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Chapter Text

It was… peaceful. Idyllic. Harry knew that this world was far from safe, or civilised. But, out here on the endless rolling plains, it was easy to forget.

Ten years. Ten years had passed since Harry Potter had found himself in this strange and backwards world. Those ten years had been filled with anger, then desperation, then acceptance. Finally he had arrived at an almost completely foreign sensation; contentment.

It was a strange sensation. Harry had never really had much space in his life for happiness. He was always pushed and pulled this way and that by the world and the people within it. Here he was alone. Utterly alone. No responsibilities and no expectations.

It did bother him a little, he still missed his friends and the shadows that they had left upon him. He knew, however, that there was no way back. He was here, in this world, and so it was likely to remain.

This world was a medieval one. It had taken some time for Harry to realise he wasn't simply back in time, but in an entirely new world that appeared to be stuck in the age of swords and kings and knights and maidens. It was curiously comforting. On the surface it shared many similarities with the wizarding world, even if it was a little dirtier.

One thing he hadn't been prepared for just how… messy medieval life was. The common folk lived a positively squalid lifestyle, dominated by hard labour and dirt and damp. As a wizard this mattered little to Harry. He could live like a king in the middle of a barren desert. Water could be summoned through magic and food could be engorged and duplicated almost indefinitely. A single fish could feed Harry for weeks, and here he had a whole river.

It was curious, just how peaceful he found this land. It was a land riven by bloodshed and death, but it felt almost natural in these surroundings. There were no great Lords or Conquerors bent on the subjugation of mankind. There was just people, being people. People fighting over borders or homesteads or gold or women. Harry found it almost comforting, the sheer banality of the conflicts in this place.

He was not needed, and that was why he had come to love it.

In his search for a way home he had travelled far and wide. He had seen the crumbling ruins of ages past and the high halls of the great kings of this world. He had seen the wilds and the gangs and highwaymen that frequented them. Deserts and plains and caves and valleys unnumbered he had trod. He had moved through the world like a ghost, unseen and unknown.

Over the last few years though he had settled down. He constructed a little homestead by a small river on the great grass plains. Occasionally riders would pass nearby, large, blonde, hairy men that reminded Harry of what he imagined Vikings would have looked like. Some even tried to talk to him. A few tried to convince him to move his home to a nearby village, the wilds were no longer safe for a man alone they said.

Harry had ignored their warnings. He had wandered far and seen much in this world, and nothing he had seen could threaten him. This world had no true magic. He could feel a spark of something in the trees and in the very ground but it was nothing compared to the magic of his home. Some of the songs he had heard in roadside inns had seemed almost living things, but still, there was no magic within them.

It was a curious world, he had learned. It was not Earth, of that much he was certain. He had seen trees broader and taller than the largest trees of Earth, like great wooden skyscrapers straining to reach the heavens. He'd met foul creatures, an abhorrent mix between goblin and troll, which seemed to harbour a deep loathing of all other living things. He'd encountered wolves the size of bears, and much more ferocious.

He'd even seen eagles the size of a plane, far in the distance, wheeling over the frigid mountaintops far in the east.

And yet, the world was muggle. It was drab, it was dirty, and it was unforgiving. It was also beautiful. This world was almost entirely unmarred by the ravages of man and civilisation. The plains he now called home stretched for miles and miles, uninterrupted and flowing. A great grass sea, across which herds of horses streamed like water from east to west and back again.

To the north, a great range of mountains with snow-capped peaks that seemed to glow bright and pure in the warm sunlight of this land, utterly untamed and unblemished. Flowing from dark crevices upon the lower faces was a huge and ancient forest that put Harry in mind of the Forbidden Forest back home. It held the same tension, the same watchfulness.

For now, though, Harry was content. He was seated cross-legged by the river near his home, eyes closed and ears open. He submerged himself in the sounds around him, the energetic gurgling of the strong waters as they hastened on their way to the great river to the east, and thence to the sea.

There were few birds out on the open plains, what few there were did not sing or lark, instead what he heard about him was the sounds of the undergrowth. Of small furry creatures scratching out a meagre existence from the dry earth of the wide grasslands.

Something impressed upon his consciousness, a sound, just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. It was soft and almost silent but Harry had grown accustomed to the world he now occupied and it grated across his awareness like the dripping of a tap in a quiet house.

It was a human noise, but even that was not quite right. He opened his eyes, searching for the source of the disturbance.

There, just below him, a man had been washed ashore by the bend in the river, he was obviously soaked to the skin. Even from this distance, the man looked battered and bruised in from his journey down the often white waters of the river.

Harry swept to his feet and moved with the ease of familiarity through the many boulders that littered his path. It had been some few weeks since he had last had significant human contact, a young man from a nearby village passing by, and he felt that perhaps, just perhaps, he would welcome the company. Even if the manner of his arrival did suggest that his peaceful existence may soon come to an end.

The man was very tall, well over six feet by Harry's reckoning. A few inches taller than Harry himself. He also exuded the kind of earth health and fitness common to many of the men and women of this world. He had dark shaggy hair, flecked with the occasional grey strand, and a pale yet weathered face, with strong high cheekbones. His equipment was of obviously high standard, though well-worn with use. He bore a sword that was simple and unadorned but light shimmered and rippled in the blade as if the water of the river itself had been fashioned to an edge and the light of the sun trapped within. He also carried a collection of knives of lowlier quality but still of such artifice that it was clear to Harry's unfamiliar eye.

Overall the impression Harry got was of a wanderer not unlike himself in his first few years in this world though obviously this man was no wizard. He looked to take after the high-born of this world, the strength of his features an immediate give-away. He was, Harry thought, probably in his early to mid-forties though it was hard to judge. The harsh lifestyle this world enforced added years to all men's visages.

Harry immediately set about tending to the unknown man though amazingly he seemed to be suffering from nothing more than fatigue and a few minor cuts and bruises. Harry quickly dried the man's clothes and warmed him up, treating the cuts and bruises with simple healing spells. Such injuries were commonplace among the people of this world, but it seemed to Harry that this man may have been in a fight, judging by how recent most appeared.

Soon, the man returned to consciousness, though he wisely chose to lie still when he did. He was wary of Harry then. That added a certain level of intelligence to his estimation of the man. He decided to let the man be, it would be the better if the unknown man felt he had a handle on the situation before Harry tried to push him.

While waiting for the man to come around, Harry had set a small fire on the riverside, to allay suspicion when the man came round and found himself both warm and dry after his trip down the almost glacial river. Now Harry busied himself tending to that fire, it was unnecessary of course, but he hoped it would make the man feel less threatened in his presence.

Finally, the man made a noise and Harry turned to meet his gaze. His eyes were a shade of grey, both deep and piercing, and they regarded Harry with obvious intelligence. Harry knew he was being judged as a potential threat, but was unconcerned. This world was utterly helpless in the face of his own magic, he was certain he had nothing to fear from any of its inhabitants.

After a short staring match the man finally moved to speak.

"I owe you a debt, stranger," the man said perhaps a little tentatively though Harry could feel the power and commanding tones beneath. A high-born, certainly, though a modest one, it seemed. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I was sure that the day of my death had come when I fell into the river."

Harry nodded at the man, glad that he seemed to be of sound temperament. "No debt, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I am Harry, son of James. You would not have died without my intervention, though I have no doubt you would be rather more sore than you are now!"

Aragorn's eyes widened fractionally and he stood quickly, flexing as he rose. "You speak true, my hurts ail me not, save the tiredness of a long day in the saddle. How is this possible? How long have I slept?"

Harry could see that Aragorn was extremely worried by the prospect and quickly spoke to allay his fears. "Not long, I would guess. You came from the river not 10 minutes ago and I shouldn't think you were in there more than an hour or two."

Aragorn sighed in relief, then frowned. "Then how is my current good health possible, surely such healing is beyond the ken of men, even the crafts of the Elves would not heal cuts and bruises so rapidly as this? From where do you hail, Harry, son of James, that you possess such knowledge?"

Harry wondered a moment at the reference to Elves, for he had encountered none on his travels. But then, the Elves of his own world had always been wily and well able to conceal themselves from idle eyes, and Harry had not been looking for the short, servile creatures.

"Far away, too far away." He sighed a little sadly at the thoughts of back home. "Much further than even I have walked, I know that."

Aragorn frowned for he wasn't altogether pleased by Harry's avoidance, but realised that he had no grounds on which the question the man to whom he still felt he owed his life. More pressing matters were at hand.

"Harry, fell things are soon to be upon us, I must make all haste to Helm's Deep before nightfall, a great darkness is falling over this land and it is there that the first great battle will be fought." Aragorn considered Harry for a time before continuing. "You should join me, you have the look of a man who knows how to wield a sword."

Harry did, to a certain extent. He had long carried a sword with him on his travels, finding that walking the wilderness without one was seen as both unusual and suspicious. It also made him look an easy target, he was sure his adoption of a blade had saved the lives of a few desperate souls.

Over the years he had earned something of a familiarity with it, though it was only ever meant as a cover for his magic. He had found ways of using his magic to make the sword easier to swing and control without trading effectiveness and it had made him a force to be reckoned with, at least against the undisciplined highwaymen he'd so far encountered. But he wasn't about to up sticks and charge off into a battle. This man could obviously take care of himself, Harry did not see a pressing need to protect him. Besides, he was not yet that tired of his peaceful existence that he would jump with both feet into a war.

"I have a little skill, it is true. But my place is here, with my home and I wou-" He stopped speaking as he heard a horn call across the rolling grassland, faint and far distant.

Both he and Aragorn shared a glance before they jumped to their feet and sprinted quickly to the top of the hill on which Harry had been relaxing just half an hour earlier. At the sight that met their eyes they could do nought but stare.

A great column of darkness was marching across the landscape, heading towards their hill. The distant thunder of thousands of feet could be heard as a force of more than 10 thousands advanced across the landscape, bloody and torn banners bearing a white hand flapping in the wind. It seemed that the air grew colder at their approach, and the sun hid behind rapidly welling clouds.

"On second thought," said Harry after a long moment of silence, "Perhaps I will do as you suggest. To Helm's Deep, you say? Let's get going!"

Harry's house was only lightly warded, he did not wish to lock himself off from the world entirely. Instead he had placed some basic intention based wards around the building, to keep away some of the more dangerous creatures of this world while he slept. They would not stop an army. He also had no time to erect more complete wards, taking as they did weeks to raise and years to strengthen. Not that he thought he could create wards capable of repelling such a force, he suspected even the protections set about Hogwarts would fail in the face of such a host.

The two men moved swiftly back down this hill towards Harry's abode. In haste Harry flitted about his home, collecting everything he felt was irreplaceable. That did not come to much. All he still had from his old life was his wand, a few fond memories and the regrets that kept him so distant from the people here, even after so long.

Still, he collected some food and water into a pouch, charmed to keep it both fresh and cool. He picked up his sword, a decent looking long sword that he'd taken from an unlucky would-be robber and rushed back out the door.

Aragorn had saddled Harry's horse, Cadogan; named after the insane portrait in Hogwarts with which he shared a few traits, and was tending to a new horse that Harry did not recognise.

"His name is Brego," said Aragorn, between whispering soft words into the horse's ear.

Both men then mounted their steeds and rode with all haste, following the river.

"This river has its source at the Deeping Stream, and from here flows to meet the Isen at the fords, should we follow it upstream we should come to Aglarond before nightfall," Aragorn explained. "I can only hope that the King's passage was unmolested after the attack which lead to my fall."

As they rode on, they talked. Aragorn was surprised by just how far detached from the world Harry was, seemingly completely ignorant of much that he had long taken for granted.

Aragorn talked of Elves, not the Elves that Harry knew but tall, fair and immortal beings that seemed to Harry's ear to be the personification of grace. He talked of Dwarves, a race that had been no more than myth and legend in Harry's own world. He talked of Orcs and Goblins and Trolls and other fell things, he spoke of the coming war between the Dark Lord Sauron and the realms of men.

Harry, in turn, spoke of his travels, from the dark misted marshes of the north, to the hot and scoured deserts of the south. Aragorn had travelled far himself, and they were able to compare some of their stories with ease.

In Aragorn, Harry recognised something of a kindred spirit. The man had avoided talking much about himself but it was obvious to Harry that he carried a heavy burden. It seemed to him that the man would be happy to return to the wandering days of his youth but here he was, in the centre of a war, the likes of which Harry had never known.

In Harry, Aragorn found a mystery. The young man had wandered far and seen much, but had apparently kept away from people. He knew almost nothing of Arda nor even the people that dwelled within. Quite how the serious young man had come to live on his own in the Westfold for so long, an area that had been so mercilessly ravaged by Saruman's minions, Aragorn did not know.

The young man spoke wistfully of the peace he had enjoyed during his years of nigh exile, yet Aragorn knew that Dunlendings and Uruk-Hai had been burning the area for many months at the least. In the stories of his travels, He found more mystery.

He recognised places from Harry's tales. Harry spoke of the Sea of Rhûn and the endless plains whence the ancient inland sea of Helcar had once given life to Cuiviénen beneath the stars before the light of the two trees had chased the darkness from Middle-earth. He listened as Harry described the blasted uttermost north and the ruins of Angband and the broken remnants of the Thangorodrim. He even spoke of the shattered mountains awash in a frozen ocean where some believed the unspoken horrors of Utumno had once crept from the darkest depths of the earth before the light and might of the Valar had fallen upon it in the Battle of the Powers.

Harry seemed to treat the wilds of Middle-earth with a reckless carelessness, even after his long and distant wanderings to lands long held under Sauron's sway. Orcs and Goblins and dark men from the East held no fear for the young man. He spoke even of dragons and expressed only interest and fascination, not the fear and respect that should be commanded by even the meanest children of Ancalagon and Glaurung.

Aragorn himself felt safe enough in the wilds, long years of experience allowing him to feel confident of his own ability to survive most of the trials of that life. His wanderings in the east had consumed more than a decade of Aragorn's long life, still more his wanderings in far Harad and the uttermost south. Many times his life had been put in peril and only his long experience and the valour of his stoic companions had seen him through.

Harry, though, had a bare fraction of that experience and none of the Ranger's caution. Quite how he had survived alone in such harsh and dangerous conditions for so long had Aragorn at a loss. No amount of skill with a blade could save a man from cold, sickness or the many poisoned plants to be avoided in the wilds of Middle-earth and even a great bladesman could be overcome by Goblins if they were incautious while traversing the Misty Mountains. No man had explored the frozen north as Harry claimed, the scars of Morgoth still seeped malice and nothing could long survive in those wastes without succumbing to the cold, hunger or clinging darkness.

Ordinarily, Aragorn would discard the stories as those of a boastful youth, but there was something about the young man that gave him a moments pause. Strange, though his attitude was and impossible though the stories seemed they were told in such a way that it seemed Harry had no idea the stories he told were beyond what any man or elf had done since the elder days.

He did not press the younger man unduly but a seed of doubt was planted. The east was far from unpopulated. What concerned Aragorn was that the Easterlings of Rhûn had long been held under the sway of the Dark Lord and had paid service to his dark servants. It struck him as convenient in the extreme that an unknown man should come out of that long shadowed place to find himself at Aragorn's side.

Not all men of the east had been corrupted though. That wasn't what concerned Aragorn, what concerned him most was how he came across his healing crafts and how he'd stepped so lightly through the world that his presence was completely unknown to a man so well travelled as the Chieftain of the Dunédain. Perhaps Gandalf would know more.

Much in the east was shrouded even from Aragorn. He had been told of the eastern elves, the Avari or Avamanyar, but had believed them long waned or taken by darkness. Perhaps his companion had encountered them? Or men who had learned healing craft from them? It seemed unlikely, how could those elves that refused entry to Aman and turned from the wisdom of the Ainur have abilities that exceeded even the Ñoldor?

Ultimately he decided that it mattered little. Whether the stories be true or no, Harry could certainly hold a blade and that was what was needed more than anything in the coming fight. But if the stories were true, perhaps the hand of the Valar was not so distant as many had come to believe. Or perhaps the hand of someone else, someone… darker. He resolved to keep an eye on his companion.

Harry was wary now, Aragorn's tale of Sauron shattered his hopes for a peaceful existence and it was obvious from one or two of the nobleman's stories that magic was not so unknown as Harry had believed.

The elves, it seemed, had access to a subtle magic of their own so very different from his own experience. Then there were the wizards. Saruman the White, the commander of the host that even now could be seen darkening the horizon behind the two riders was supposed to be powerful, wise and ancient. Oh, and evil now as well.

Then there were the brief mentions of Gandalf. Whom Harry divined was another wizard in the same vein as Saruman though on the side of good. It was obvious that Aragorn held a great respect for the wizard though he did not speak of him at length.

More interesting was the background that Aragorn was able to give on the places Harry had wandered. When he'd first arrived in this world it had been on a dark and shattered island amid a grey endless sea of cruel ice. Aragorn surprised Harry, the weather-beaten and villainously unshaven man had proven something of a historian, able to give Harry an insight into the history of his new world far beyond any of the men he'd yet encountered.

Harry had no idea how much was fact and how much was legend. Aragorn claimed to have gleaned his knowledge from elders amongst the Wise; Gandalf, Saruman, Elrond, Galadriel, people who could have even seen the events he described first hand.

After all that Harry found himself grateful that he'd tried to keep his identity and existence as quiet as possible. If there was one thing his magic was good for it was keeping himself secret. The discovery that he did not have a monopoly on magic was a concern. He'd already found that the foul Orc creatures could occasionally see through things like a notice-me-nots and muggle repelling charms it was likely that the elves and wizards described by Aragorn would be even more capable.

From Aragorn's commentary on his story he had arrived in Middle-earth among either the ruins of Angband or Utumno now long flooded after Gods had warred over the fate of the world before any Men or Elves had appeared. It was like something out of a Norse myth, it was so obviously fanciful. He had to take it with a pinch of salt, but the existence of immortal Elves made him doubt his own surety. Surely immortal beings wouldn't be so easily fooled by the mists of time? This line of thought kept him occupied throughout the ride.

As evening fell they came upon Helm's Dike, so said Aragorn, a low rampart laid across the entrance to the Deeping Coomb. As they approached a voice rang out, "In the name of Théoden, Lord of the Mark, declare yourselves!"

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, comes bearing news for the King," answered Aragorn.

"Your presence alone is good tidings beyond measure, Lord Aragorn. Dark was the mood in the King's party upon word of your loss," spoke the voice. "The King and Éomer have not long passed hence, we are to hold the Dike for as long as may be. Bring word to the King that the enemy is on your heels!"

"Such is our news indeed, but now we must hasten." He turned to Harry. "Come Harry, time is short."

