayed with him throughout all of his lives. 'Alagaesia? Maybe, but there are so many stories that have Elves that it will be hard to be sure until I can ask someone.' Harry sighed. He was going to have to ask someone.

He always hated that part. "Excuse me! Hi, my name's Harry. I'm not from this universe, could you tell me what this country is called." That never went over very well with the natives. Every so often he could deduce where he had landed, like that first incarnation into the Dune books, but it was a rare occurrence. It had only happened only thrice before. The second time was when he recognized the species of his reincarnation as a Togruta, immediately knowing that he was in the Star Wars Universe. The third time was had been when he had been reincarnated into the Tolkien Universe. Then he had only found out because Illuvatar had given him a brief overview of what he was expected to do before he was sent into the newly created Arda.

Grumbling, Harry got to his feet. The only thing he could see through the trees around the clearing was more trees. He would have to climb one to try to find a distinguishing landmark to try and get his bearings from.

He could climb a tree. That would be the normal way to go about things. Harry smirked. Someone who had been acquainted with him in his past lives could tell anyone who asked that Harry Potter rarely did anything the normal way.

Concentrating on his magical core, Harry dissolved into a dense emerald green smoke. This had become one of his favorite tricks. His enemies in many of his past lives had called this smoke 'The Green Death'. They ran and hid in terror at the sight of the column of unnaturally colored smoke snaking its way through the sky. The name was coined by the Sardukar in his second life. It became the first thing that elite fighting force, as a whole, had come to fear.

Harry rose into the air, winding his way through the trees, making his way to the highest branches of one of the taller pines that lined the clearing.

He rematerialized on the branch and quickly reevaluated his decision. While wind did not affect his smoke form, it did, however, make sitting on a spindly branch a good three hundred feet off of the ground rather precarious. One had steadying himself by holding onto the trunk of the pine, the other hand shielding his eyes from the intense summer sun, he looked out over the landscape.

Trees…trees…Oh! Look, more trees!

He sighed and sat down on the branch, only to scramble back to his feet, almost falling out of the tree in the process. The feeling of bark and sticky pine sap of his bare butt cheeks was startling to say the least.

"Great! Just great! I am lost in the middle nowhere, standing at the top of a huge ass tree, I don't even know what universe I am in, and I am naked. Just great!"

He turned around, turning back to the clearing. Just before he was about to mist back down to the clearing, something in the distance caught his eye. It looked to be a large rock outcropping jutting out of the forest. Perched at the top seemed to be a large pile of white stones, gleaming in the sunlight.

Harry sighed. Naked or not, he needed to find civilization. Since that outcropping was the only landmark, it was the best place to start. Dissolving back into smoke, he started snaking his way across the arboreal landscape.

It had taken Harry most of the afternoon to reach the large stone outcropping. The distance had been deceptive. When he had set out, he had forgotten to take into account the fact that the trees that surrounded the stone pillar were, in fact, close to three hundred feet tall. Given this fact, the outcropping still dwarfed them.

Landing at the top of the pillar, Harry practically collapsed against the pile of iridescent white boulders. He was exhausted. He hadn't misted this far since Numair Salmalin had challenged him to a race to test his power (he never let the old crow live down his loss). Looking at the horizon, Harry estimated that he had about half an hour left of daylight.

Harry made his way around the pile of white stones, looking for any possible sign of civilization. As he came back around to his starting point, he yelled in frustration. He needed to take his anger out on something, so he stalked right up to the large pile white rocks and kicked it as hard as he could. Needless to say, this was a bad idea.

Hopping around on one foot, holding his aching (and most likely severely bruised) foot, he tripped, landing on his back.

Now that he wasn't hopping around, cursing loudly, Harry realized that the ground was shaking, accompanied by low grunts which sounded like… laughing? He sat up, looking around questioningly. Before him was no longer a static pile of rocks, it was moving.

Realization hit him like a bolt of lightning. The pile of rocks wasn't a pile of rocks, but an animal. What Harry had assumed to be different stones were separate scales. This wasn't a natural rock formation, this was a dragon.