Harry was quickly reassessing his impression of Aragorn. Harry had believed the man to merely be a Ranger, his familiarity with the royal family of Rohan rather scuppered that idea. He was obviously an important man, Harry wasn't sure if his proximity to the man was good or bad.

Given Harry's historical luck he was leaning towards it being bad.

Soon they were riding up the long ramp towards the great gate to the fortress, there they were again both challenged again from high in the darkness at the top of the wall.

"Aragorn, son of Arathorn I bring tidings and council for the King, and the sword arm of my companion, Harry, son of James," shouted Aragorn into the darkness.

The voice again rang out, "Lord Aragorn! This is indeed good tidings, we had believed you fallen at the Westfold. The King will be most grateful for your safe return, and to bring another sword with you. Even one will be most well received." With that, the man shouted for the great gate to be opened to allow them entrance.

As they entered the fortress, Harry took stock of its defenders. They were a sorry bunch indeed. Most were a rabble of children and old men, each in ill-fitting chainmail with pitted and rusty swords at their belts. They looked forlorn and broken, obviously they knew the force that was on its way to assail them. Even as he watched, a spark of hope kindled in the eyes that beheld 'Lord' Aragorn. It seemed that his new acquaintance was definitely a somebody. Harry kicked his horse closer to the elder man.

"Lord Aragorn?" He asked mildly, "I hope I have not done you an insult in being too familiar, my Lord."

Harry wasn't at home with the feudal system still being used in this world, but he knew enough to try and avoid insulting important people through his modern mannerisms.

Aragorn merely shrugged it off. "You have already earned the right to familiarity, my friend. No offence was given or taken, so worry not."

At last the two men and their throng of followers came to the centre of the keep, where an unusual collection awaited them.

First to draw Harry's eye was a lady, pale and fair. And tragic. He could see in her eyes both joy and pain at the return of Aragorn, though Harry knew not why. She wore an attractive, yet utilitarian blue dress in the style of the time and long hair cascaded from her head to her waist like a fall of molten gold.

The next was also fair, though in an entirely different way. He seemed to Harry to be entirely out of place among the dirt, grime and blood of this world. Tall, lithe, and with long straight palest blonde hair, Harry assumed that this was the Elf, Legolas, that had been in Aragorn's travelling party. As Harry regarded the Elf he saw a bright smile spread across his features, revealing perfect, pearly white teeth.

Then there was a man, tall, bearded and broad of shoulder. His bearing and regalia left no doubt that this was a great and respected warrior among the Rohirrim, the people who populated the great plains where Harry had made his home. He regarded Aragorn's arrival with a controlled countenance, but Harry could see happiness playing in his dark and serious eyes.

Finally a Dwarf, of that Harry was in no doubt. Almost as broad as he was short, and almost completely concealed behind his own bushy auburn beard he looked exactly like the fairy tale Dwarves of his own world. Harry also noticed that he was carrying a far greater number of axes than he could ever possibly need. Gimli, Aragorn had called him.

The Man spoke first, "Lord Aragorn! You are late. So quick were you to leave after we had chance to draw swords together. Your return is glad tidings indeed!" Harry could see a twinkle of mirth in the tall man's eyes.

Aragorn jumped from his horse, passing the reins to one of the nearby men. "My apologies, Éomer son of Éomund. For I was waylaid and put-upon by my companion as I chose to have a bath."

This seemed to be the signal for everyone to rush to Aragorn, the lady, Legolas and Gimli foremost among them. Harry stood to the side, feeling out of place in this reunion of friends. He was no Lord, or elf or dwarf and he knew he would not ordinarily find himself in such company. Nevertheless, he found their affection for each other warming, he wondered just how much they had been through together. He smiled sadly, for their friendship reminded him much of his own with Ron and Hermione.

The lady broke away from the group first, and quickly approached Harry where he stood, half forgotten and lost in reminiscence. "We all of us owe you a debt, Harry son of James. With Lord Aragorn now returned to us, and in better health than he left we now have a hope of seeing out the night."

Harry bowed deeply to her. "As I told Lord Aragorn, my Lady, there is no debt, I merely did as anyone else would have done."

As he spoke he took another closer look at her, trying to work out why she had come over to talk to him. He knew that he had no station in this world, now that he was here it was likely he'd end up put under the command of some sergeant, or whatever they were called here, and left to fend for himself.

"Lord Aragorn told me of your skills with healing, I will be cowering in the caves with the women and babes, tending to the wounded in the coming battle. Mayhaps you would join me in my task?" she asked.

That brought Harry up short. Of course, the only unusual thing they'd seen from him thus far was his ability to heal Aragorn's wounds. It stood to reason that they'd want to put that ability to best use. The other thing he noticed was the bitterness with which the Lady regarded her task. Harry found it a little amusing that she regarded her fellow women with such apparent contempt. Finally, Harry knew a command when he heard one, no matter how softly worded.

He inclined his head. "If that is what my Lady commands, but if it does not cause grave insult, might I know your name?"

She seemed startled by the realisation that he did not know her, but it was gone quickly.

"My apologies, Lord Harry, I am Éowyn, my mother Théodwyn was the sister of King Théoden. Éomer-" she nodded towards the broad shouldered man now laughing raucously at some joke between himself and Gimli "-is my brother."

"No need, my Lady Éowyn, I am no Lord. I hold neither rank nor station though your words do me a great honour." Harry had come to something of an understanding of the way the people of this world spoke, but coming up with the right words for a situation like this caused him a headache. At least he now had a name for the two unknowns among Aragorn's friends.

Éowyn looked surprised at that. "No Lord? But your clothes are much too fine and your features too fair to be anything else! I had taken you for Lord Aragorn's kin when first I espied you in his company." She looked between Harry and Aragorn, who was still being furiously clapped on the back by a cheerful dwarf. "The resemblance is true, though your eyes are queer, and your name queerer still!"

Harry smiled at her outburst, it was true that there was something of a resemblance between Harry and Aragorn, though nowhere near as close as she suggested. Both had dark hair and strong features, but Harry had not the height of Aragorn nor his grave eyes. It was well that he had done away with his glasses shortly before coming to Middle-earth, they would surely have been an object of fascination. He supposed his 'Lordliness' mostly stemmed from his bathing habits, which were rather more stringent than most people he could see about him.

"If we have a relation then it would be a truly miraculous circumstance, my own family hails from much further afield than even the Rangers dare tread."

The meeting was breaking up and moving into the interior keep, Éomer and Aragorn talking quickly as they walked. Harry, it seemed, was forgotten.

Lady Éowyn obviously noticed the same. "Now that they have gone to the King to argue their strategy for the coming night, I should like to show you the caves. It is where you and I shall be working when the time comes for battle. You must make any preparations now, for battle is surely but hours away."

Éowyn quickly led Harry out of the large keep, which she explained was called the Hornburg, after the horn of Helm Hammerhand which resided at the top of the tower called the Burg. She led him down the inner steps behind the Burg onto the Deeping Wall, a long thick strip of mortared stone that straddled the Deeping Coomb. Finally he followed her as she walked along the banks of the stream, imaginatively called the Deeping Stream, up into the Coomb. Here they both walked past the horses of the fighting Rohirrim men and Éowyn called out to the man whom Harry assumed was organising the guard in that area. "Gamling, the king will have need of your council. The Lord Aragorn has returned and he and my brother have retired with the king to plan the battle."

The man addressed as Gamling, a spry looking old man that Harry would place somewhere close to 70 nodded to the princess. "Aye, my Lady. The guard here is set and the caves will be held to the last, by my honour. I shall go to the king for the final preparations."

Éowyn continued to lead Harry up the Coomb until finally he could see some caves around which some other women could be seen clustered.

"Elfwyn, we must get everyone into the cave and set the guard," Éowyn spoke to the closest woman, "the attack is soon to fall upon us and we must be ready to receive wounded and defend ourselves if necessary."

Chapter Text

The Glittering Caves of Aglarond were breathtaking in their beauty, a majesty only slightly reduced by the sorry crowds of women and children cramped into the large open spaces that stretched far back into the mountain.

Veins of gems, crystals and precious metals glinted across the walls and flowed through perfectly smooth marble-like limestone. The high domed ceiling was supported by glistening columns that rose from the floor like frozen waterfalls and from high above were draped glittering sheets of sparkling stone. Below lay a lake of unsurpassed clarity and stillness that was so perfectly clear it seemed as if the cave began anew at the surface. Harry was left breathless for a moment at the sight.

Éowyn had shown Harry where they would be working, and introduced him to a few other women who would be tending the injured. Harry had asked for their expertise and quickly came to the conclusion that they were not far off being sawbones. This world had no real understanding of medicine at all, Harry felt that his presence here might go further towards helping the defenders than standing atop the surely impassable walls.

He was concerned that he would never be able to cut loose with his battle magic while surrounded by an army of superstitious medieval peasants, but he could do some miraculous healing. He was still loath to place himself at the centre of a new war. After seeing the walls and the army sent to assault them he felt that the men would probably be able to hold even without his help. They had no siege engines or catapults, their only option would be to scale the sheer walls, not a task to be undertaken lightly.

In talking to Éowyn, he had quickly realised why she did not wish to be down here. She was a warrior in her heart, or at least she believed she was. Much had been taken from her over her life. It had not been an easy one and Harry felt that she was far more attracted by the idea of a good death than a good fight.

Harry didn't know how to deal with that at all. His impression was that she wished for death, but that she was too proud and too dutiful to end it so simply. Instead she wished to place herself in a situation where she would die, but in glory. She wanted to be remembered in story and in song as a great warrior maiden. Harry had been in low places before and he could sympathise to an extent, but there was nothing he could do for her now. He merely decided to keep an eye on her as much as was reasonable, he had long ago learned and much to his pain that he could not save everyone.

As they talked a runner came to the caves, a young boy of just ten years. The battle had been joined and they were to make ready with their treatments for the arrows flew in clouds and already the casualties mounted. Not long after, the first of the injured was brought in; an emaciated old man with a cruel looking barbed arrow lodged in his gut. Harry immediately got to work. His abilities as a healer were nothing to write home about but mundane injuries like this were no challenge to any wizard.

There was a slight complication when he realised that many of the wounds had been poisoned and resisted mortal healing. Fortunately the poisons of the Orcs were unsubtle and possessed no magic bar the malevolence that created them. Harry was able to slowly draw the poison from the wound with a small application of his magic and then vanished the stinking blackness after it was collected. The man was almost as good as new within five minutes, but by then there were ten more awaiting his attentions.

o-o

Surprised shouts of alarm echoed through the caves from the entrance to the Coomb causing the gathered women and children to cluster closer together in fear. Harry looked up from his work on a man who had near lost his arm when the Uruks had made the top of the Deeping Wall in one of their attacks. Éowyn had moved quickly to the cavern entrance and was conversing urgently with an exhausted and harried looking runner, barely 12 years old if Harry was any judge.

She walked over to Harry quickly, grabbing the sword she had brought with her into the cave.

"Orcs are behind the wall," she said with quiet urgency, "they are among the horses and some have moved to the caves, what few guards we have will be in need of aid. Of those here only you and I have strength to fight this foe. Come, Harry, we must draw swords and meet the enemy before they come to us here."

Harry nodded quickly. The battle was obviously not going so well if the attackers were behind the wall. He would not stand by and let the defenders be slaughtered by the inhuman and savage Orcs assaulting them. They would soon see the wrath of a wizard.

As he and Éowyn moved towards the cave entrance he couldn't help but worry about her, clad as she was in a simple dress. It would hardly offer much protection against the swords and arrows of the Uruks. He would have to keep a close eye on her in the coming fight. He was sure her death at his side would do a lot to damage the goodwill he had garnered when he helped Aragorn.

In the hope that it would help he surreptitiously cast a couple of charms over her clothes. He hoped that she would not notice the fact that her simple wool garments were now as effective as tanned leather. He also used an ever favourite of his, the Notice-Me-Not Charm in the hope that he would bear the brunt of the Orcish assault.

As it turned out he needn't have worried. Only two Uruks made it past the guard at the cave mouth, both were quickly dispatched by Éowyn and himself. He saw that she really did know how to swing the sword she carried. In the absence of his magic he was sure she would easily best him.

After the brief excitement another runner came to them and told them the attack had been stymied and the culvert through which they had come had been blocked with great stones. The Dwarf Gimli had shown the artifice of his people in so quickly finding the material and equipment to block the path from the use of Uruks and Harry was happy that now the battle would surely go in their favour.

Though the Uruks pressed ever harder the great walls of Helm's Deep would not fall to mere flesh, blood and steel no matter what fell will drove them forward. While Harry did not wish to leave the men and women of Rohan to a cruel doom at the hands of the creatures of Morgoth he also knew this war was far beyond his powers or ability to win. Should he demonstrate the full scope of his offensive powers he felt sure he would be either vilified or expected to lead them to a bloodless victory.

He had long known that no victory was bloodless. He resolved to keep his abilities still to himself unless the defences looked about to fall.

He cursed again the fact that he had no time to erect wards nor the thought to charm magical defences beyond the wall yet now was not the time for he could do nothing more.

They both retreated back into the caves to tend to the ever increasing stream of wounded men.

o-o

*BOOM*

The entire cave shook with the force of the explosion and screams rang out among those gathered there. The battle bad been going on for what felt like hours, a never ending flow of injured and dead men being brought for medical attention. Now, Harry knew, things had changed. Before, the news was that the walls were holding, that the culvert through which the last attack had come had been closed off and that the keep would be able to hold out the night.

Not any more. A runner came in a panic, the Deeping Wall had been blown apart by the fell magics of Saruman. Éowyn was to lead the women and children through the deep caves to a hidden way into the mountains while the men would hold the cave as long as they could. It was but a small hope for the path was narrow and could not be travelled at speed and the tides of Uruk-Hai would not be checked for long.

At this, Harry stood, his decision made. He had seen the cave's mouth, he knew he could hold it against any mundane foe. He looked to Éowyn.

"I will hold the caves, my Lady, no Orcs will be allowed to pass, if you give me leave."

Éowyn turned to him from where she was already gathering and commanding those about her to comply with her King's order. She regarded him for a moment in sadness before her face set into an emotionless mask. "We both shall hold the cave," she said with an air of finality before turning to one of the other women, "Hild, lead everyone down and out through the secret ways, Lord Harry and myself will hold the enemy in the narrow passages. Go. Now!"

All around her the womenfolk gasped and called for her not to go for they had no leader among them with her gone to the battle. Éowyn was not to be shifted from her now chosen path and she refused them for a light of battle was in her eyes and she could not be stayed from this course.

She drew her sword and flashed Harry a look that dared him to disagree. He had seen that look before on others many years ago and he knew that any argument would draw her ire and serve him little. He simply nodded to her and turned to run towards the fighting, knowing she would follow.

Early, far earlier than he'd hoped he heard the clash and clatter of sword and shield, the scream and shout of battle joined. As Harry rounded a bend a great shout went up, he saw a defender fall, an ugly length of metal having hewn his torso almost in twain. A small group of men yet held the tight chamber, among them where Gimli the Dwarf and Éowyn's brother Éomer. Harry wasted no time in joining the battle and he felt Éowyn at his side as he charged into the fray. Another great cry went up from the large force of Orcs now entering the chamber as they too joined in the bloodshed.

All about was battle and blood as Gimli and Éomer raised their battle cries to echo through the caves. "Khazâd! Khazâd!" cried Gimli as he set about him with his great axe and felled any Orc unwise enough to come within striking distance.

Still Harry kept his magic back in folly for fear of the reaction. That did not mean he was helpless though. He had charmed his sword to be lighter and much sharper than any normal blade. His own strength was bolstered by a fortitude charm and his light leather armour, again taken from an unlucky highwayman, was charmed to repel swords. Finally, a Supersensory Charm allowed him to mimic the preternatural awareness of a truly experienced swordsman. Together these made him almost unassailable on the battlefield, despite not quite having the skill displayed by Éowyn or Éomer.

For great skill both had. Though neither was the force of destruction that was Gimli son of Glóin. The brother and sister culled many orcs and took no wounds for the line of Eorl was far beyond the skill of mere Orcs.

He stayed close to Éowyn and stood shoulder to shoulder as the two of them threw back charge after charge, their battle was echoed in the melee surrounding Éomer and Gimli. Éowyn's blade flowed like water around her as she cut down Orc after Orc. Harry did not have her finesse, but his magical aids made up for his lack of experience, his blade cleaved through swords, armour, flesh and bone all with equal ease.

The assault did not last long. Soon the cave was choked with the corpses and the ground was black with the blood of the foul creatures. The glittering pools once so clear and pure corrupted by the darkness that ran in the veins of Morgoth's creations.

"Ha ha!" shouted Gimli. "That elf will have a hard time bettering my count now!"

Éomer was similarly ebullient and smacked the dwarf heartily on the back as he flicked black blood and gore from his blade. "Indeed master Gimli, I think our count shall be heard to beat!" His eyes drifted over to where Harry and Éowyn stood, the ground around them choked with bodies and the blood of half a hundred Orcs. "Sister! You were to lead our people to safety while we held the caves, for what reason did you come here to join the menfolk in the battle?"

Harry had to suppress a grimace at that, despite only knowing her a short time he knew that was unlikely to go down well with Éowyn.

She shot her brother a fiery look. "I will not cower in the dark and wait for death to take me nor will I flee when our King lies besieged. If these are to be the last days of the Mark then I will die with a sword in my hand and a curse on my lips."

Éomer looked annoyed and strode towards her. "We would have held the caves, sister. If now we do fall who will defend our people in your stead?"

"There is no valour in fleeing before the enemy!" Éowyn said. "Should we fall here then there is no defence to be had for us, only ignominy and death. I would not have you demand it of me. The time for that is past, I am here now and my charges shall be gone to the hills. Together we may push the Orcs from these caves entirely."

Éomer still did not look happy but further disagreement was waylaid by another wave of Orcs charging into the cave. All the few remaining fighters quickly moved into a defensible position and the battle continued anew.

"We should fight to the cave mouth, my Lady. We need to see how the battle progresses," Harry called in the next lull. "I fear it is not going well."

Éowyn agreed, the light of battle shone in her steely eyes. "You and I shall have glory this day, Harry! Surely that explosion was the sorcery of Saruman. The battle must go ill indeed. My brother will no doubt follow us if he can."

They battled on through the caves, cutting down many more Uruks. As they neared the mouth they found the corpses of many of the guards left to hold the way. Amongst them was the last young runner boy, his rusted and now broken blade still buried in the neck of an Orc as his eyes stared unseeingly at the pool of mixed blood before him.

Éowyn knelt by the boy for a moment when they found him and when she raised herself Harry could see the light of rage and despair in her eyes. The child was one she knew for he had come to Edoras with word of the burning of the Westfold. Scant hours ago he had been reunited with his mother whom he thought lost and now lay sundered from her for eternity. Tears burned in her eyes for had come to love the boy as a ward and the battle fury of her sires came upon her. She charged onwards and Harry followed hot on her heels as Éomer shouted to them in frustration behind.

They soon reached the entrance of the cave and there the battle took a turn. Harry's swordplay, which had been so effective in the confined space of the cave was not so effective here. He was nearly killed when an Orc managed to flank them both, his life saved when Éowyn leapt between them, sword in hand, to deflect what would have been a deathly blow.

His sensory charm proved more hindrance than help for the clamour of battle around him drove sharp spikes of pain through his mind and he was forced to drop the spell. So much death was about him that the charm only served to overwhelm him.

In the time it took Harry to turn to see his assailant Éowyn had already driven her sword through the Orc, leaving the beast to collapse to the ground with a guttural noise. His momentary distraction allowed the rest of the thronging Orcs to press closer and Harry was finally forced to press his magic into true service. Such was their peril that he knew it was either that or retreat and allow them all to fall before the reckless hate of the Orcs of Saruman.

He and Éowyn stood side by side at the cave entrance, hacking and hewing at the mass of bodies pressing towards them as he drew his wand into his hand. He blasted the closest group of Uruks back with a wave of his wand, earning a wide-eyed look from Éowyn that lasted a bare moment, she did not have the time for anything more. At that moment Éomer caught up with them, followed by a panting and displeased looking Gimli.

"I did not know we had a wizard in our midst, Gandalf did not mention your presence in these lands," he called suspiciously. "Surely you would have been better use on the walls at the fore of our defences!"

Harry understood that the Dwarf was right, a lot of death could well have been prevented had he helped lead the defence. "I thought the walls too strong to take, that I would not be needed. I have no liking for war nor bloodshed much as I am proficient at it."

"Your hands surely saved many lives during the battle," said Éowyn, seemingly less given to immediately telling him off. "But such magic would give the men heart they surely need."

Harry nodded in acceptance, his eyes weary with sorrow. "Then I shall bring my full strength to bear. I will not suffer any more death due to my unwillingness to take a part."

Around them the Orcs recovered from their terror at seeing his magic unleashed for they had thought the Wizard to be far from here. Yet though they feared the magic of their master and his once allies such was their rage and thirst for blood that they would not be cowed. Surely Saruman of the Many Colours was the greater and they were in his service.

Harry immediately began blasting at the newly closing host, though the closeness of the combat was far from ideal. His most destructive spells would surely injure himself or his companions if used at such close range. He couldn't Apparate away to open up the range as he couldn't allow any Orcs access to the caves. He merely fought with what he could. He was a whirlwind of steel and flashing lights and the very air screamed and warped around him as he claimed dozens of Orcs.

Beside him, Éowyn showed that the blood of her sires ran still true in her she wove in and out of the blades of attacking Orcs, quickly finding and exploiting weak spots in the heavy plate armour of the black beasts. Harry watched her from the corner of his eye as her hair streamed around her and she tore through the Orcs like a Valkyrie from Norse legend.

Éomer and Gimli were each like a force of nature, able to fight almost effortlessly. Gimli was counting as he fought, a headcount that was climbing rapidly. Éomer was just as exuberant when the blood lust was upon him and he was constantly trading jests with Gimli.

"If I did not know better I would say that you were glad of the breach blasted in our walls," Éomer called to the son of Glóin as they fought.

"Aye! I am for truth," cried Gimli. "For I could not hope to contest the count of the Elf while the battle was kept so distant and beyond the reach of my axe."

The fierceness of the attack began to dim, the Orcs unwilling to step closer to the vengeful wizard and his companions. Harry took the opportunity to try and get some impression of how the rest of the battle was going.

Not well it seemed.

All the land behind the Deeping Wall was black and crawling with Orcs, most were moving towards the Hornburg where it seemed the battle still raged. In the background, below the clamour of bodies, armour and battle, Harry could hear the rhythmic drumming of a ram against the great gates.

The keep was holding, but for how much longer, he knew not.

Looking back to the cliff at his back, he noticed that battle was still being joined in the mouths of some of the entrances to the caves.

The Orcish assault returned in earnest, and Harry saw that Éowyn would not be able to sustain another such battle looking exhausted as she did. She, however, merely raised her sword and chin high, ready to meet the foe with all the valour remaining to her. If Harry was honest, he was beginning to feel the strain too, a sword is a much heavier thing than a wand to be swinging about in battle, even with the additional charms.

Harry spun his wand around, throwing the nearest Orcs back twenty yards or more, he then raised his wand high over his head and chanted the words he'd learned from Dumbledore all those years ago. A great wall of flames sprung up between the beleaguered defenders and their assailants, a great cry erupting from the throats of the Orcs at the sight.

Now it was time for him to really flex his metaphorical muscle. Too many had died because of his willingness to step back. Enough was enough.

His wand traced intricate patterns in the air as he completed his complex spell. The wall of fire resolved into a force of towering figures wreathed in flame and wielding blades of shimmering light. Within moments of beginning their attack the Uruks and Orcs were fleeing before them back towards the breach in the walls. The warriors of flame pursued them slowly, as Harry directed them to shore up the breach. With his burning warriors guarding the gap the defenders would be able to mount a true defense of this part of the keep once again.

"Ai! Balrog!" cried Gimli and fumbled his axe in shock even while Éomer swore in his own tongue.

"What sorcery is this!" called Éowyn, "warriors of conjured flame? Never have I heard of such a feat even of wizards."

"It's complicated!" Harry called. "The explanation must come later, for now there's a battle to win. Keep the stragglers off me!"

"Much do I fear this may be folly," said Gimli as he turned to face the Orcs still behind the wall. "To summon so many Balrogs is a power greater than any of which I have ever heard, or care to hear." Yet still he followed the command.

Éowyn, Éomer and Gimli gathered around Harry as he prepared to stopper the breach in the walls for good. Desperate Orcs broke against them like waves upon immovable rocks and Harry was able to focus on repairing the wall. He saw Éowyn's eyes grow wide as huge chunks of blasted rock and masonry ascended into the air and reformed in the hole that had been blasted by Saruman's magics.

"That's a useful skill you've got there lad!" said Gimli in wonder, his fear of Harry's warriors for a moment waning at such extraordinary craft. "The Dwarves would give much to know such a craft!"

"How is this possible?" asked Éomer. "Long has Gandalf passed through Rohan and ever has Saruman dwelt upon our borders yet never have I heard word of such magic even in the old stories of the witch of the woods."

"It is not a complicated spell," explained Harry while he flicked his wand delicately and with care to direct the sundered stones together again. "Though I admit using it to rebuild a citadel wall would be beyond most."

As the wall reformed Harry's flame guardians stuttered and died, their form releasing a torrent of fire upon all the nearby Orcs. A great cry went up and the sickly smell of burning flesh blew briefly across the battlefield before being whipped and washed away by the wind and rain that fell heavily upon all who made battle there.

Around them a few surviving men cheered though the count of the dead was far beyond Harry's reckoning. The Hornburg was still under assault and even now he could see no men holding the walls any longer so heavily overrun were they by the tide that had come through the breach.

"The King lies besieged in the Hornburg," said Éomer. "We must fight to them with relief, we are with you Gledfréa."

Gledfréa they called him now, flame master in the old tongue of the Rohirrim. A master of flame he surely was and among the men there gathered few doubted that victory would yet come to them with such power in their midst.

"Ooooh, yes!" shouted Gimli in excitement as swung his much dirtied axe in anticipation.

Despite her obvious fatigue Éowyn refused to be bowed. "I also am with you."

Quickly they gathered up what men they could for a strike against the attackers in the beleaguered Hornburg.

Then it seemed as if the world took a deep breath, the fighting in the Hornburg slowed and a murmur spread through the Orcs. Then the great horn of the deeps sounded. The deepest bass of the huge horn of Helm Hammerhand rolled across Orc and Man alike. Those who heard it were given great heart of reduced to the pits of despair by the sound and all knew that the Rohirrim were in battle resurgent. The sound rolled off and between the mountains and echoed from the Deeps, a chorus of woe and doubt to beset the enemy.

From within Harry heard a shout. "Hammerhand! Helm has arisen and rides to war! Helm for Théoden King!"

"They ride out at the last!" cried Éomer. "We must join them and push the Orcs from our walls."

The men with them shouted in answer to the clamour within. "Helm! Helm! Helm and the Wizard!"

Together, and with Éowyn running at his side Harry led their small force atop the walls of the Hornburg, sweeping the parapets clean. Mere moments it took to gain and clear the walls, such was the despair of the foe and the wroth of the Rohirrim.

Harry looked out over the battle as the King and his riders cut a swathe into the wavering Orc army. Over them the sun was rising and with it came hope that the darkness of that evil night might be washed away. From under the light of the rising sun came more riders, thousands of mounted men rode to the aid of their King.

"Erkenbrand is come!" shouted Éomer in glee as he saw them descend upon the legions of Saruman putting them finally to flight.

Among the riders in the valley Harry could see a figure garbed all in white, power and wisdom was his raiment and from him issued a blinding light driving the Orcs from him in panic. He heard the riders below shouting "Gandalf!" and "The White Rider!" and know now of whom it was that Aragorn spoke.

The was much that Harry sensed in the power of Gandalf, for he had never before encountered such a brilliant power as was displayed there. Though an old man to his eyes within his magic he sensed such power that left him almost breathless. A smallest portion of that power now assailed the Orcs and they were beset.

In terror and madness the Orcs fled, from the valley they streamed through under the boughs of a dark forest, a forest that had not been present the day previous and that none had seen come. The dark wood swallowed the fleeing multitude of Orcs and of them no sight nor sound was ever heard again for the wrath of ancient Fangorn was fearsome indeed.

A hue and cry went up from all the men, Éowyn joining them enthusiastically and throatily. "Victory!", "Erkenbrand!", "Théoden!", "Aragorn!" and even, to Harry's astonishment, "Gledfréa!"

Chapter Text

"So you are our mysterious sorcerer."

Harry turned to see the wizard, Gandalf, clad in raiment of pure white and bearing a beautiful and intricate staff of pale wood. Harry had allowed himself to fade into the background, a weak version of a notice-me-not charm that kept him from being swarmed by well meaning men and women. It of course had no effect on Gandalf. Nor Aragorn, who was himself following the wizard.

Harry's wand flicked out and two camp chairs materialised near his own. He gestured for the two men to sit.

"I prefer wizard, myself, but I suppose sorcerer works too. Have a seat," he said pleasantly.

Both men sat on the offered chairs and observed Harry in silence for a long moment. Harry had long wondered just what their reaction would be, now the time was come.

"You did not tell me you had such powers," said Aragorn, breaking the silence finally.

"I didn't know how you'd react." Harry shrugged. "I also didn't think it was important at the time."

"Not important!" Aragorn cried. "Such strength as you displayed would have greatly aided us in our extremis, with your aid never would we have been pressed so hard as we were."

"I- well I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd need my help," Harry confessed openly. "The walls looked strong, I hoped to employ my craft to save those near death."

"Enough, Aragorn!" called Éowyn as she came running up, drawn by Aragorn's raised voice. "He aided us as best he could and his valour is beyond all question."

"It is not his valour I question," said Aragorn. "It is the convenience and timing of his arrival that troubles me."

"You are no wizard, no Istar are you," said Gandalf, seemingly ignoring the discussion at hand. "And yet no simple Man are you either. I am at a loss as to what you may be. Power hangs about you like a shroud, such that even now Saruman must feel it from his tower and the Dark Lord will know of your presence.

"Yet you have dwelled long in the Westfold, so says Aragorn, and in all my travels through these lands never have I felt your presence. Even now it fades to my sight, becoming nothing more than a lord among Men.

"Whence came you? What is your purpose here?"

There was an undercurrent of power beneath Gandalf's question, power that reminded Harry of Dumbledore with his blood up. Yet Gandalf was not demanding, Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to know just what power Gandalf could project when circumstance forced his hand.

That said, Harry had a long streak of stubbornness within him, and would not prostrate himself in the face of unspoken threat.

"I first came here in the frozen north amongst ice and shattered stone," he said. "First I travelled for years, attempting to find a way to return to my home. I settled here in peace when my search was in vain. I have no purpose but my own."

Gandalf held his eye for a long time and longer. A whole minute he stared at Harry with no words spoken.

"No purpose you know, perhaps," he said finally and sat back, seemingly more relaxed. "Yet I do not believe one such as you would come to find yourself in an unknown place by any means outside Eru's control. If that is so then there is purpose for you here, should you seek it. Perhaps it also will give you answers?"

Harry wasn't entirely sure he wanted 'purpose', especially not the kind of purpose that involved fighting and killing a lot of things. Nonetheless he did still want answers. How had he come to be here? By what means had he been blocked from his home and friends? The wounds were old and mostly healed but curiosity had ever been Harry's weakness.

"Perhaps it will. What would you have of me?" he asked with a sigh.

"Let us not jump so quickly to the end of things for we have time to talk before I must ride again," said Gandalf. "I am told you brought to our side warriors of flame. Balrog Gimli called them yet I felt no such fell presence at my coming."

"I don't know what a Balrog is," admitted Harry, "All I did was conjure a great fire and shape it into the form of a giant. I've encountered Orcs before and they always feared that kind of thing."

"With good reason I think," Gandalf said with a chuckle, "For even I would take pause at such a sight. Yet a Wizard I am and long years experience do I have, I have known of no mere spell that could do that which you claim."

"I suspect we're rather different, you and I," admitted Harry. "Though we both call ourselves wizards there is something strange about you." He peered closely at the old man. "Almost dream-like or unreal. I don't know how to describe it."

"You do not know you say, yet you do it passingly well," said Gandalf in wonder for his name before coming to Middle-earth was Olórin and named him the Dreamer. "You see further and more clearly than any save the Wise, my young friend. I feel sure that your presence is no accident at all."

"I don't know if that's comforting or worrying," admitted Harry. "On the one hand I'd hate to think my exile in this place was but the work of chance. Yet on the other I have never much appreciated being turned to the purpose of another."

"Then perhaps the purpose is only your own," said Gandalf thoughtfully. "It is possible that you have no purpose to fulfil here and instead here has a purpose to fulfil in you as it were. Or perhaps both. Or neither."

Harry snorted in amusement at those cryptic and to him utterly useless words. "I suppose there's nothing to do but keep trudging onwards," he admitted. "What would you have of me?"

"Nothing. Your purpose is as far beyond my sight as it is your own," said Gandalf shortly. "I would keep it beyond sight of the enemy also. The King and our company ride for Isengard to confront Saruman, you are free to do as you will."

"The rest of us ride for Edoras and the muster of the éoherë," interjected Éowyn. "Your presence would be well recieved my lord."

Harry looked to Aragorn for some indication of his thoughts on the subject but he remained in stony silence, still unsure if Harry would be a boon or a curse in their war against Sauron.

"If my Lady wills it then I will go with you to Edoras." Harry inclined his head. "Though I have no love of war I cannot sit by while men and women are dying."

"Then it is settled!" said Gandalf with finality. "First to Edoras where Elfhelm oversees the mustering of any man able to wield a blade there at the mouth of Harrowdale. From there again, the choice is yours. The King's company leaves under the shadow of the evening, I suggest you wait 'till morning for the men are weary of battle and sorrow for the dead."

"If that is what the King demands, then that is what will happen. Thank you my Lords," said Éowyn with a stiff bow of her head. She turned on her heel without another word.

"I also have matters I should attend to, I suggest you rest," said Gandalf as he stood up. "I cannot imagine such works of magic as you wrought today are simple tricks nor easy. When we have more time I should like to know more about these conjured warriors."

That left just Aragorn. He still looked torn. One the one hand Harry's appearance was suspiciously provident but on the other Gandalf didn't seem overly concerned. The Istari hadn't, however, invited Harry to join them on their journey to Isengard so the trust was by no means complete.

"Had you told me before I would have thought no worse of you," Aragorn said finally.

"Would you not?" Harry asked somewhat sceptically. "Personally, if I was in your position I would have treated such claims with either suspicion or ridicule. In truth I did not know anyone else had the gift of magic until I heard your tales."

"Truly?" asked Aragorn, eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Many are the tales told of the wonders that elves and men accomplished in the last age, Gandalf and Saruman are far from unknown in your adopted homeland."

Harry shrugged. "I did not speak to Lords or historians. The common folk told stories of magic and fae forest creatures, yes. But they were obviously distorted by time and ignorance. I thought them simple myth until yesterday."

He paused and smiled. "And I haven't actually seen any magic from anyone else yet at all. Are you sure Gandalf isn't just some crazy old man?"

"He is almost certainly a little crazy," Aragorn laughed. "All wizards are, but I have seen great works of magic from him though rarely are they so… conspicuous as yours."

"I like conspicuous, it keeps everyone guessing," said Harry with a smile.

"Then a wizard you may be." Aragorn smiled broadly and stood up slowly, stretching his weary body. "I need to rest now before we ride, I suggest you do the same Harry. I will look for you at Edoras."

Harry chuckled to himself as Aragorn left for his rest and admitted that that conversation could certainly have gone worse. He did not have much time to dwell on it, however, as he was soon joined by the Elf. Legolas.

Harry would admit to a certain amount of curiosity where the Elf was concerned. Gimli was pretty transparent and his time fighting beside him at the Deeps left him with much respect for the Dwarf of Erebor.

Legolas was something else entirely. Harry was almost totally without reference in this case. The only connection he could draw was the singularly unhelpful comparison to House-Elves. He knew little of the Elves of Middle-earth save that they were immortal and possessed of grace and wisdom often far in advance of any mortal.

"Much have I heard of your exploits," said the Elf in a voice as smooth and graceful as his motions. "It is a great pity I was not able to observe them in battle, Gimli tells me it was quite the sight."

After talking to Gimli following the battle the friendship between the Elf and the Dwarf was obvious and Harry knew exactly why Legolas had come to him.

"I imagine it was," said Harry politely before smirking just slightly. "Did he happen to tell you of his reaction when I summoned up my fiery warriors?"

"He did not," spoke Legolas the very beginnings of a smile gracing his features. "I suspect he forgot in his excitement."

"Such courage he displayed," said Harry drily before suddenly screeching, "Ai! Balrog!" Much to Legolas' amusement. "Then I do believe he dropped his axe. Judging by his fussing and the dirty looks he was sending me I suspect that is a grievous sin for a Dwarf."

Legolas laughed happily and it rang high and clear in the air. "Indeed it would be, for I am told a Dwarf's axe is more dear to him than his children."

"I can believe that," said Harry in wry amusement. "You should have seen him whining about the nick it picked up in the fighting."