All Harry could do was stare as the dragon pulled itself up to its full hight. The being before him was more majestic than a sandworm, more terrifying than a rancor.

'Well, hello, little one. I have been waiting a long time to meet you.'

"Okay, I'm an elf. I am stranded in a big-ass forest and there is a dragon speaking in my mind… This has got to be Alagaesia."

'Right in one, little one. I am Bid'Daum. Before my rider passed, he told me of your coming. I am here to teach you.'

"Bid'Daum… Isn't that just 'Muad'Dib' spelled backwords? Huh, I never knew Paolini was a fan of Dune."

'What was that, little one?'

"Nothing, just thinking out loud…Wait a second, you're Bid'Daum. The Bid'Daum? Eragon, the founder of the Dragon Riders', companion?"

'You have heard of me, little one?' Harry could hear the thick inflection of amusement in the dragon's mental voice.

"Of course I have heard of you! You're bloody Bid'Daum!" Harry took a breath, his possibly broken toes forgotten, "Wait, everyone thinks you are dead. You just disappeared one day after turning over the leadership of the riders to Anurin, what happened?"

A look of sadness passed behind the dragon's enormous amber eyes. 'Eragon had always been very ill. He hid it well, but he was still sick. One day, he scryed the future and had two visions. The first was of his death. The second was of the decline and near extinction of the riders. In the second he saw that a great war would be waged. The war was led by two great heroes astride dragons, a blue female and a green male. One hero, a human, would be born to a rider. The other would be in the guise of an elf, but not be of our world.' Bid'Daum blinked, letting a single large teardrop fall to the ground. Harry had not even noticed the dragon was crying.

'We passed the leadership of the Riders on to Anurin, then retreated to this cliff top. He lived out the rest of his days here.' Harry noticed that the dragon had been curled up around a small one room house, which now easily lay between its great forepaws. 'As he lay dying, he told me of his visions. I wished to die with him, but he forbade me. I had a duty to train the elven hero as a Dragon Rider.'

"I am sorry, but I can't be that hero. The only green dragon egg in Galbatorix's possession, or will be. I don't even know what year it is! For all I know, Galbatorix hasn't even been born yet. But the crux of the matter remains, a dragon hasn't hatched for me so I can't be a dragon rider!"

Harry hated prophecies. They had ruled most of his lives. Defeat Voldemort. Help the Lisan al Gaib. Restore balance to the Force. Now he was foretold to be a bloody Dragon Rider. He guessed it was not all bad. Every since he had read the Inheritance Cycle, he had thought the concept of bonding with a dragon extremely interesting.

Bid'Daum chuckled again, 'I know you haven't bonded with a dragon yet. Eragon said that the elven hero would bond with my brother when he finally arrived here.'

"Your brother?"

'When Eragon found my egg in our nest after an elven hunting party had killed our parents, he not only rescued me, but also saved the only other egg in our brood to survive the raid. I eventually hatched for Eragon, but my brother stayed inside his emerald colored egg. Eragon kept my brother hidden from the world. He was afraid the elves would take my brother and force him to hatch, using him as a weapon.

'My little brother is inside the hut, on the table. If you don't believe that you are the hero Eragon saw, go inside. If he doesn't hatch for you, you can be on your merry way. If he does, you stay here and train. Either way, you may take a pair of clothes; you must be at least a little cold '

With a full body blush, Harry looked down and saw that he was still naked. How could he overlook something like that when he was sitting on the cold, hard stone.

Getting over his embarrassment, he sighed for what seemed like the umpteenth time today. He knew how this was going to turn out. No matter what life, no matter what his mission, it was still the same old saving the world.

The hut was extremely spartan. The only furniture within the house was a small cot, a wardrobe, a table, and a chair. These pieces only took up one of the hut's walls. Other three were covered, from floor to ceiling, with small cubby holes filed to bursting with scrolls.