"Ah, yes, I believe I have already been given the pleasure of that tale of woe," said Legolas through his continuing laughter. "Twice, in fact."

"You two were competing during the battle, were you not?" Harry asked. "Which of you won, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do not mind, and it was I who won by two kills," said Legolas a shade smugly. "Gimli blamed you, you know. He said you kept 'stealing his kills', however it is one does that."

There was a pause before the Elf spoke again, now more seriously.

"Aragorn told me of your wandering," he said uncomfortably. "He said that you travelled beyond the dead sea of Helcar and saw the lands once known to my people as Cuiviénen?"

"So he told me," Harry said with a nod. "I did not know anything about the places I travelled until Aragorn made some guesses."

"I would hear you speak of the birthplace of the Elves," said Legolas seriously.

"Are you sure?" asked Harry, "It is no longer the same place Aragorn told me of."

"I would hear of it nonetheless," Legolas said. "Often have I heard story of the place where my far distant ancestors first awoke in the world yet none I know ever travelled hither."

"It was not a pleasant place," admitted Harry. "I came to it from the east in the late autumn, from over a range of mountains without name. When first I laid eyes on the waste beyond I thought a great hole had been ripped from the earth or perhaps a mirror laid across it of such clarity that it was indistinguishable."

"Aragorn told me that once that would have been the eastern remnants of the sea of Helcar, once the greatest body of water outside the oceans that ring Middle-earth. Now it was almost dry. Perhaps a finger-depth of water lay over the thick salt laid down when the sea ran dry and it was so reflective that the horizon was completely lost, it looked like the end of the world. As if I could jump off and be left floating in space."

He leaned back as he thought back. "Upon the shore was a great petrified forest. Huge dead trees long turned to stone. It was home to dark things of which Orcs were the very best and I will not describe them unless you demand it. I did not sleep long while I was there as even my strongest protections didn't shield me from the nightmares they brought."

Legolas listened raptly to his description and tears welled in his eyes as he thought of the fabled beauty of Cuiviénen brought to ruin by the darkness of Morgoth. For Elves the beauty of Cuiviénen under the stars was alike to a cultural memory. Through generations its story was passed on so that every Elf could close their eyes and see themselves upon the shores of the Waters of Awakening.

It was heartbreaking to know that it had been so brought low and yet Legolas took small comfort in the knowledge that even in the darkness that now shrouded the the birthplace of his people there was yet beauty that dwelled there, if only the beauty of emptiness and glory past.

"I…" He breathed deeply. "Thank you. You have a way with words Harry. Though they pained me I am glad to have heard them. I will go now and think on them and leave you to rest."

Harry wished the Elf well and they parted, Legolas lost in much deep thought on the history and fate of his kind.

o-o

By the following morning the mysterious forest had once again disappeared, leaving no evidence of its passing. In its place was was revealed the unbroken rolling grass of Rohan for the Huorns had returned again to their dark valleys deep in the shadows of the Misty Mountains. No sight nor clue was seen as to the fate of the Orcs that had passed beneath the boughs of that dark wood.

Despite Aragorn's advice Harry had not got much rest over the previous day and night. Instead he had spent his time aiding the indefatigable Éowyn in providing aid for the scores of wounded. The women and children had not gone far before the battle was won for without the leadership of Éowyn they moved slow through the narrow paths. They had returned shortly after the battle was done and were to join the remaining men on the road to Edoras.

In the end he had barely got four hours sleep but the knowledge that everyone who set out from Helm's Deep was in good enough health to make the journey safely more than made up for his tiredness.

Most of the people now travelling to Edoras with Harry were the women and children kept safe beyond the caves during the battle. A small contingent of mounted rohirrim had joined them but with Saruman's power so effectively broken at the siege of Helm's Deep the passage was believed to be as safe as it had ever been. The greater part of the men had remained at the Deeps for there was yet much work to be done to right the fortress and so many graves to be dug that they would be at their grim task for many days.

And so it was. The journey proved an easy one and Harry found Éowyn to be surprisingly good company. She listened with rapt attention to his tales of the distant lands to the east and north marvelling at how he could seem so unassuming when his actions spoke of a hero of old.

In her turn she told Harry the history of her people and was surprised that he did not already know. She told the story of how her ancestor Eorl the Young had led his people, the Éothéod, south to the aid of Gondor in its hour of need and, in return, been granted ruler-ship of Calenardhon, now known as the Riddermark or Rohan by outsiders.

She spoke proudly of the Oath of Eorl and the times the kings of Rohan had led great hosts to aid the Gondorians when embattled to the south. Of the invasion of Ithilien when King Folcwine had led an éoherë to battle in fulfilment of the Oath at great cost to his house.

She spoke with awe of Helm Hammerhand, after whom Helm's Deep was named and the Long Winter and the war against the Dunlendings. She seemed lost in the past glories as she told of how Helm had lead sorties every night, blowing his great horn to announce his coming. She spoke sadly of the death of his two sons and then with awe when she described how Helm had died on a sortie, frozen by the cold still standing. Fighting to the last.

Harry could see how she had been raised on the stories of the bravery and prowess of her ancestors. The glory they had earned in battle was legendary among the rohirrim and Harry was sure Éowyn resented her enforced inability to emulate them.

"There was a time when I wanted to die in battle," said Harry. "But if you were to ask anyone who knows you I am sure they would say the better achievement would be to live instead."

"Such is my fate," Éowyn sighed. "Always to act not for myself but for others, love and duty are a harsh fate. It seems I am never to seek my own ends lest I injure one or the other."

Harry smiled sadly. "Acting for yourself isn't anything to be ashamed about but you must remember that you have people who care about you and it's natural that they wish to protect you," he said and looked off towards the distant mountain peaks. "It might seem like a burden but it isn't until you find yourself without it that you realise just how much you appreciate it."

"I think I should like to sample that freedom, nonetheless," said Éowyn. "And you are not so alone as you would think, I would not have you think otherwise.

Harry smiled and thanked her for her kindness. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed other people and the companionship they could bring. He'd been well on his way to crazy hermit-hood and hadn't even realised it. He now realised he could look back on his lost friends back home fondly, the pain was a shadow of a memory. Pain did fade and he should not cut himself off from others in the hope of avoiding it.

Being alone for so long was a pain all of itself, one that did not fade but instead grew with time.

After that their talk turned once more to lighter matters. Éowyn talked of her childhood and how she had often played at swords with Éomer and her elder cousin Théodred. Harry was once again reminded of the harshness of this world when she told him of how her father and mother had died when she was a child and how Théodred had died not even a week past.

Life was extraordinarily fragile. Harry was in awe of the strength Éowyn yet showed. She had lost almost everything, more even than Harry had by his own reckoning. Yet she had not retreated from everything and sought solitude away from the seemingly endless pain and loss, instead she had fought with everything she had and continued to fight still.

She had a spirit that Harry had never seen before. He had heard the stories of how Théoden had been slowly poisoned by one of his advisors before being saved by Gandalf and realised that Éowyn had seen that whole process from beginning to end. How heartbreaking must that have been.

Still she fought. There was a strength in her that even Harry could not hope to match, or so he felt.

As the journey continued Harry and Éowyn checked on their charges and Harry found himself performing little magical tricks for some of the children. Many had lost their fathers or brothers in the battle and Harry did what little he could to take their minds off the loss.

He transfigured puppies to keep them company and then, in a fit of childishness, added wings to their little bodies and set them to dive-bombing the men assigned as guards. The laughter of the children brought a smile to his face and his display continued.

Eventually both Harry and the children were a bright motley of colours and most had either bubbles or garishly coloured smoke rising from their ears. Harry had even gone so far as to create a miniature rainbow that encircled his head. As he was once again fending off another assault by the now large group of children he heard melodious laughter behind him. He turned to see Éowyn laughing openly, a beautiful smile gracing her fair features.

"It seems I was remiss in asking you to watch the children," she managed to choke out. "You are no better than a child yourself!"

He tried to look affronted but failed utterly. He gave up and simply joined her in laughter.

o-o

Harry had been to Edoras before of course and he felt it was one of the most beautiful settlements he'd yet seen in Middle-earth. It sat atop a high hill situated at the mouth of the valley of Harrowdale itself surrounded by the high peaks of the White Mountains and the great pinnacle of Starkhorn. It had a high palisade that encircled the town with but a single gate for entry. The road to the town was lined with barrow mounds, the resting place of Éowyn's forebears and now her cousin also.

Each barrow was covered in small and delicate white flowers called Simbelmynë which filled the air with a pleasant aroma. As men and women passed the barrows they would bow their heads in remembrance of the great deeds of the fallen.

He had seen other towns in Middle-earth. Minas Tirith had a certain statuesque beauty but at the same time seemed altogether too organised, altogether soulless. The towns of the Easterlings in Rhûn were much less attractive, the cruelty of the people there showed in their craft and constructions. Many slaves died in the construction of the great towers in the East, built in tribute to Barad-dûr, the fortress of Sauron.

Edoras though felt natural, as if the dwellings had been draped over the land rather than imposed upon it. In many ways it echoed the people of Rohan; simple, yet effective and modest while simultaneously beautiful.

At the peak of the town stood Meduseld, the Golden Hall of the Kings of Rohan, a shining jewel of green and gold. As the early evening sun streamed across the valley it seemed that the golden roof shone with it's own light and all around was bathed in its warm glow.

All about him he could hear the relief of their charges as they saw what lay before them.

All around the hill of Edoras was a forest of tents and many hundreds of men and horses moved between them. Just as Gandalf had promised the muster of Rohan had indeed begun and already more than a thousand men had heeded the call of their King.

Harry was impressed by the numbers. He knew that they did not number close to the army that Saruman had levelled against them but near every man woman and child in Rohan was a rider. The Rohirrim were not named Horse Lords for nothing. Truly they held a mastery of horses that few could match.

Éowyn returned to him from issuing commands to the men and women following behind, her hair streamed behind her as she rode and flashed purest gold in the setting sun as if to remind him of her home with the Kings of Rohan.

"The men will join the muster under Elfhelm and the families will return to their homes. Those who came to us in flight and the loss of their homes shall share with them," she said as she drew level with him. "The doors of Meduseld will be open to all and you are invited to join us. Yours skills could greatly ease the hardship of those who are without home or food."

"Of course, my Lady," responded Harry, "I long wished to see the inside of Meduseld but when I came King Théoden had already taken his illness and the doors were shut to all."

"Such folly will never come to Rohan again," Éowyn said resolutely. "Much hurt was done to us when my uncle sat idle on his throne at the behest of Saruman. We do not yet have time for healing but I hope that such a time will yet come."

Harry nodded firmly. "It will. I will see it does."

"You are but one man," she said as she shook her head. "You cannot bear such burden alone."

"I don't have to." He smiled at her. "It seems as if there are thousands here alone that would agree with me."

"Would that I could help you bear it, but I fear my place shall be here much though I intend to fight my uncle in this," said Éowyn, a faraway look in her eyes.

Harry regarded her for a moment before coming to a conclusion. "If he does forbid you to come then come and see me. I'm sure we can work something out."

"You would gainsay the wishes of the king on my behalf?" she asked in surprise.

He shrugged as if it was obvious. "I like to give people freedom to do what they want. I don't think you'll find the valour and happiness you want on the battlefield." He gave her a significant look. "But I would not keep you from looking."

She accepted that though Harry could tell she still wished to follow her King to war. Harry hoped that she would not have to learn the lesson in the way he did. He had learned more than ten years ago that there is seldom any glory in death, no matter how noble.

They rode quickly through the camp and town, Éowyn was hailed and cheered as she passed, it was obvious that the people of Rohan loved her well. While Théoden had been under the thumb of Saruman it had been Éowyn that had become one of the major leaders within Edoras and had always pushed back against Gríma Wormtongue as he sought more power for himself.

Not all of the reactions were happy though, for many found that their families had not made it to Edoras in their flight and many more found that their husbands and sons had fallen in battle in the Westfold. All about women were weeping in their loss even as others cheered their triumph.

When they reached the high doors of Meduseld they found them thrown open, the hall already hosting a large number of the old and the weak inside its warm walls. Harry looked around in fascination and admired the craftsmanship on display in the wooden beams and columns of the Hall of Kings.

In the middle of the floor was a set of large number of fires over which food was being prepared, each fire surrounded by a small group of frail or injured men and women. Among them moved young women and girls, each carrying soup, poultices or bandages as they sought to ease the suffering of their charges.

A tall, handsome and broad-shouldered man with the characteristic blonde hair of his people moved forward to greet Éowyn at her arrival.

"My Lady Éowyn, it is good news indeed that you have arrived," he said respectfully. "What news from Théoden King, the riders said that the battle at Helm's Deep was won but spoke nothing of what the King plans now."

"Elfhelm, I am gladdened that you are well and that Edoras has been under your able watch in the Riddermark's time of need," she said. "Théoden King rode last night for Isengard with a small company and will return here the day after tomorrow. He asked that you continue the muster, darkness moves across the lands and we must be ready to fight it as soon as may be."

"For Isengard?" Elfhelm asked in concern. "Is that wise? Even with his army destroyed the White Wizard is not so powerless that he could not strike down Théoden King in his wroth."

"I argued against it myself," Éowyn admitted. "But he rides with my brother, Aragorn and Gandalf Grayhame. They go to treat, not war. Gandalf was cryptic as he oft is but I believe there is more in motion than we yet know."

"Then we have no choice but to trust Gandalf in this and prepare for the King's return," said Elfhelm reluctantly.

"Indeed," said Éowyn, "and to that end I present to you Harry Gledfréa, a wizard of no small skill. He claims his abilities would be of great help to us."

"Never have I heard of a wizard so freely giving gifts," said Elfhelm sceptically. "For long Gandalf has weighed upon our charity and in return brought only dark words to our ears."

Harry went across to one of the benches that sat throughout the hall and picked up a loaf of bread. "I hope I can do more than that," he said and suddenly the loaf became two, each the size of the first and no less in weight or substance.

"This would be aid indeed for food is slow in coming to us here though we have the stores to make do for a time yet," said Elfhelm in wonder.

"I will also do what I can to heal any injured here and may be able to provide shelter should it run short," explained Harry to the growing amazement of the Marshal of the East-Mark.

After that Éowyn went to discuss lodging arrangements within the town for the many displaced peoples who had come to Edoras seeking shelter. The tents in the camp beyond the palisade were reserved for the fighting men to allow counts to be taken more easily as the men mustered. Harry was able to help greatly in this by transfiguring many beds and bunks for the new occupants.

Harry also spent some time on the first day aiding the injured at Meduseld as best he could. Once again the mundane injuries were easy to heal though some of the elderly were beyond his ability to treat. Some had lost their entire family in their flight from Saruman's minions, Harry could easily heal hurts of the body but such wounds to the soul were beyond him. Those few simply faded from life, seemingly hopeful that they would be reunited with their families in death.

He did what he could to make their passing painless.

Next was the issue of food. Water was plentiful as the Snowbourn ran clear and pure around the foot of Edoras but after so much of the Westfold had been burned by Orcs and Dunlendings there was something of a shortage of food for the massive influx of people.

He was able to duplicate large quantities of food for the men and set aside some time to ensure the horses were also well provisioned. The horses of Rohan usually roamed free across its plains, going wherever they may and feeding as needed. Now that they were all being kept close in the valley the ground and grass was soon churned up and edible pastures were quickly consumed.

On the evening of the second day Harry finally sat down, satisfied he had done all he could for the men assembling in the valley below. He was tired beyond words after another night of little sleep and a day of much activity.

He found himself staring into space at his place on one of the long benches in Meduseld. He was vaguely aware that someone sat down next to him though his paid them no heed. He was just about ready to fall asleep where he sat.

"You have worked yourself to the very edge of exhaustion this day, Lord Harry," said the person, whom he now recognised as Éowyn, one of the few people who actually spoke to him. "Truly, the Riddermark owes you a debt."

It was an old argument but Harry wasn't going to give it up yet. "I am no Lord, my Lady and no debts exist between friends." His dim and exhausted green eyes met her serious yet bright grey ones.

"In the Mark a man's stature is defined by his deeds and renown," she said in disagreement. "Your deeds show you to be a Lord more than mine do me a Lady. And perhaps debts do not exist, but gratitude does and you will have the favour of Rohan wherever you may go." She paused. "Though I hope you choose to remain, I fear it would injure me to be parted from you."

Tired as he was her meaning did not escape Harry completely, though he said nothing to it. "If you say so, my Lady. Perhaps I should stop fighting a battle I cannot win. The odds are already against us."

"That would be wise, my Lord," she said with a gentle smile. Harry was struck again by just how beautiful she was. "You are in no condition for battle as it stands, I have come to see you to your sleep as I feared you may take it upon yourself to fall to your slumber here in this very hall."

Harry would have tried to look affronted had he not been so tired, instead he simply accepted it. He rose slowly from the bench and was lead gently and quietly towards the rooms that Éowyn had given him use of. Not that he'd had time to use them as of yet.

She helped him climb into bed and he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. Éowyn stayed for a moment to marvel at the strength and nobility of the man she had grown close to over the last couple of days. While he yet had strength in his body and while people yet suffered or wanted for help he would not rest even for a moment.

When first she had seen him she admitted she had been much taken by his appearance. Much about his face reminded her of Aragorn the man she and many men a women in the court of Théoden had come to love.

Éowyn had wanted more though, she didn't merely want to love without hope but to claim his love in return. But Aragorn was claimed by another. She could see it in his eyes when Legolas had returned to him the Elfstone he had worn at his neck, a token from the one to whom he was bound.

Her sadness had been short lived, however, as she found Harry to be just as fascinating as the dúnadan and more mysterious. His stories of distant lands had piqued her interest and his easy manner and unfailing honour had made him good company indeed.

She had realised that he only ever spoke of the last ten years or so of his life, much of that a seemingly endless adventure that Harry wove into a tale that kept her wide eyed for hours. Yet every now and then the shadow of some old pain would cross his face and mar his eyes.

Éowyn could well recognise the pain of loss and could see it within him. She could see why he avoided any discussion of his time before his travelling. One old tale she knew told of Folcred the Wanderer who had searched the world for years in search for his departed wife. Long the tale spoke of his travels through distant regions and among strange people until finally he returned home and found his house long ago crumbled to nothing. In that moment he realised how long he had searched and died as the years caught up to him. Even as he died he had smiled, for now he knew he would finally now find her.

As she watched him breathe slowly, his face graced with a gentle smile, she hoped that he would not meet the same fate.

Chapter Text

That night, in the early morning long before dawn, a great winged shadow fell upon Edoras in the dark. It descended upon the city from the east and let loose a fell screeching cry that shook the hearts of all he heard it. Harry rolled out of his bed as his heart beat the rapid roll of panic in his chest. Éowyn also was roused from her slumber, having fallen asleep in the single chair tucked into the corner of Harry's room.

Shouts and wails echoed outside and again came the terrifying call of the beast overhead. Without stopping to check on the now roused Éowyn Harry shot from the room with all his speed, moments later bursting into the dim light of the earliest morning.

Even as he did so a great dark shape swooped low overhead, passing just feet over the gable of the Golden Hall. Further down the hill of Edoras men and women ran hither and thither in panic through the dancing shadows cast by hastily lit brands. At the passing of the beast overhead more cries of despair and anguish went up as it flew low enough to snuff out some of the flames with the wind of its passing.

The sensation was familiar to Harry. Much as he had felt in the warped and blasted ruins of the far flooded north and the ancient and deathly still forests of far Cuiviénen the terror clutched at his heart and tried to pull all hope from him. Darkness was ever the ally of fear and he had learned in his travels that brightest light could drive the terror back into the deep shadows beyond the earth.

With such thoughts in mind Harry pulled out his wand and aimed it towards the creature before crying, "Lumos Solem!"

A beam of blinding light lanced from his wand at the beast illuminating it for all to see. It was huge, bigger than any bird known. Harry thought it could be the size of a Roc, a long dead magical bird from his home. Yet it was like no bird he'd ever seen. It appeared to him to be more like the progeny of a bat, a vulture and perhaps even the extinct pterosaur.

Black was the creature, a colour alike to rotten flesh and the smell that now came down upon Edoras was so foul that he felt it might not be far from the truth. Upon it's vast form there were no feathers or hairs, instead its foul flesh was scaled unevenly like it had been taken by some disease. Instead it had discoloured hide spread into huge bat like wings with long easily visible fingers stretched through the span.

His spell did not go unnoticed. The rider, for a rider the creature had, a black figure that seemed to freeze the heart of any who gazed upon it, turned to see Harry and he felt dread grasp at his heart. So like a dementor was the figure and its influence that Harry was about to cast his patronus when he realised that the light of his wand had burned the creature and that its last scream had been one of anguish and pain.

Before he could cast his patronus the beast turned and beat its wings mightily, retreating to the east and the cruel sanctuary of its master. Slowly the terror of its presence faded though ever were the minds of the men and women who beheld it there prone to dark dreams in the dark hours before dawn. Harry knew that when he next beheld that rider a great battle of wills unlike any he had known before would be upon him, he hoped that day was yet far off.

Not long after the beast had been driven away Gandalf returned, riding swifter than the wind out of the west. Upon Shadowfax he rode, the great King of Horses who was swifter than even the greatest of Elf-steeds. This rider was as white as the last had been dark and his presence did much to chase the still lingering darkness from those who who had experienced the presence of the fell rider in black.

He stayed for barely minutes, but brought with him news that raised the hearts of the Rohirrim and steadied their frayed nerves. Théoden had found the Ring of Isengard in ruins and Saruman's power broken. He also carried orders from the King, the muster was to be sped up, for darkness now encroached much closer than first thought and all haste would be needed if they were to have a hope of countering it.

The men told him of the Winged Shadow that had come to Edoras not hours before and he asked urgently what had befallen the City.

"A fear was put in the women and the horses took fright," explained Elfhelm. "A number injured themselves in their terror and that is a painful blow. Much damage was prevented when Harry Gledfréa conjured a great light, alike the sun contained, and drove the beast from Edoras."

"Much fortune has his discovery brought us," mused Gandalf. "Would that I had time to learn more, yet it cannot be for I must leave to Minas Tirith with all the haste Shadowfax can give me. A great storm gathers and is soon to fall upon Minas Tirith, I must reach there before the light is snuffed out."

"It would be to the good if the enemy could not watch the muster of Rohan with such ease," he said before he left. "To that end I suggest you move the muster to the haven of Dunharrow, it will be further from the gaze of the enemy and it may be that some small surprise may yet be gained."

He then cried, "Fly Shadowfax!" and was gone again, now on the Eastward road and into the maw of darkness even now closing about Gondor.

That morning the muster was moved to Dunharrow, further up the valley in the mouth of which Edoras sat. The assembled riders already numbered in the thousands and more appeared each day, a great tide of horses and men moved gratefully into the welcome shelter of the valley.

An ancient refuge of the Dunland men but older even than they, Dunharrow nestled high on a cliff overlooking the wide valley of Harrowdale. Harry had seen the place before on his travels though only in times of dire need was it ever occupied by the men and women of Rohan. A narrow cliff path led from the valley floor where the main body of men made their camp and on that path were many statues. Púkel-men they were called by the Rohirrim and long years had scoured away all feature or detail from their bodies. Only deep dark eyes looked out from their visage, watching mournfully as men walked by them.

Not only fighting men moved away, the women and children also moved to Dunharrow and joined those who had already come to the safety afforded by the high mountains on three sides. Dúnhere, the Lord of Harrowdale bade them welcome and informed Éowyn of the state of the muster for much respect had he for the Lady of Rohan. By that measure Lady Éowyn was able to retain much control of the day to day affairs while Harry once again set about the endless task of ensuring all were safely accommodated at their new location.

Over the last couple of days he had got to know a few of the men of Rohan and found them a simple and earthy bunch. He wondered if there was a machine somewhere stamping out tall, blonde bearded men to fill the ranks of the Rohirrim. They all had similar outlooks too, once they had heard of his exploits at the battle of Helm's Deep they would immediately slap him heartily on the back and offer him a tankard of something pungent and sharp.

He hadn't had the time for such frivolity though as he'd been working himself to the figurative bone trying to ensure the army of thousands was comfortably provisioned and accommodated. His space expansion charms had again proven useful and a number of small tents had been turned into bunk-halls that could house dozens of men. Needless to say his craft was a source of much awe among the men and he always had an audience of both men and children as he worked.

In the early afternoon of that day Aragorn came riding up with a group of riders. Lady Éowyn went to meet them as Harry continued his work around camp setting up tents and easy sources of food and water.

Aragorn's company was an impressive one. Not only were his now constant companions Legolas and Gimli present but a number of his kin had ridden from the north to ride to war with their Chieftain. Finally there were two dark haired elves, Elladan and Elrohir the sons of Lord Elrond Peredhel of Rivendell who had both spent much time among the Dúnedain of the North and had often joined Aragorn on his rangings. Between them they carried a furled up banner, created by their sister they said, yet they would not discuss what sigil it bore.

Éowyn bade them join her for supper and she listened with interest to the goings on at Isengard and the results that had been borne. She was amazed by the stories of talking trees whose wrath had descended upon Isengard and undone all the malice of Saruman with strength and the white waters of the river Isen unleashed.

Truly there were such powers in the world greater than she had ever imagined. In turn she told them all of the preparations that had been undertaken in their absence and talked with wonder of the help that Harry had been.

At mention of the shadow over Edoras Aragorn spoke up, "So too did we encounter that shadow, though if it be the same then its wings are swift indeed. In the darkness even Legolas' Elf eyes could not distinguish our foe, it is good news indeed that Harry went with you to Edoras. I fear what might have become in his absence."

It was not long later that Harry returned for his own evening meal, once again running late as he sought to ensure everyone would have some form of warm lodging for the night.

Éowyn and Aragorn handled introductions between Harry and Aragorn's his company. Harry welcomed them politely and enquired after Théoden whom all had expected to return with Aragorn.

"He makes his way here by the slow path through the hills," explained Aragorn. "For the muster cannot be hastened and such secrecy as we can gain would be of advantage to us all."

"Then I assume you need haste more than secrecy?" asked Harry.

"Aye, for I have challenged the Dark Lord and mean to draw his eye upon me," he said with a nod, "we will move with all haste to aid Gondor in the hope that we might arrive before the hammer falls."

"My Lords, surely you do not mean to leave us before morning?" interjected Éowyn. "I am sure Harry would be willing to provide you housing to see you comfortably through the night."

"Thank you, lady, we are weary and I fear rest will be seldom had in the days ahead," Aragorn said. "My company and I would break our fast with you on the morrow if you would allow it and then we must leave with the first light of morning."

"If such is your haste then I thank you for bringing us tidings here for surely greater speed could be had if you had chosen to leave us unknowing," said Éowyn.

"You are welcome, lady, though I confess we would not have come here had I not been in need of taking the Dunharrow road," said Aragorn.

Éowyn looked confused and a little concerned and said: "Then I fear you are astray my Lord, for no road from Harrowdale runs to Gondor save for the one that bore you here."

"Nay, lady," he said, "there is yet one road that leads out of this valley. I will ride the Path of the Dead."

Éowyn's face paled and she stared at him in consternation for a while. "The Paths of the Dead?" she said finally. "The dead yet keep that road and the living are not suffered to pass. No man leaves that road that enters. Would you seek death so easily?"

"They may suffer me," said Aragorn firmly. "It matters not though, for no other road will serve. I must attempt it."

"But this is folly Aragorn," she said, her voice raising and regaining Harry's attention. "You all are men of strength and renown. You are needed in the war, to pass into the shadow of that road is to cast all that away and to injure our hearts at your loss."

"Excuse me," interjected Harry, "The Paths of the Death? Can anyone explain that to me?"

It was Éowyn who answered first with some anger in her tone. "The Paths of the Dead run below the Dwimorburg the origin of which is known to no man or woman of the Mark. Folk say that it is guarded by Dead men from the Dark Years. No living man may pass within and yet the folk of Harrowdale tell of shades and wraiths that pass without, they lock their doors and cover their windows lest they be taken to into the hold of Death. Not since Baldor, son of Brego, has any man of the Riddermark gone hither. Aragorn would choose to tread with his companions a path that killed all before him."

"It is not so certain as that," claimed Aragorn. "The path has been appointed to me and I shall walk it despite my own doubts. Of my companions I would say that should they follow then they do so of their own free will for I will travel this path alone if I must."

"Then you think you have a way of getting through?" asked Harry in interest. He knew of dead things from his home. Inferi at one end and Ghosts on the other, he wondered exactly what the nature of these Dead Men was.

Aragorn inclined his head in tentative agreement. "Perhaps that is more than I have in truth. I have a suspicion but no more than that. It is my hope that my birth will grant me right of passage through that path. I would not attempt it but under duress most vile, but such are the days that have come upon us."

"I could perhaps take you by a different path," said Harry, "one far swifter and less dangerous."

"Your offer is well received yet I cannot accept it," Aragorn admitted, "for my prize and reason for taking that path lies upon the path itself. To pass it by would bring no aid of significance to Gondor. There is no alternative, I must tread the path and hope."

With that Aragorn and his company took their leave and went to their sleep in tents that Harry had just completed before joining them at dinner.

There was silence between the two remaining for a long while until Harry said, "If you wish, my Lady, I could accompany Aragorn through the Paths. I'm sure I could keep him safe for you?" Aragorn might be set on the path but Harry knew he could be of help still. The unquiet dead held little fear for him, Inferi were wretched creatures and weak. No challenge for any trained wizard, Ghosts were an even lesser concern.

Éowyn turned to him then, her eyes alight with fury. "You will not! Let Aragorn walk into death if that is his will but I will not have his folly take you from us also," she cried. Then, quieter, she added, "Only the dead may walk those paths and no power or valour will keep you from that fate should you join him. Middle-earth will suffer a grievous enough wound should Aragorn, son of Arathorn pass hither. You are needed here, Harry."

He held up his hands in surrender. "It was just a suggestion, my Lady. I'm not about to jump at the opportunity to walk such a grimly named road," he said with a faint smile gracing his features.

"Would that Aragorn had your sense," she said.

Harry hoped fervently that Aragorn was right and his path would run true. He knew that he could not hope to save everyone, however, and so he would remain with the main host. Aragorn's path was a gamble, even he admitted it.

That night the shadow did not return, nor would it return the next night. Though no shadow fell over Dunharrow still the mood of all there was dark as word spread that an ill-fated party were to tempt doom and pass into the Paths of the Dead.

The next morning found Aragorn and his company making ready for their passage. The camp was still and quiet in the pre-dawn light as the word had spread wide that the grey company would be passing under the Dwimorburg and none wished to draw such ill fate upon themselves.

All of the company was quiet and in contemplation. All knew what fate would await them should Aragorn prove false in his confidence yet none doubted him. They would follow him to any end, be it grim or fair. The love they bore him as their leader or King guaranteed that much.

Only Harry and Éowyn braved to face the company as they finally climbed astride their horses. Harry stood by Éowyn who looked more beautiful and tragic than ever in a long pale dress of simple cut, she looked bereft and alone. Anger and betrayal had given way to sad acceptance.

"Would you not stay Aragorn? Ride to Gondor with my brother and uncle. Do not throw away your life so heedlessly, I plead thee," she said as she wrung her hands in desperation.

"I am not heedless, lady," said Aragorn a little harshly, "and I do not believe I throw my life away. We will meet again."

"I meant to join you, you know," she said quietly, yet uncowed. "But I commanded Harry to remain and so shall I also for no command should I give that I cannot abide by. But I fear for you my lord."

"Do not fear for me!" cried Aragorn, "for this path is to me allotted and I do not believe it will be the end of me or my companions. Instead think to yourself for the darkness that sweeps ere over the land may not yet be turned aside even by the greatest of deeds. Should that come to pass a time may yet come for you to show your valour again."

The Lady of Rohan, shield-maiden of the House of Eorl raised her chin high and said, "then I should welcome it. I fear no death nor pain and shall die with a sword in my hand like the heroes of old."

"Then what do you fear my lady?" asked Aragorn.

"To ever have my path chosen for me," she said, "to fall to old age and infirmity without ever the chance to lead my life as I would. To remain caged among fine cloths and warm halls until my sword arm is weak and great deeds fall beyond reach or vision."

Aragorn then glanced between the silent Harry and Éowyn. "I do not believe that is what fate has in store for you, lady. Nor do I believe you would allow it if it should."

A glimmer of understanding flashed in her eyes as she remembered Harry's promise to aid her if she was forbidden to ride to war. She stepped back from Aragorn and bade him and his companions safe journey. "Much good it may do thee," she said bitterly.

Harry then stepped forward and forwent a normal greeting, instead saying, "I shall be most disappointed if I get to Minas Tirith and find that you died on your little caving expedition. I'm not sure you trust me, and to be honest I'm not entirely sure I trust your sanity either, but dying puts a downer on any man's war. Take it from me."

Finally the dark mood was broken, if only for a moment and Aragorn barked a laugh and was joined by Gimli's forced chuckle while Legolas merely looked confused.

"Then I shall endeavour to avoid it," Aragorn said in amusement. "We shall meet again, Harry, beyond the shadow and there we will fight side by side to herald the coming of a new age."

"I think I should say the same to you," said Legolas, "I much want to see the great magics of which Gimli has been so complimentary. I will look to you at Minas Tirith."

Gimli, who of all the company was dreading the passage most merely dipped his head stiffly to Harry in parting.

Harry nodded firmly as the group turned to leave. He placed a comforting hand on Éowyn's shoulder as they both watched the group pass into shadow beneath the Dwimorburg. Neither spoke in that moment, but both felt stronger for the presence of the other.

That day passed with few words spoken by Lady Éowyn and it fell upon Harry to oversee the muster of men. By now there were nearing six thousand men and horses assembled awaiting the return of their King. Some pressure was lifted from Harry as great waynes of food and grain began rolling in from the still largely untouched lands in the eastern reaches of Rohan.

By the mid-afternoon Éowyn had cast off the worst of her dark mood and returned to manage the men in their assemblage. Lightened was Harry's heart at this as many men did not yet trust him for now his storied valour in the fighting at Helm's Deep seemed distant to the new and unfamiliar men now joining the camp. Even his actions in driving the fell beast from the skies over Edoras were treated as mere fables by the newly gathered men. Most could not envision such a fell creature, nor could they imagine the strength of despair that could be brought upon even the bravest man by the will of the Dark Lord.

Éowyn though suffered similarly. For while she was much respected by those who lived in the shadow of Edoras for her leadership in the recent dark times those from further afield saw only a woman, weak of body and will. Often Harry found Éowyn expressing her grievance to the men in a very straight forward manner. Most did not question her again.

Harry could see her frustration. For a while after the battle the men there had treated her with much respect for her feats on the field and yet even now, mere days since, they had fallen back into their old way of thinking and tried to push her away for war was the province of men, they said. Dúnhere, the Lord of Harrowdale and sister's son to Erkenbrand commanded the men well and had their respect but Harry could see the man was no great intellect. He made no attempt to draw from Éowyn the responsibility of the Muster for he knew and respected her. Yet the newly gathered men were more willing to defer to such a powerful looking man than to a mere woman.

Harry tried to back her up as he knew that not only was she extremely proficient with her sword but also possessed of an iron will and a sharp intellect. Yet when he did the men would laugh loudly and clap him forcefully on the shoulder in the way of such as if they were humouring a child or lackwit. He was aware that he was somewhat taken with the Lady of Rohan and supposed the men thought him blinded by that. He did not believe it so for he was used to what he still thought of as 'modern' women from his own time and when talking with Éowyn he often found himself forgetting that she wasn't.

She had such drive, determination and vitality that Harry was hard-pressed to categorise her alongside the usually rather timid and deferential women he'd found in most places across Middle-earth.

Amongst the Rohirrim the place of a woman was at a man's side in peace or at home with the children when was war upon them. They were not expected to completely eschew the blade for many were the stories of brave shield-maidens defending hearth and home but they were not expected to seek such deeds out. The role of a woman was in life, not in death said the Rohirrim. Éowyn refused that absolutely and Harry could not help but wonder at the strength that she possessed that she could continue that fight for so long without support.

Now, though, she had support. He made time to practice his skills with the sword with her and when men tried to suggest he need not 'indulge' her so he simply asked if they could best her with a blade.

It seemed they could not. So Harry and Éowyn continued alone and did not heed them.

On the next day Harry and Éowyn were once again sparring, this time without having to endure the comments of some of the Eorlingas. They had found Harry a set of chainmail and leathers and Éowyn wore her own more finely appointed armour, gifted to her by her dearly departed cousin Théodred.

The fight was fast and fierce as the two combatants danced around each other with varying levels of grace. Harry was no master swordsman but he was able to compensate thanks to the charms he'd placed on himself and his sword. His style was chaotic and unusual as he had no formal training and due to the charms placed on his weapon it handled unlike any other sword. Éowyn, however, was something else.

Harry had seen some of her ability during the battle at Helm's Deep but now he could see her ability clearly. She had not the strength or stamina of the men of her people but she more than made up for it with her speed and affinity for misdirection. Many a time Harry fell afoul of her feints and had accumulated quite a collection of bruises as a result.