Harry was frozen in awe. This small room must have contained thousands of years of knowledge. He would have stayed there, staring, if he had not felt a nippy breezy around his private bits.

Striding over to the wardrobe, he threw on the first set of clothing he found. Unfortunately for Harry, the legs of his pants were a bit too long. The first step Harry took sent him tumbling into the table. In his scrabble to maintain his balance he knocked the emerald green egg to the floor. Picking himself off of the ground, he righted the table, gently replaced the egg, and turned back to the scrolls.

Harry stopped, frozen in his tracks by a cracking sound. Knowing what he would find, he turned back to the table, only to be confronted by a flash of light.

When his vision cleared, there, sitting on the table, wagging its tail like an excited puppy, was a baby emerald green dragon.

The time passed and Harry began his training. Days turned into months, months into years, years into centuries. Time seemed to have no meaning at the little hut at the top of the rock spire.

Eridor, Harry's dragon, grew, as did Harry's knowledge and skill. They lived together as one, friends and companions, with Bid'Daum as their mentor. For one of the few times in many lives, Harry was truly happy.

This perfect life had to come to an end. A little over fourteen hundred years after Harry had arrived, Bid'Daum called them together.

'Your time here has come to a close, young ones.' Both Harry and Eridor could hear the weariness in their mentor's voice. 'It is time for you to leave this place. You have learned all I can teach you.'

"Ebrithil, what do we do now, I know that we must find the new Eragon and Sapphira, but where should we go, how do we find them?"

'Go to the Ellesmera, to the Craigs of Tel'Naeir, speak to the Rider. Tell him of Ayra's fate and of the existence of the new Eragon. Then fly. Fly to Farthen Dur and wait for the arrival of your new apprentice."

"Yes, Ebrithil."

'Yes, Ebrithil.'

'Before I go, under the floor of the hut is a trunk. Inside you will find three items. First, inside the trunk lies Aiedail, The Morning Star, my companion's blade. Keep this safe. Your apprentice will have need of it in the times to come. The second item is a suit of armor my companion had created for you before he left Ellesmera. It should fit, since he shared the vision of you with Rhunon so she could get your measurements. Finally, in the chest lie your blades, the Laufsblädar. Again, Rhunon forged these from the vision. These items will help you accomplish your goal. Take these as my last gift to you.'

Harry and Eridor had known that this day would come. They understood that their training could not last. They were happy for their master. The old dragon had spent most of his life away from his companion, the emptiness in his heart a constant reminder of what he had lost.

'Thank you, Ebrithil… for everything. May you finally find peace with your companion.'

The Bid'Daum put on the draconian version of a scowl, 'You're finally able to get rid of me, eh? Had enough of the old geezer?'

Harry held in his laughter as Eridor emotions flashed his panic. 'N-no, Ebrithil! I was… It was just… I just knew you had been missing-'

Both Harry and Bid'Daum couldn't hold in their laughter anymore as they both broke down.

'Oh, ha ha. Make fun of the baby. I am sorry to say this, Ebrithil, but you and Harry are both asses!'

Still howling with laughter, Harry managed to choke out, "B-Baby? You're the size of a large house. How can you call yourself a baby?"

'Ebrithil is old, plain and simple. Even without your past lives your body is still older than me by about eighteen years. If you do count your past lives, you are older than both of us, including the time we spent in our eggs, put together!"

"Sure, you could probably swallow a whole herd of deer and still be hungry, and you still call yourself a baby!"

'I am glad I can leave on such a light note. Goodbye Harry, goodbye Eridor. Make us proud,' and with that, the elderly dragon leapt of the rocky spire, flying to a place where he could die in peace.

Oromis sat at the edge of the Crags of Tel Naeir, lamenting the fate of the Princess, Ayra. He sighed, remembering the little elfling that had followed him around like a duckling. He remembered the conversation that had cost her life.

-Flashback-

"What is wrong, Ayra svit-kona? Have you had another argument with your mother?"