It did not go all her way, however. Harry's charms allowed him to wield his longsword as if it weighed no more than a rapier. In the beginning Éowyn was caught by surprise by just how quickly he could change the path of his blade in flight and had only avoided some nasty bruises of her own thanks to her impressive reflexes. She was forced to accept the occasional blow but was able to reduce their impact significantly by deflecting them or moving with the strike. Each time Harry thought he had confounded her guard she would spin away, hair flying around her in a beautiful golden curtain and Harry would find his sword doing no more than brushing her armour with the gentlest of touches.

That was how they were found when a man came running and declared that the King had returned. Éowyn made an immediate and hasty exit with Harry following not long behind.

"Hail, Théoden King!" Éowyn cried happily upon seeing her uncle. "I am glad at your return."

"As am I at seeing you again daughter," said Théoden. "Has all been well in my absence?"

"All has been well," she answered as Harry joined them though he stood back out of respect for both rank and family. "Lord Harry has been of greater aid than I had imagined possible. Tidings of your return came to us not two days ago and no great evil has befallen us here."

Théoden glanced at Harry briefly. "Then you once again have my thanks, Harry Gledfréa. Heard, I have, of your valour in driving off the shadow over Edoras. The men below have taken to calling you Beortwiga. It seems Aragorn was blessed indeed when he stumbled upon you." He looked back to Éowyn. "Am I to understand that Aragorn has come hence then? That it was he who bore you news of our coming?"

"Aye, he came," said Éowyn as a flicker of sadness crossed her eyes. "He left the morn after his arrival. Into the Paths of the Dead."

Éomer then said, "That is grievous news indeed. We knew of his plan to pass that way but I had hoped he might stop from that path before it claimed him. Alas!"

Théoden remained stoic. "The line of Isildur does not idly accept death without reason nor value. No matter though, we have our own path and must ride it without him."

That night again found Théoden sitting in a large tent with Éomer, Éowyn and Dúnhere. So too were they joined by an uneasy Harry as they talked of the events and happenings across Rohan and further afield.

Harry was unable to add much to the discussion due to how long it had been since he had travelled much beyond his home in the Westfold. Instead he spent much time listening and endeavored to understand the strategic situation though that had never been much his forté.

The wild men of Dunland had suffered heavy casualties at Helm's Deep and those who lived had cast aside their weapons and now worked to right the damages they had inflicted upon the wartime refuge of Rohan.

From the north came word of a great host of Orcs at Dol Guldur and to the east a great army of Easterlings of Rhûn marching towards Gondor. Dúnhere argued that they had to guard their own borders and people. What good would it do to ride to war in Gondor while their own homes burned behind them?

Éomer and Éowyn both argued that the only option was to ride to Gondor. Éomer pointed out that homes could be rebuilt but should Gondor fall to Mordor then Rohan would stand no chance alone. Éowyn argued that they could not ignore the call of Gondor, to do so would be to mark themselves cowards and oathbreakers.

Harry said nothing for he did not believe it his place nor did he think he knew enough of the matters to give good counsel.

During a lull in the discussion the young hobbit appeared. Harry had learned that the King had taken the boy, Meriadoc Brandybuck, to squire. It seemed strange to Harry as none of the other riders had a squire but now he could see the fatherly way Théoden regarded the halfling.

"Sit by me, master Meriadoc," announced Théoden. "While I yet remain in my lands I would have you lighten my heart with tales of a happier time."

Silence descended on the group as Merry took his seat. Though Harry was interested in the tales the unfamiliar halfling could tell he did not wish to impose himself upon the King. He knew he was being treated with great respect and knew that he'd done something to earn it but he still wasn't much at home around them, besides Éowyn, that is.

Into the quiet came Merry's voice as he asked after the Paths of the Dead. The story was much the same as Harry had received when he asked the same. He would admit to a significant amount of curiosity as to the truth of the matter.

Théoden said something new this time though, a distant memory from a far off time. When Baldor, son of Brego passed into the mountain his father joined him to the Door to the mountain. Before the door sat an old man, aged beyond years. It told them, "The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead, and the dead keep it, until the time comes. The way is shut."

Théoden seemed to think that perhaps now was the time and Aragorn would pass through safely and yet still he was sad. "My heart tells me I shall not meet him again, yet he is kingly and has a great destiny. I would not say he has passed from us quite yet," he said.

At the words of the doorman Harry felt a slight chill settle over his spine for he recognised prophecy when he heard it. Much like the prophecy that governed his own fate this one was worthless save to inspire doubt. Still, it may be that the time was now and Aragorn's risk would prove worth it. Harry did not feel he had seen the last of Aragorn, much though Éowyn had claimed otherwise.

It was not long later that a voice outside cried the name of the King and his voice was met by that of the guard without. A man entered the tent and told them that a Messenger of Gondor was come and wished to speak to Théoden king with utmost urgency.

"Then bid him enter," said Théoden, "I would hear what Lord Denethor has to say."

The messenger was shortly shown into the tent he was tall and and scarred with heavy features and dark weary eyes. Hirgon, he was called and he carried with him the Red Arrow, the call to arms from Gondor.

"Dark days are well upon us then," said Théoden upon being presented with the Arrow. It was an otherwise normal arrow save the head that was painted bright red. "Not since the days of my father's father has the Red Arrow been seen in Rohan. What would Lord Denethor have of me and my men?"

"Lord Denethor bids that you come with as much haste and men as is available to you," said Hirgon. "Minas Tirith will soon be under siege and unless you have the strength to break a one unlike any that has been seen in the third age then he bids that your men would be better within the city than without."

"Yet Denethor knows that my people would rather fight in open fields astride our horses than among the tight streets of the White City," said Théoden thoughtfully, "and widely are we scattered across the many leagues of the Riddermark. Were it not for the blackest treachery that lead us to this I would say it was fortunate that we have already begun mustering our strength, for had we delayed there could be no aid that we could send to Gondor."

"All the realms of men are sorely pushed and darkness encroaches on all sides," said Hirgon. "In the south the Haradrim are on the move while in the east the men of Rhûn answer the call of their dark master and war is already come to Dagorlad and Ithilien. Dark ships have been seen off our coast and I fear little help will come to Minas Tirith from there. If Rohan is to come then it must come with all haste for anything less would be too late and no holdfast will save your people when the darkness comes forth."

"Such tidings have already been heard here and I would have Denethor know that even were our lands peaceful and unthreatened I would come to his aid," Théoden said. "Yet I cannot totally forsake my own lands. Such power does the Dark Lord wield that he may strike such a blow at Gondor while still threatening us with another mighty host across the Anduin.

"But hear me now. We will not forsake our honour, Rohan will ride to Gondor with all the men that may be gathered, even if that be no more than we have here now. Tell Denethor that he shall see the riders of Eorl beneath his walls a week hence."

"A week!" cried Hirgon. "I fear by then you may find only death and the ruined walls of the white city but if it must be so then nothing else may be done."

"If such is what we find then we will revenge the souls of Gondor upon your killers but the Riddermark has seen battle and anguish already and I cannot move the full host to action any faster than I have set," spoke the King. "Come, stay with us this night and rest. Tomorrow you may return to your Lord with gladder tidings than most to be found in this time."

So they rose and went to their beds and as he fell into sleep Harry felt a weight fall over his shoulders and knew that things were set to get worse before they would get better.

Chapter Text

The next morning did not come. No sun rose over the mountains for a dark and unsettling cloud had rolled in from the East and now blocked the light of Anor from sight.

Harry awoke to raised voices and hurried motion beyond his tent and stumbled out into the half-twilight. Though not as dark as true night the light he now saw by was poor and held no life. The world he beheld was illuminated in tones of sickly grey and he could see the darkness had left the Rohirrim most unsettled.

The power displayed by Sauron took Harry's breath away. To blot out the sun across many hundreds of miles was a feat far beyond any Harry knew. He made a few attempts to burn the thick and terrible clouds from the sky but found them stubborn and immovable. He could no more wipe them from the sky than he could raise mountains from the earth.

One of the men, Eanhére Harry thought, came to him and told him that the Rohirrim would not wait any longer. The King had ordered that all men now present were to ride out in mere hours. Already the messengers of Gondor had taken their leave, riding with all the swiftness their horses possessed to return the news of Rohan's coming to Denethor. Eanhére told Harry that Théoden had bid he ride with them to Minas Tirith and requested that Harry come before him once he was prepared for the leave.

Harry as always didn't have much packing to do, he merely saddled Cadogan and collected his few belongings before going to the King.

"It is good that you would come with us to our battle," said the King upon seeing him. "The worth of a wizard in battle is beyond reckoning and I would have you accept a gift from me before we go forth together."

Théoden gestured for Harry to follow him as he walked to one of the temporary stables that housed the many horses of the Rohirrim. Harry did not consider himself to have a great knowledge on the subject of equestrian matters but even he could recognise that the horses before him were much finer than his own some-time steed. White they were and white was true, no grey horses were these. They stood taller, stronger and with more pride than any mere animal Harry had before seen.

"You already have a horse, I know," began Théoden, "but it does not befit such a friend of the house of Eorl to ride at the side of a King on such a lowly steed. If you would accept it I would allow you to choose a new steed from my own stable. Each is of the Mearas and swifter than any other."

A cynical smile spread across the king's face. "When last I made this offer Gandalf took from me Shadowfax, the mightiest of horses and alike to Felaróf of old. Much did I lament that choice while the shadow of Saruman lingered over me, yet had he not so chosen then surely our war would already be lost. I make the offer again to you for such friendship as you have shown the Mark is a rare coin and one I deem to be of equal value to even these steeds."

Harry was torn. Cadogan, his horse, was an enthusiastic old soul. Much like his namesake he tended towards brash and running off without forethought. Harry had come to be rather close to the animal over the last few years but he knew it was no longer a young creature.

In Rohan when the horses aged beyond the strength of their youth they would be allowed to roam the plains freely among the other half-domesticated animals. Cadogan was one of those horses, past his prime and no longer suited to the trials and travails of war. Harry knew this, but his heart was heavy at the thought of abandoning the only companion he'd had for the last few years.

Nonetheless as Harry looked upon the horses of Théoden he had to accept that they would be much better suited to war than Cadogan. One in particular caught his eye. Almost completely white except for some darker markings on her chest and around her eyes she cantered up to Harry almost as soon as he walked to the enclosure.

Her eyes were a bright amber and held an almost human intelligence. She nuzzled Harry when she reached him and he found himself reaching out to pet her head.

"It seems wizards have unquestionable taste when it comes to their steed," said Théoden wryly. "Hildwig is foal to Shadowfax and of all his children is most stubborn. Not so swift, nor so uncanny smart but a better mount you will never find."

Hildwig. The name seemed fitting for the animal that now looked him in the eyes unblinkingly in a fashion passingly similar to another animal companion from Harry's past.

"She's perfect," said Harry. "I thank you, Théoden king. She is much more than I deserve."

"The Mearas have ever been the mounts of my house alone," Théoden said with the slightest sparkle in his usually grave eyes. "But mayhaps I will yet see you sheltered under my roof."

When they departed from the refuge of Dunharrow in force Harry quickly realised that Éowyn was nowhere to be seen in the party seeing them off. As soon as the opportunity arose Harry fell back and surreptitiously located her with a quietly spoken spell and smiled when he realised she was riding with the host as she'd stated she would.

Even with the advantage of magic it was no easy task to find one man, or woman, among more than six thousands. Find her he did though, and with her he found the hobbit squire to Théoden. She looked glorious in her full armour and none could tell at the look of her that she was no Man of Rohan. She rode atop her grey steed, Windfola whom she had known for long years.

"I am happy you decided to join us, Éowyn." Harry smiled at her as he came alongside. "And you have brought master Brandybuck with you. At least I shall have some more enjoyable company on our ride."

"Harry! You would draw attention to us," she chastised him without ire. "We would not be left behind by those we love."

Merry looked surprised for Dernhelm the Young he thought she was. "Éowyn? but this is Der…" he trailed off. "Oh. Please Master Harry, don't tell the King, he would send us from him."

"Do not worry Merry, I promised Éowyn I would help her if the King tried to send her away. I shall extend that offer to you too." He thought for a moment. "I could use my magic to make sure no-one notices anything untoward."

"Thank you Harry," said Éowyn with a half concealed smile beneath her helm. "It would sooth me to know we are safe from discovery."

Harry tapped Merry and Éowyn on the head and said the words for a mild notice-me-not on both though he had to admit Éowyn didn't much need it. It was the hobbit that would draw attention to them.

Throughout that day and the next Harry spent as much time as he could riding with the two stowaways. Merry had an abundance of simple and amusing stories to tell and Harry could often be heard laughing merrily at the young Hobbit's japes.

Éowyn had explained that she had come to what she called an agreement with Elfhelm the Captain of the éored with which she rode and that he and his men would overlook her presence.

"I have known Elfhelm since I was young," she explained. "As Marshal of the East-Mark he resides at Aldburg yet he oft came to Meduseld to speak with my uncle. It caused him much pain to choose between my wishes and those of the King yet he will keep my presence quiet for now. Of all the Marshals of the Mark he is most understanding of my plight, he always aided me in my sword work when he came by."

Nonetheless he decided to maintain the charms concealing their presence, merely for the sake of surety. As a result he garnered a few uncertain looks from the riders nearby as their mind could not register the presence of the hobbit nor the words of the rider Harry accompanied but they soon put it down to the strangeness of wizards.

It came as something of a surprise to Harry when Merry mentioned that he was actually soon to be 38 years old and was nearly a decade older than him. Even as he thought he had come to understand Middle-earth it would throw some small thing at him to knock him off balance again.

Sometimes, when Merry was asleep in his guise as a pack bag upon Éowyn's horse the wizard and the Lady of Rohan talked quietly between themselves. Finally and after long and careful prompting form Éowyn Harry admitted at least a little of how he had come to be in Middle-earth.

"You have guessed, I know, that I am not from Middle-earth and you're right," Harry said eventually. "But nor am I from any land across the sea. I am from another world entirely, I think."

"Never have I heard such words, even in the oldest histories of my people," said Éowyn though she believed him still. "How then did you come to be here?"

"There was a war," he explained. "Many friends died. I blamed myself, I still do really. If I had been faster smarter or stronger they might never have died. I simply wished to get away from it. I wanted some quiet away from the blame and guilt their memory laid at my feet."

"I had no wish to leave for good, at least, I don't think I did. Not everyone died and I had many good friends still about me, though I admit we had become distant. I cut myself off from them, built a barrier around my life that none of them were allowed to pass. All I wanted to do was find some peace in the hope it might heal, but I've always been prone to acting without thinking. The spell I used was meant to create a kind of garden, a little pocket world for me and me alone. A retreat from the world. It was an ancient spell. It was supposed to be a paradise, a place of music and beauty."

"I suspect I got it wrong, or else something got it wrong for me. I did not find myself in the flowery garden I'd expected but in the blasted wastes you already know of. Immediately I tried to return yet nothing worked. I screamed and swore and beat my hands bloody on the sharp rocks all around me but nothing I tried worked."

He looked up at the Sauron-darkened sky and thought about that time, the darkest he'd ever known. His own weakness had inflicted upon him a wound greater than any other. "I came to accept it, in time. But I still wonder what would have happened had I stayed. I still wish I knew why it happened. When I heard of Gandalf I hoped he may have some answers but it seems he's as ignorant in this as me."

Éowyn did not say anything to that, for there was nothing that could ease his hurt, save perhaps one thing alone.

Late on the second day word came to the éored with which he was riding that the King wished of his council under the eaves of the Drúadan Forest.

When Harry arrived he found Théoden, Éomer and some of the captains near to a small monkey-looking man. Ghân-buri-Ghân was his name and chieftain he was of the Drúedain of the Forest. The Drúedain were one of the oldest kindreds of man yet left on Middle-earth and had occupied the lands of Rohan in the First Age. All that they had left in their old domains was their ancient holdfast at Dunharrow and the clouded stories told by the Dunlendings. He brought news to the King.

"A host lies in our path and the messenger of Gondor lies slain," explained Théoden. "Ghân-buri-Ghân offers to take us by paths known only to his people so that we may pass the host by. I would have your council in this."

"I'm not sure what council you want Théoden king, I am not experienced in war nor strategy," said Harry. "All I can say is that I could bear word to Gondor that Rohan comes to its aid. I could be there before the night is out."

"Path of Wild Men will take a day, no more," said Ghân in a curious croaking voice, his unsettling eye sparkling red at Harry in the half-light.

"How is such a thing possible for even upon the swiftest of horses we are nearly a whole day distant by the shortest path?" Théoden asked.

"Drycrâftig move by unseen paths," Ghân said, "The Wild Men remember."

Harry wondered just what it was that Ghân's people remembered for this was the very first he'd ever heard of any with abilities like his own. More unbalancing was how the small creature, not unlike trolls of Norse myth, could see it within him so easily.

"Ghân-buri-Ghân speaks the truth," admitted Harry. "I have the ability to travel from one place to another in an instant, if I have been there before. I have been to Minas Tirith on my travels."

"Then this would be another great service Harry, for I fear the delay we will see from our enforced path might see Gondor fallen before we can bring aid," said Théoden.

"I can leave straight away then," said Harry, "and hopefully I can make sure there's still a city for you to save when you make it there."

"Do so, I promise you we will come to you in two days. Let them hold that long," commanded Théoden.

Harry bowed his head and turned Hildwig to return, attempting to shrug off the unsettling red gaze of the Mountain man as he did so. He would have to inform Éowyn and Merry of his new path. Before he could leave Éomer called out to him. "I will look to see you when the battle comes, Harry Gledfréa. Once we have drawn sword together and we shall do it again. You are not to fall before we arrive."

"As my lord wills," Harry said with a wry smile.

When he returned to his companions he found them dismounted and awaiting a command to camp for the night. He informed them of his newest mission and Éowyn became much wroth. "So now at the last you would wish to abandon me too?" she asked heatedly. "You said we would not be parted lest I wished it."

"It will not be long," said Harry with a shake of his head. "The host will reach Minas Tirith in two days."

"And all the hosts of Mordor will lay between us!" she cried.

Harry smiled and reached out to cup her still helmeted face. "It will take more than that to keep me from your side. I've grown rather fond of your company."

She leaned into his hand a little before looking up at him. "And I yours. I still would not be sundered from you."

"It will be only temporary. I swear I will return to you," he said firmly, "no matter what the circumstances."

She looked between his eyes for a long time, her gaze flickering back and forth between them. Finally she flashed forward and closed the meagre distance between them. Her lips brushed over his for the briefest moment and the cold metal of her half-helm kissed his forehead.

"I will hold you to that, my Lord." she said, and she turned and left.

He stared into space for a moment then, before she could pass from sight he called to her, "My Lady, I would have you mind my horse while I am away. I can't take her with me." To Apparate with a creature so nervous as a horse, even one as intelligent as a Mearas was no kind thing.

She turned back to him. "I will," she called back, "but only these next two days." Then she was gone.

o-o

Harry arrived in a usually quiet alley in the first circle of Minas Tirith minutes later with a soft pop. Much as he had previously visited Edoras he had also seen the White City of Gondor in his travels. He was now thankful for those travels for the city was in turmoil and he could see the despair amongst the men.

The city was filled with men and most were heavily armed and armoured in the fine steel of the Gondorian soldiery, even the dark corner he in which he appeared was not so deserted as he'd hoped and he was lucky to avoid drawing attention. All throughout the city were men by the thousand, most wore the armour of Minas Tirith but there were many others too. He had not travelled to all the corners of the nation and thus could not recognise the regalia of all the men now stationed there but he did recognise the silver swan of Dol Amroth flying over the city.

Even Harry had heard of Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. He was held high among the Men of the west for his was a stature that hearkened back to the glory days of Gondor, not long after the fall of Westernesse. He controlled Belfalas, the largest and most populous region of Gondor bar the Pelennor wherein lay Minas Tirith itself.

Since the days of the Kings of Gondor the Steward of Minas Tirith and the Prince of Dol Amroth shared much of the burden of ruling Gondor between them. Though now Minas Tirith was much reduced from those days the same was not true of the great coastal city of Dol Amroth which stood yet unmarred by the darkness.

Harry climbed his way through the circles of the city and was able to look out over the Pelennor beyond. It seemed as if the stars had fallen from the sky and now moved upon the earth, so numerous were the flames beyond the great walls of the city. Already then, the city was besieged and by a force many times greater than that seen at Helm's Deep.

As he walked he listened and he overheard the men talking. The Rammas Echor, the walls that surrounded Pelennor had fallen; Faramir, beloved Captain of Gondor, had fallen to the winged Nazgûl; Gandalf had ridden out with Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth in a sortie and had driven them off with a bright light to save Faramir. No news had come from Rohan. That, at least, Harry would fix.

He approached one of the Guards of the seventh level. "I bear news from Théoden of Rohan for Lord Denethor."

"Lord Denethor does not see anyone since his son returned so direly injured," said the man unhappily. "I would take your word to him but it will avail you not I fear."

Harry frowned and shook his head, "Then who is in charge of the city?"

"Prince Imrahil and Mithrandir coordinate the defence, I do not know where they may be. At the last I knew they inspected the walls on the first level," said the guard.

"Then I shall go find them," Harry said with a sigh as he turned to retrace his steps. "Thank you for your help."

"Go you to the armoury of the Guard on the sixth level," he said before Harry left. "Tell my son Bergil that Beregond sends you and asks he help you locate the Wizard."

Harry nodded to Beregond in thanks though he didn't need help to find the wizard. He barely even needed a locating spell for now that he knew where to look Gandalf's presence seemed to shine in his mind's eye.

He eventually found Gandalf in deep conversation with a tall and uncommonly handsome man wearing gleaming plate armour embossed with the Swan of Amroth. Prince Imrahil, Harry assumed as he came upon them the Prince was speaking.

"A host lies across the northward road, Orcs and grim men from the east. Even should Rohan come it will not avail us here," Imrahil was saying seriously.

"Rohan will come," interjected Harry, drawing a surprised look from Gandalf. "They are taking a secret path past the Orcs and will be here the morning after next."

"Harry!" cried Gandalf, "How came you here, unlooked for with news much sought?"

"I have my wizardly ways," he said with a smile, "I'm sure you can appreciate that Gandalf."

The grey-bearded Istar grumbled a little. "None so speedy as yours must be, and I would hear of them before long if I may. But your news is most welcome though would that Rohan could have arrived with you."

"This is Harry Naurhîr? The Wizard of Rohan?" asked Imrahil, his voice deep and strangely melodic. "Good news this is indeed, for if the stories are true your craft will be most useful in keeping the Orcs from our city."

"Indeed," said Gandalf as amusement twinkled in his eyes in a fashion strongly reminiscent of another old and bearded wizard of Harry's memory. "Harry the Flame Master, an auspicious name for one so young. But come, what news do you bear?"

"Théoden rides with a little over six thousand, all mounted and fighting men," said Harry, his mouth pulling into a slight grin when he thought of two of those 'men'. "When the darkness came we rode immediately and without waiting for the complete muster. There is news of an army moving south into Rohan from Dol Guldur and Théoden hopes that the men left behind may be able to keep them from doing too much damage.

"Aragorn took the Paths of the Dead and I know many of the Rohirrim fear him lost. He claimed that the path would get him here with greater speed than our own but I do not see him in your company."

"Troubling news," said Gandalf, "though if any may walk the Paths of the Dead and live it would be Aragorn. If he has then he may yet come to our aid. Belfalas and Lebennin suffer under the raids of the Corsairs of Umbar and neither sent significant aid to Minas Tirith before the host of Mordor came hither. With luck it may be that Aragorn can bring them to our aid here."

"I suspect, as do many, that this Aragorn may be more than the mere Ranger you would have us believe," said Imrahil, "but I will say nothing of it outside our councils for his help will be greatly appreciated. If Aragorn could lift the Corsairs from the coasts of Belfalas then I would be greatly indebted. I was sore to leave my home when it was so imperilled but I knew the defence of Minas Tirith was of greater importance still. Should Rohan come to our aid and my lands made safe then we may yet survive. We must merely hold out ere they make it here."

"That still remains no 'mere' task," said Gandalf with a shake of his head. "More than forty thousands move now across the Pelennor burning all before them. This host is commanded by no Orc, there is a purpose and a plan behind their actions and I fear the Black Captain of Sauron is to be our foe."

"We will have men enough to hold for the day," argued Imrahil, "Even should Sauron himself come upon us tomorrow the valour of Gondor would hold the walls."

"Nay! Speak not of such doom," said Gandalf, "for if the Dark Lord did come hither then nought could stand before him and the gates would be rended and torn by his wrath ere moments had passed. Nay, our only hope lies in the enemy not knowing that help comes to Minas Tirith, for if they push us truly then we will be lost. Even should he stay within his fastness at Barad-dûr we will be most direly tested before this day is out."

"I might be able to do something about that," said Harry, glad there was something he could do. "I have seen the Great Gate and it is strong, but my magic could make it near impenetrable."

"That would aid us well I feel," said Imrahil, "for though the Gates are strong they are not unbreachable. What else could your magic do for us in our need?"

"I'll have to wait and see how the attack comes," said Harry. "Had I been here a week earlier I could perhaps have erected more formidable defences but for now there is no time to strengthen them. That said I can fight pretty well and if they have catapults I may be able to do something about them but until I see how we are stretched I won't expend my energies."

"That would be wise, I think," Gandalf said thoughtfully, "I shall be most interested to see your magics at work."

Harry smiled at the older wizard. "And I look forward to seeing yours. I get the feeling we'll both be surprised."

And so, when the dim half-light of the day once again allowed the men to look out over the Pelennor with their eyes the host of Mordor was seen beyond the walls. Tens of thousands of Orcs screamed and roared at the defenders as they bayed for the blood of Men.

Among the Orcs walked huge creatures, Olog-Hai, trolls in the design of Sauron stronger, smarter and much more violent than any normal troll. Where Trolls could not suffer the sun and were turned to stone under its gaze the Olog-Hai were unmoved and unafraid thanks to the long experimentation of the Dark Lord. Some said that just as the Uruk-Hai were a cruel mix of Orc and the very worst of men so too were Olog-Hai the offspring of Man and Troll. How such an unspeakable union could come about none would ever say.

Harry had never seen so many beings in once place before. He could not help but feel an edge of doubt within him, for surely even the combined armies of Gondor and Rohan could not hope to wash such a great stain of bodies from the fields about the White City. The muster of Rohan, six thousand men whom Harry had though looked grand and unassailable now looked a paltry host in comparison.

"How is it that Sauron has so many followers?" He asked Gandalf as both stood atop the walls and surveyed the forces arrayed below.

"The evil of Sauron has been growing for a great many years," admitted Gandalf. "We have been slow to act but also we were much slower to realise. For many long years he resided in Dol Guldur and was not contested in his mastery of that place. When finally we moved to act he returned to his Domain in Mordor and already his power was such that we could not hope to assault him there."

"Then how can we even hope to win against him?" Harry asked, "We can at best earn a temporary reprieve."

"No reprieve longer than a few days could be gained," admitted Gandalf. "For the Enemy has thrice the numbers needed to lay low the realms of men. Our hope takes another path and secrecy is its only defence."

"But you won't tell me any more?" said Harry in resignation.

"It is not through a lack of trust that I keep it from you," said Gandalf apologetically. "You have been a great ally to us, though Aragorn may believe such fortune to be suspicious. The Dark Lord has ears in all places in these days and his Eye sees far. I would not now talk of it openly to anyone. You more than most will draw his gaze to you, I would not take such a dire risk."

Harry had to accept that. He disliked being kept ignorant for he now felt himself to be utterly invested in the fate of Middle-earth yet he recognised the need for secrecy. If Sauron had such a reach as Gandalf said then surely it was best to keep anything so important completely secret. Both wizards returned to their pacing of the walls, though Harry was not so recognised within Minas Tirith as was Mithrandir word of his actions had spread and he was still seen as a source of hope in the darkness.

The Orcs did not attempt the walls though, instead they focussed on the Gates. Even without Harry's charms the Gates would have been unmoved by the paltry rams brought against it. Many hundreds of Orcs died in fruitless assaults on the Gates that morning but they would not stop for the will of Sauron and his Black Captain pushed them ever onwards.

Also among the army were great catapults and trebuchets and by late morning they had been brought close enough to assail the city. Seeing the great damage those siege engines could to the city and the morale of the defenders Harry decided that his magic would be well used to defend against them. He stood atop the great pinnacle of the city, high upon the shoulder of Mindolluin so that he might have the best vantage from which to act.

His wand flicked back and forth and with each flick a huge missile of fire and stone would freeze in the air beyond the walls of the city, hanging for a moment before falling and spelling the doom of many an Orc. Ten, twenty, thirty times his spell captured and froze the great projectiles and the city stood safe before the fires of Mordor.

Soon though came the winged Nazgûl and Harry was forced to defend himself from them and fires fell upon the great city below as he tried to drive back the fell beasts assailing him.

He could not remain so exposed in the courtyard atop the city in the face of the Nazgûl of the air. Though he could contest with individual Ringwraiths he could not fight their combined power. The men in the city could not fell their mounts for in their fear their arrows missed by a wide margin. Those that did hit did little damage for though the bows of Gondor were fine of make and design they could not match up to the bows of the Galadhrim and only those bows could now hope to pierce their foul hide.

In the gloom of the day without dawn he found his own light producing spells weaker and less effective against the Nazgûl. He could still drive them from him but they would not stay away long, ever did they return and never did their influence rise from over the defenders save when Gandalf rode near.

The presence of the Nazgûl also sapped the will of the defenders for the cry of their fell beasts caused the strongest heart to quail. Gandalf rode across the entire city and his shining presence drove the shadow of despair back from the defenders' minds. Soon though he would move on and the gnawing terror would return and their courage would wane.

Here too Harry tried to aid in the defence. Though his presence did not have the impact of the White Wizard his patronus had some small calming effect on the defenders. So while Harry attempted to fend off the beasts in the air so too did his patronus pass among the defenders in the hope that it might drive away some measure of the sorrow and fear that now assailed them. Still no assault upon the city came.

Denethor would not bestir himself from his injured son's side and so the defence of the city fell in whole to Gandalf. Harry offered to look at the injured Faramir in the hope that it might bring the Steward of Gondor to the battle but Denethor refused absolutely.

When Harry asked again for entrance, this time insisting that the guard bear a message his words in response were in equal measure worrying and confusing, "I would not have such a tool of the Enemy within my City had I any other option, he will never inflict his darkness upon my son. Let him know that I see his purpose here."

In the end Harry decided that the battle was most important, once it was won he would help Faramir and damn the consequences. For now, however, it was important that he abide by the direct commands of the master of the city for he could easily make the battle even more difficult.

Before night came down upon the defenders Harry was able to destroy a large number of the siege catapults by Apparating near to them and setting them aflame. He was able to appear next to the great engines without being heard by any for the cries of the Orcs where like thunder upon the air. He appeared out of nowhere and in moments the crew was killed or dismembered by the flashing lights from his wand.

All about the Orcs roared at the sight of him and fell beasts beat their wings to assail him yet his work was but moments. First he set the great trebuchet aflame then spun his wand over his head and a great wall of fire erupted between himself and the Orcs attempting to charge him. He did not have the time to do more for the Nazgûl would surely fall upon him in moments but it would ensure that the siege engine could not be saved. After a few bare seconds he Disapparated back to the City to find his next target.

Against this the Orcs had no defence and by nightfall near all of the siege engines had been destroyed. The damage they had inflicted was still severe. Behind the walls a great fire raged and the teams of men who fought it did so without much hope. Yet a cheer went up from the defenders when they saw each of the engines consumed by his fires but soon again their optimism was dampened.

Still no assault upon the walls came and Harry then turned his abilities to quelling the fires that now raged within the city. Great streams of water flew from his wand and small puddles rose up in wrath to strike the flames from the houses of the White City. The City was too large for him to save it all as he found himself still coming under periodic attacks from Nazgûl but a great many store houses were saved by his efforts.

Into the evening it siege continued and as the meagre light once again failed great siege towers and more catapults were seen approaching from Osgiliath. It took some hours for them to make it to the walls of the city but once they did the fighting was immediate and desperate.

When the first of the towers came upon the walls Harry was quickly there and was able to blast it from their battlements before the attacking Orcs could gain the walls. But even as he did this another two disgorged their foul load upon the defenders. Harry once again Apparated to the first of the siege towers he saw and the men of Gondor were already locked in a desperate fight. Harry once again threw the tower down in a pillar of flames before joining the fray to end the threat of those Orcs that had issued from it. His sword flashed and his wand flickered yet the battle was not difficult for seeing Harry upon them and their reinforcements lost the Orcs lost their courage and fled before the vengeful defenders.

The huge towers were clad in thick metal and pushed by massive and ugly beasts. In the dark of the night and with the continuing attacks from the air Harry was able to destroy fewer half of the towers before they reached the walls and the fighting reached the first circle of the city.

Every time he came upon a stretch of wall that had been overcome by Orcs Harry would first target the tower to ensure no more Orcs could come that way then he would lead a charge of the defenders against the now stranded and terrified Orcs. Gandalf did the same though his magic was not capable of blasting the towers from the walls his presence was even more demoralising for the Orcs as the sheer lightness of his presence caused them pain and discomfort.

Many times Harry's wall of flames spell was summoned and his great warriors of flame marched upon the Orcs atop the walls. Rarely did they last long though for when the winged Nazgûl came near their warmth and strength would wane and flicker like a candle in a wind before finally the flames guttered and died completely. Instead Harry began summoning birds and beasts, eagles, wolves and tigers were in abundance upon the walls and the men of Gondor were in awe of them.

Long the night lasted and Harry slowly became tired. Near two nights without sleep and an almost constant battle had frayed his strength yet still he fought. When Gandalf was near Harry too felt the weight of weariness lift from him and for a while would fight renewed. Yet still the battle wages. His sword and magic cut down dozens or even hundreds of Orcs yet still they came without pause of respite.

All across the City the defenders were embattled and exhausted. Though Harry was seemingly everywhere at once the City was too large for any one man to hope to cover. Ever he would regain an area, drive the Orcs from the walls only for them to return bare minutes later as another siege tower came upon it.

Then the Witch King came and Gandalf was not to be found.

All of the Nine assailed the city and the Chief among them sat before the Great Gates astride his black steed. Beside him was Grond, a battering ram of impossible size and named for the Hammer of the Underworld, the weapon of Morgoth in the First Age. He raised over his head his armour clad hands and unleashed the sorcerous power granted him by his dark master. "Grond, Grond!" shouted the thousands of Orcs at his back and the Gates shook upon the impact of the great siege engine, but they did not fall.

Three times the great ram of Sauron smote the gates and still they stood. Three times again the gates were struck and still they stood though they smoked at the power of Sauron's weapon.

Harry felt a gathering of power beyond the gates and knew that they would not survive for ever, doing what he could he reinforced his charms and Apparated off to aid on the walls for he could not afford to be idle.

Long the gates and walls stood against the unnatural attack but eventually Harry felt his charms unravel and the Gate was broken and blasted aside. Minutes earlier Gandalf had been called to the seventh level of the city for the mind of Denethor had been overthrown and he now sought his own death by fire. It fell to Harry to defy the power of the Witch King of Angmar and he was left to do it alone for no man in Minas Tirith had the strength to stand against the Captain of Barad-dûr.

He Apparated into the now open gateway strewn with smoking and blasted metal and faced the dark and terrifying presence of the Chief of the Nine.

As the Lord of Nazgûl rode through the Gates through which no enemy had before passed, all the defenders were taken by terror and fled before him. All the defenders but one.

"That is quite far enough," called Harry over the tumult of battle and frenzied chanting from without. "This city is under my protection, you will come no further."

The tall figure atop the dark steed met his gaze, twin sinister fires blazing beneath the black hood. He raised his gauntleted hands to his head and lowered the hood for all to see. Where Harry had expected the pale flesh and lone mouth of a Dementor there was nothing, no flesh or bone at all. Only a crown of bronze resting in the air atop the disembodied twin fires of his eyes.

A rattling sound issued from the First of the Ringwraiths as he laughed at his opponent. "The lost boy, the wanderer," he hissed, his voice reminding Harry of another foe from years past. "The failed hero, seed of darkness eternal. The downfall of all you seek to protect."

And a dark power issued from the figure, such that it almost drove Harry to his knees in despair.

"Such is the strength of men. It is no wonder it fails so readily," came a whisper that was heard by all who stood near. "Touched by the Great Death, yet too weak to stand." The rattling sound returned as the Black Rider looked down upon the tortured shape of the lone man before him.

Yet Harry was not done, many years it had been since his willpower had been tested so but still he remembered his old strength. He fought the influence as he fought the Imperius of Voldemort as a child for he would never allow another to control him so. He thought of his promise to Éowyn and knew that he had only one option; to drive the Witch king back. With a cry and a blinding flash Harry cast off the spell and shadow laid upon him and the fell horse of the Black Captain reared back in fright.

His wand burst forward in that moment and a blast of white light struck the figure causing it to scream in pain or rage. Behind the light rode Prongs glorious and shining, and the horse shied before the light and love of the patronus.