"Yes, Oromis-elda," she hesitated, seeming to decide what to say next. "Ebrithil, you have always told me to follow my heart, not to rely upon the word of others for answers to questions of moral dilemmas. If my mother ordered me to do one thing, and yet… my heart takes a different path, which should I follow?"

Oromis thought the question over. He knew the girl had a good heart, but the Queen was, well, the Queen. She made decisions for the good of the elven people as a whole. Then again… Islanzadi did have a blind spot when it came to Ayra. Her mother always chose what was safer for her daughter, wanting to protect her from harm, not necessarily what was for the good of the people.

"Ayra, your mother is wise with regards to many things, but sometimes she is blind when it comes to your safety. She loves you dearly, but if what she says truly conflicts with what your heart is telling you, go with your heart."

"I am grateful for your advice, Oromis-elda," she looked indecisive for a moment, then she threw herself at Oromis, embracing him. "Thank you, Uncle Oromis."

The Dragon Rider smiled warmly, a single tear rolling down the elf's cheek. Ayra hadn't called the old elf that since she was six. "You are welcome, child"

-End Flashback-

Ayra had taken the yawe the next day, pledging her life to the service of her race. The Queen had blamed him for Ayra's death, and in a way, she was right. Oromis had urgered her to do what she thought was right. He did not regret her choice. She dedicated herself to the safety of her people. No, he lamented that she had to give her life in her service.

He wiped the tear tracks from his cheeks and looked out over Du Weldenvarden. There! There was something large flying over the expanse of the forest, fast approaching.

Oromis sent out a call to Glaedr, alerting him to a possible threat. The golden dragon was too far away to reach his companion before the great beast arrived, but if Oromis could hold the creature off until the dragon's arrival, they could have a chance of surviving the encounter if the beast proved hostile.

The Elf squinted, trying to discern what the beast was. Even with his elven senses, the creature's natural camouflage was too great.

Boom

Oromis's eyes went wide. It was already here? How could it have possibly crossed that distance in such a short time?

Boom

The elf repositioned his feet into a stance he could do combat in, readying his magic in the possibility that the creature would attack on sight.

Boom

With a final beat of its mighty wings, the beast propelled itself onto the Crags. The ground shook as its immense bulk landed solidly on the stone beneath it, its legs rippling as it absorbed the shock of such a landing.

Oromis was staring, mouth hanging open. In front of him was a mighty green dragon. The elf couldn't believe it. Not only were there still dragons (other than Glaedr and Shruikan) that still roamed this earth, but this was a Rider's dragon. He could see the many straps of a molded saddle criss-crossing its chest.

A realization hit the elf. 'This dragon is immense! It is easily one and a half times the size of Glaedr. I cannot sense any magical augmentation of its growth, so it could not have hatched from the egg in Galbatorix's treasury. To grow to this size, it must have been bonded with its rider for well over a thousand years.' He was internally leaping with joy. 'If this Rider was under Galbatorix's rule, there would have been mention of a great green dragon. It's hard to keep those things quiet. There is another free Rider! We finally have a chance to defeat Galbatorix!'

The green dragon shifted slightly, bringing the elf out of its stupor. Remebering his maners, he brought two fingers to his lips in the elven greeting. Bringing his hand down, he twisted it in front of chest in the gesture of respect.

"May good fortune rule over you, Brightscales!"

'Peace live in your heart, Oromis-elda.'

"And may the stars watch over you. Brightscales, may I ask where your companion is? I am anxious to meet another Rider that is not under the thumb of the Traitor."

"His companion is standing right behind you, Oromis-elda, and has been for the last ten minutes."

Oromis spun around and took in the stranger's appearance, mouth hanging open (he hadn't been snuck up upon since he gained his Rider Mastership six hundred years ago). The elf standing before him appeared young, no older than thirty (seventeen or eighteen in human years), but stranger, Oromis knew, had to be older than himself due to the size of his dragon.

The Rider was dressed as an elven king leading his people into battle. His greened brightsteel armor gleamed in the sun, each metal scale carved as its own unique leaf. Two identical swords were slung at his hips, the green brightseel of the hilts screamed of Rhunon's craftsmanship.

Movement brought Oromis's attention back to the stranger's face. He brought his fingers to his lips. Upon the reciprocation of the motion, Oromis did something he had only done for the Queen, Gilderien the Wise, Vrael (when he was still alive) and the dragons. He twisted his hand in front of his chest in honor of the Rider Master standing in front of him (what else could this stranger be to be so cloaked in power and wisdom).

The Queen and her court were gathered in the Throne Hall. The Queen had received a missive from Oromis stating that a new Dragon Rider had demanded an audience with the full Elven Court.

'Demanded... The nerve of this new Shur'tugal! Even if they are a Dragon Rider, they had no right to demand anything of the Queen. This whelp must be young to think that he holds power over the Elves.' Islanzadi smirked, 'He will be in for a rude awakening if he thinks he can just brandish the Shur'tugal name and the elves will bow to his every whim. Even if he is an elf, the moment he received the gedwey ignasia, he gave up any social standing within the elven nation. His only importance is what I say it is.'

The Queen, dressed to impress in her swan feather cloak and royal robes, was still plotting the humiliation of the new Rider when the heavy doors of the Hall burst open.

Islanzadi had been expecting such a theatrical entrance that befitted the arrogance of the new Rider. What the Queen (and most of the Nobility seated along the walls of the Hall) weren't expecting was, instead of an arrogant youngling striding into the Hall, a column of green smoke emerged through the open gates, coiling around the room until it came to rest in the center of the room, directly in front of the Queen, and solidified into a young elf.

Taking in his appearance, she sighed. She had been upstaged. This elf's appearance made her garments look like rags. She did not do all of this for her own benefit. She was trying to stop the arrogance of the old Shur'tugal Order from creeping into the new Riders. That was one of the failures of the old Order. They thought they were invincible. Vrael (when he had been alive) even had had the audacity to tell her that the Dragon Riders would be a constant as the three races strove among themselves for dominance of Alagaesia. He said that it was the Rider's duty to police the Nations, allowing them the final voice as to who was right and who was wrong.

If this Rider just expected her to roll over for him, he was greatly mistaken. Now that her daughter was dead, her first and only concern was the survival of the elven race. If that meant that that she had to damn the other races to the tyranny under Galbatorix's rule, then so be it.

She smiled when the Rider put his fingers to his mouth, twisted his hand in the gesture of respect, and then initiated the forma greeting. 'At least this one can play the game of politics. Let's see if he can play it well.'

"Greetings, Queen Islanzadi," his voice was musical, yet carried wisdom and power that made people guess that his appearance masked his true age. The Queen felt a presence in this new rider that exceeded even the oldest and wisest elves. "I come bearing news, both wonderful and terrible.

"Who are you Rider, to be the bearer of such portentous words?"

"I have gone by many names, but here I am to be called Du Rakr-Vrangr, the Wandering Mist." The Rider paused for a moment, considering what to say. "If you are looking for a proper name, I am sorry to say that I don't have one," looks of disbelief crossed the faces of many of the nobles present, the Queen included, "I have been called many things in many different places. Over time, I realized that the name just represented me, it was not who I am. If a proper name is required, you may call me Eonwe, for that was the last name that I favored."

"That is an unusual name for an elf, from where do you hail?" an elven Lord commented from his seat along the wall. The Queen sent him a stern glance, but her heart was not in it since she too had been about to ask the same question.

The Rider let out a deep, rich laugh. Nearly every elf in the hall shivered from the power that was unmasked. The only elf who was immune to this was Gilderien, who was shaking with silent laughter in the corner of the room (something Harry felt that he should investigate when he returned with Eragon, Sapphira, and Ayra).

"Who said anything about being an elf? I may appear to be an elf in this body, but no…I am no elf. I hail from a realm outside of this reality and when I die in this realm, I will pass on to another, just as one moves from room to room. You have deemed me, and those like me, as the Grey Folk."

Islanzadi was frozen in shock. This was one of the beings whose predecessors bound magic to the Ancient Language. They were rumored to have the innate ability to use magic outside the limitations of reality. They could create from nothing, they could destroy as if the thing never existed. If this rider wanted, he could wipe the elven race from existence.

The Queen mentally shook herself out of her awe. "You said that you brought news, Eonwe-elda. What tidings do you bring?"

"Good Queen, I come bearing news of your daughter, Ayra Drottningu," there was a collective gasp heard around the room as the Queen's eyes went wide, filled with hope. "Even now, she has been rescued and is currently on her way to safety in Farthen Dur." The Queen gave a muffled cry of relief. "She was rescued by a new Dragon rider from Durza's lair in Gil'ead. This, unfortuneately is the extent of my good tidings. Currently they are crossing the Hadarac Desert. When they reach the Beor Mountains, they will be confronted by an army composed of Imperial soldiers and Urgals.

"While I have seen that they will escape, they will soon be attacked at Farthen Dur. I am sorry to say that Durza will be leading the invading army. While the Varden and the Dwarves are fierce fighters, they do not have the magical strength to combat a Shade head on. That task will fall to Ayra, who will still be recovering from her injuries, and the new Rider, who is vastly inexperienced. While he may be a semi-competent swordsman, he only has a rough knowledge of the ancient language since Brom died before completing his basic training," a pained look crossed Islanzadi's face at the mention of Brom's death. "This is why I come to you good Queen. I will be setting out for Farthen Dur almost immediately. Eridor, my companion, has agreed to transport ten elves with us when we leave. I ask you to give assistance to the dwarves, the Varden, the new Shur'tugal, and your daughter in the battle ahead."

Harry knew if he reminded the queen that any elves she sends would not only be helping the Varden, but also fighting beside her daughter, she would bow to his wishes. He had been a master of politics even before she was born. He knew she would send help. It was only a question of who she would send: a paltry token assistance or a formidable fighting force.

"You will have your assistance. I will have the elves ready to depart within the hour." The Queen stood to address her nobles. "My friends, in my grief, I abandoned our allies, the Varden. Spread the news. We are rejoining the war! Princess Ayra is alive and two new Riders have appeared to help overthrow the Tyrant. Go to your militias, gather your best so that we may choose who to send with Eonwe-elda to aid the Varden."

Harry saw a herald scurry out a side door. After a few minutes, as the nobles were still exiting the Hall, a great cheer could be heard from outside. Apparently a crowd had gathered outside, curious as to why a full court audience was held at this time of night. From the roar of the cheers outside, it seemed that the elves were happy to be going to war.

It had been two hours since the meeting in the Throne Room and almost everyone was ready. They were back at the Crags of Tel Naeir and the nine elven magicians were already strapped into the saddles that Harry had positioned between the large spikes that traveled down Eridor's spine.

Harry looked up as he heard someone walking towards them on the path that led to Ellesmera.

"Rhunon-elda, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Would you, by any chance know who our tenth warrior would be?"

"Aye, I would," she said in her infamous gruff maner.

Harry raised a questioning eyebrow, to which the smith rolled her eyes and turned slightly so Harry could see the pack on her back. "Ah, you are most certainly welcome, Rhunon-elda. I did not realize someone of your fame would be accompanying me. I am honored."

"Oh, stop the words of milk and honey! You can leave all that political nonsense with the court. I am just here to make sure you don't destroy those masterpieces you are wearing and to show the dwarves who holds the title of 'Best Smith'. Some of the pieces they trade with us are shoddy at best. I am coming to give their King a piece of my mind!" With that, the smith clambered up Eridor's side, dropping into the saddle behind Harry's.

He sighed. He just had to be seated right in front of the only elf who had no filter on her mouth. 'This is going to be a long journey, Eridor."

'At least you don't have to carry her… I think she brought her anvil.'