The Lord of Minas Morgul and vessel for the hate and power of Sauron would not be so easily driven off. In a moment his will mastered his horse and another wave of dark power rolled from the figure and the light of the patronus flickered. Then he drove his horse against the great white stag and struck at it with his Morgul Blade as flames of dark power flickered along its edge.

"Your light is weak, as are you," said the Lord of Nazgûl. "Before the darkness there can be no defence." He rode ever closer and Harry wavered.

Harry was astonished when the patronus fell and faded before the black burning steel, and felt a deep stab of anguish in his own heart as hope was torn from him. Yet he would not give up and never would he accept defeat while breath still remained in his lungs. Conjuring thoughts of his last exchange with Éowyn and his hope for a life without the painful loneliness that had marred his years till then he bellowed the words, "Expecto Patronum!"

Again the great stag burst forth, taller now than even the Witch King ahorse. From it such a light shone that overhead the dark clouds of Sauron drew back and lo! The sun was once again in the sky and a brief dawn had come to Gondor through the blackest shadow. From the small breach in the clouds and dark shadow of Mordor shone a pillar of light upon the White City and it seemed to glow with inner light. All around felt the sense of hopelessness and despair lift just slightly.

The darkness of the Lord of Nazgûl could not stand the pulsing, living light of the patronus and was driven back in steps beyond the gate once more. A great screech rent the air and fell beasts descended to his aid for Harry could not hope to stand against the combined might of the Nine.

Then came horns by the hundred, rolling across the planes. Horns of the North. From the Orcs beyond the walls came a wailing and a fear and the Witch King looked to the North and in that moment abandoned the gate. For now granted reprieve, Harry dropped his wand in uttermost weariness yet hope rekindled his strength and he was renewed.

Rohan had come.

Chapter Text

Though the horns of Rohan caused the Witch King to abandon the Gate the attack was not yet ended. Through the gate came a force of Olog-Hai and Orcs, the huge Trolls at least as large as the ones Harry had encountered in his youth.

Harry reacted to them sluggishly, his strength still spent from the battle of wills with the Nazgûl Lord yet he knew he could not yield. He pushed himself upright once more and prepared to meet the newest attack from the minions of Sauron.

Already the attackers were upon him and he was being pushed back slowly. Too many of Sauron's foul creatures, empowered by the darkness of the Witch King, pressed at him and he had not the strength to keep them all at bay. Curses flew from his wand rapidly and painted the white stone of the City in hues of red and blue. All those who encroached were blown back or impaled by his magic yet still it was not enough to hold them back. As he prepared to Apparate to a more defensible spot he finally found himself no longer alone as the Prince of Dol Amroth led a large force of men to support the beleaguered wizard.

Now that he was surrounded by allies he could no longer level his full destructive magic at his foes. His sword returned to use again and flashed in the sunlight that streamed from the dark clouds torn asunder. Despite the valour of the men now striving to regain the gate under Prince Imrahil the Olog-Hai were too great a force for normal men to overcome. Each was at least a dozen feet tall and every one wore thick black iron armour and carried cruel serrated swords larger than a man. Each one tore through entire squads of men in moments yet still the Men fought for though the valour of Gondor was dimmed from the days of the Kings it was not yet wholly spent.

Harry saw that they could not hope to hold the gate without meeting the strength of the Olog-Hai. Despite his exhaustion he knew that of all the men in the fight only he could hope to contest them.

He Apparated away so that he could focus on the great Sauron-bred Trolls without concern for defending himself. His wand danced before him and the rubble strewn across the city streets rose at his command. Some formed into great trolls themselves while many more became rough-hewn stone golems. His magic almost caused disaster. When the Gondorians noticed his creations some were thrown into a panic and a few attempted to retreat back to the streets of the City. The Prince of Dol Amroth called for them to stand and so strong was his voice and so forceful his presence that the wavering men held their ground.

In moments Harry's creations engaged the enemy and his allies realized that had happened and a cheer went up. Imrahil led again a charge at the side of Harry's creatures and this time the fight was much more to their favour. Now that the battle for the gate had been equalised Harry knew that they would prevail is the strength and the bravery of the men but held a little longer. The broad entryway to the city remained hard to defend though and Harry knew without the gates it could not hold long if the remaining Orcs outside made a determined attempt.

He tried to repair the great gates yet found he could not. Created by Sauron the great ram Grond laid a fell spell upon them that could not be overcome by Harry's magic for far greater and older was the power of Sauron the Great. Birthed from the mind of Ilúvatar before the dawn of the world no mortal magic could undo his will. He knew he could use his magic to block the gates for a time but was loath to do so. The Rohirrim fought upon the Pelennor and it would do no good to leave them stranded from the shelter of the city should the battle go ill.

In the end though his decision was made for him. The Gate now regained, Prince Imrahil called to his Knights and commanded them to form up for he intended to lead a sally out to the aid of the embattled horse lords. His mounted Knights, clad in bright silver steel joined with Harry's creatures and the remaining soldiers and drove the last of the Orcs from the inside of the walls.

The horns of Rohan had renewed their faith and they fought with the greatest of fury, such that Harry was able to leave them and Apparate again to the wall-tops for he was desperate to see if Éowyn yet lived. He did all he could to discern her among the thousands of riders but even his sharp eyes could not make out one among so many at so great a distance.

The waves of Orcs assailing the walls abated as the host at the walls turned to join to counter attack against the Rohirrim and Harry saw the attack now turned against them. From the walls the men of Gondor cried to the horse lords to retreat, to come to the gate, to shelter in Minas Tirith yet they could not be heard. Behind him Prince Imrahil prepared his men about the gate for his sortie to join with the Rohirrim in a last desperate gamble but Harry had only eyes for the battle outwith.

Still he could not find her, yet the host of the Rohirrim turned now to charge the army of the Haradrim. Among the men of Harad were a great many mounted warriors but even worse were the Oliphaunts. Each was as tall as a building and carried upon their backs a number of archers of Harad. The charge of the Rohirrim was stymied and turned for their horses would not approach the great beasts.

He knew he needed to help and now that the City looked to be able to hold its ground alone he would. He sighted on one of the largest of the Mûmakil which was parting the horses of Rohan before it like water about immovable stone. He Apparated.

He landed amid the tiered tower attached to the creature's back. He lost his balance immediately upon the swaying and moving platform as the great elephant like beast rampaged across the Pelennor. He threw out his arms and was able to grasp at the perilously low railing that ran about the structure before he was thrown from it. He then took that moment to regain his bearings and see just what his situation now was. So large was the creature that the battle seemed distant from him and he could not see the host of Rohan which even now passed as close by as the horses would allow.

Also riding upon the animal were more than ten tattooed and heavily pierced Haradrim and though not all had seen his appearance a few turned towards him and let loose with their bows. The charm work applied to his armour aided him greatly here for he could not hope to react fast enough. The arrows were turned away as if they had struck the finest plated steel and he quickly erected a shield. While his armour was easily able to turn away such projectiles it would not protect his face. He occasionally wished he'd known what was to befall him when he stepped to this world and had brought some reasonable equipment. A Weasley shield hat would have been most useful.

For a moment curses flashed from his wand and in seconds all the Haradrim had been thrown to the distant ground, their screams fading quickly into the roar of battle. Harry moved to the head of the creature as best he could, once again almost thrown by the chaotic movements it made as it charged heedless across the Pelennor now without guidance.

He pointed his wand at the creature's head and took a deep breath. He spoke, "Imperio". He felt the gigantic creature bend easily to his will. Long years it had been trained to heed the every command of its handler and it did not question the commands that he now passed into its mind.

He directed the beast into its brethren and it did not balk. It loosed a great cry and charged across at the nearest Mûmak. The great tusks of his beast drove beneath the other and knocked it aside such that it lost its footing and crashed to the ground with an earth rending thump. The many Rohirrim who had become unmounted were nearby and converged upon the creature when they saw its vulnerability and soon its hide ran with blood from their blades. It would not die quickly, but it would not be returning to the battle.

Harry moved on, he threw fire upon the structure upon the back of another Mûmak and it lit up in roaring flames. The men riding atop the creature screamed in terror and agony as they were engulfed by the furious magical flames. Half of their number leapt from the structure into the open space beyond. It availed them none for the height was too great for any man to survive the drop. The creature carrying the inferno became blinded in panic and pain and felled yet another in its frenzied attempts to escape the burning fires.

Harry then tried to get a grasp of the situation again and found that the majority of the still mounted Rohirrim had passed the Oliphaunts by and now engaged the mounted Haradrim at the rear.

The commander of the Haradrim was there, his banner a Black Serpent held high in the dead and rancid air from Mordor. The horsemen of Rohan were the greater riders by far, their horses the swifter and smarter and the riders of Harad began to fall quickly to their blades.

Seeing that the Rohirrim could win that fight Harry instead decided to send his thrall towards the large army from Khand that had been assaulting the far side of the city and had only now come to the battle.

They had not the discipline of the Haradrim, nor the numbers of the Orcs. Their history was a long one, however, and many had been their wars with the Mûmakil riders of Harad. The Variags of Khand charged in close to the legs of the great elephant and it cried in pain and distress as their great axes dug deep into the flesh of its legs.

It fell to its knees with a bone-rattling crunch and Harry was thrown forward and into the open air. Surely that would then have been the end of him had he not had the presence of mind to Apparate desperately back to the White City. Such a panicked Apparition was small benefit for when he appeared he was thrown across the ground with such force that he felt a couple of ribs crack at the impact

He lay there a long moment as he caught his breath again, drawing harsh rattling breaths as liquid fire ran through his lungs. He groaned in pain and hauled himself upright against the low wall that stood at the edge of the Courtyard of the Tree that overlooked the City. In the battle he still had not seen Éowyn but knew in his heart that she was near.

Ships were coming upon the battle he saw, many in number and black of sail they rapidly moved along the Anduin and for a moment he felt defeat fall upon him. Yet the ships of Umbar came from the west and behind them the darkness of Sauron was dissipating. The despair lifted from him just a little for surely the cruel Corsairs of Umbar would not bring with them the dawn. He returned his sight to the battle then and what he saw stopped his heart in dread.

Upon the field brooded the darkest shadow. A winged Nazgûl upon the earth and standing before it he saw a flicker of gold. Éowyn.

"No!" Harry shouted furiously and disappeared with a crack, appearing amidst the carnage and death upon the Pelennor. Before him was his foe and she whom he had come to realise now resided firmly in his heart. He brandished his wand in fury and began the words of a spell when Éowyn swung her sword with a cry and cut the fell head from the body the black beast that stood before her.

The great abomination fell to the ground in a mess of foul smelling leather, flesh and black blood. Hearing his cry Éowyn turned and saw him there but before she could do more than call his name the Black Captain had regained his feet.

The Lord of Nazgûl strode towards Éowyn and his step was slow, ponderous and as unstoppable as the march of Death.

A grim look adorned her face as she stood between her King and Death but she would not quail. She weighed her sword in her hand and prepared for the onslaught.

The great mace of the Witch King flew at her at a speed greater than any mortal man could achieve. The spectral muscles and sinews of the Witch King were strong and the one who possessed them had earned great skill in the many years of his true life.

Éowyn's speed allowed her to jump from the path of the spiked weapon and it embedded itself in the ground

Harry could not suffer her to come to harm. A spell threw her beyond the reach of the Lord of Nazgûl and another caused the earth at his feet to explode with deadly force enough to kill any Man. Yet the Witch King was no mere Man and he could not be undone so easily. He stood again, unhurt and unperturbed.

He turned his back on Éowyn and stalked towards Harry, his great mace now held in one hand while his sword yet resided in the other. It had been many years indeed since any man had stood before the full power of the Lord of the Nine and lived, only with the fall of his dark master and the decimation of his power had he been brought low enough to combat. Now, bolstered by the power and sorcery of Sauron resurgent he was terrible to behold and his countenance spoke death to those who did.

Harry held his sword in his left hand while his wand was clutched in his right, he stood firm before the terror of the Chief of the Nazgûl and did not balk. Harry knew the evil of Man for of all men he had come to know Voldemort best and though the power of the Ring held dominion over the Lord of Nazgûl he was a man still. Harry would not fear him.

Almost before he could breathe the great mace flashed out again with inhuman speed only to be stopped in its path by a clear shield from Harry's wand. Then the black sword swung at his head only to be turned aside by his hastily raised blade. Harry had no time for attack as the huge mace beyond anything any man could carry swung at him again and again. After bare seconds Harry felt the Witch King gather his power for a strike and Harry's sword fell broken and the black blade of Angmar cut into the reinforced armour at his side and he was thrown to the ground. Such was the power of the blow that had he not laid his charms upon his armour he surely would have been cut in two. The charms did just enough though and the Morgul Blade did not bite his flesh.

Harry grunted with pain but did not yield for he saw what Éowyn was doing behind his opponent. His wand shot fire at the Lord of Minas Morgul only for the rattling sibilant laugh to return as he passed through them unharmed.

"Fool, no fire can lessen the power of Sauron the Great!" he proclaimed. "Your defiance is less than nothing before me for no Man may kill me."

At that moment a scream rent the air and the Witch King fell to his knees for Merry had come upon him and buried his blade of Westernesse in the invisible flesh of the Black Captain's leg. Then Éowyn stepped before him, her long hair whipping about her and her eyes as bright and hard as the silmarils of Fëanor and said, "Then you will meet your end at the hand of a woman!" and thrust her sword towards the black figure.

But the Lord of the Nazgûl was ancient and not yet spent and his sword rose again to deflect Éowyn's sword and he rose again to face her. Éowyn was no short woman, for the blood of Eorl was some of the most noble outside that of Westernesse yet the Witch King towered over her and far outmatched her in strength and reach. For more than an age of the world he had endured and though his strength waned with his Master's at the end of the Second Age ever was he untiring and long experience had he in battle. Though Merry's blow did him a great hurt it would not yet prove to be his end for the power of the Dark Lord lifted him again to battle.

He struck out again at Éowyn. Using the speed Harry had seen in his spars with her she was able to hold her own against the Lord of Nazgûl and was even able to strike at him, though no damage resulted. The great black mace that had so threatened Harry had been dropped when the wraith was stabbed by Merry, who now lay beside it, clutching at his arm. Even as he watched the blade Merry had plunged into the unseen flesh of the Witch King burned away. Such was the skill of those who crafted it in long distant Westernesse that in its death it crafted another for though the Witch King was not spent he was still severed from his dark master and no more could he draw strength hither.

Harry wasted no time rejoining the fight and his flaring magic put the Witch King on the back foot as the many discarded weapons and shield animated to fight the dark sorcerer. All about hundreds of blades, spears and axes, some the fine blades of Gondor and Rohan and others the cruel weapons of the Orcs, rose at his command and the Lord of Minas Morgul was assailed.

As Harry had seen such magic was unheard of in Middle-earth and so the Lord of the Nazgûl could do nothing but defend against them with fell blade and black armour. Yet even in this he was deadly and soon both Harry and Éowyn were exhausted from long battle while the terrible and unending stamina of the Witch King saw him take the offensive against them.

Once he had been bested upon the ruined watchtower of Amon Sûl by Aragorn of the line of Elendil but now his Master's power was both near and fixed upon Minas Tirith and his strength was waxed beyond any mortal man.

Harry saw Éowyn take another heavy hit on her shield and knew they could not take much more. He Apparated in close to her for the barest moment it took to grab her and twist away again. He gazed into her eyes and said, "Forgive me, my Lady."

Then he lowered his mouth to hers while all around them was death and towards them flew the foremost of Sauron's lieutenants but in that moment all was swept away and no evil could reach them. For both the only sensation was of the other, of the warmth and feel of their body, lips and soul. For an eternity it seemed they remained together, yet when they broke both knew it much too soon. For like Melian and Elu Thingol in the first age of the world they could have remained together for years without hardship.

As soon as they broke Harry's wand pointed at the Witch King and he whispered the words of the Patronus Charm one final time that day.

If the light before at the gates was bright it was like a candle before this. All combatants were for a moment blinded by the flash of purest white light, a light that later would be said to echo the light of the great tree Telperion. It was later said that all in Middle-earth saw the light and at Ilmarin atop Taniquetil in the shining west eyes did turn to the source.

And at that moment too the Black Ships of Umbar unfurled their banner and the White Tree of Elendil was displayed again in Gondor for the first time in centuries, the jewels upon the banner shone with fire in the light of Harry's spell. A fresh sea breeze blew in from the west and in plaza before the palace of Minas Tirith the white tree there, of the line of Nimloth the Fair of Númenor and long thought dead with the Kings of Gondor did burst once more into bloom.

For one king had come and another king had been dealt a mortal blow. The Witch King let loose a screech which sent all the horses near into fits of terror and it is said birds for many miles around took flight and didn't return ere the year was out. He fell to his knees and clutched at his head, his weapons now broken and forgotten on the ground. Stronger he had been before the blade of Westernesse had pierced his flesh but now he was loose from his master and was vulnerable to the light and love now assailing him. The black armour upon his invisible body crumpled as his life force fled from the world at last and a great wind blew across the battlefield to the place of his death. All about him the grass blackened and died and those near to him gasped as the breath was torn from their lungs.

Finally a great shock wave burst forth from his broken body and all around were knocked to the ground.

And so it was that the words of Glorfindel in the Second Age did come to pass, for not by the hand of man was he slain but by the love of man. Finally after an age of the earth the King of Angmar and the Chief of all Sauron's followers in Middle-earth passed from the planes of the world and was thrown beyond the Walls of Night to the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar and the unknown fate of all men.

Far beyond the limits of sight the awareness of Sauron did too feel the power and light of Harry's spell. He knew that his greatest lieutenant had fallen yet he was not wroth for he knew that light such was a beacon to all with true sight. Even beyond the Door of Night in the timeless void beyond Eä. The one who was lost would find his way home. Deep in his fortress of Barad-dûr the great Enemy was elated.

Harry struggled to his feet as he clutched at his badly bruised side. Éowyn had been knocked flat by the death of the Ringwraith and was laying on the ground clutching at her shield arm. Beside her Merry was in similar discomfort. It was fortunate indeed that the fighting had moved away from where they all now lay.

The host of Orcs that had been left broken and terrified by the light of Harry's patronus was now completely lost with the loss of its Black Captain though the Haradrim fought on yet and still the Rohirrim were hard-pressed in the face of the remaining Mûmakil. Yet the coming of Aragorn in the ships of the enemy now ensured a victory against the darkness for he had come with the southern army of Gondor with all the haste available to him, as he had promised and soon the men issued forth from the ships and the Haradrim were to be beset on all sides.

Yet none of this did Harry know about, nor did he care for his eyes were only for Éowyn who had taken serious injury in her short fight with the Witch King of Angmar. Her shield arm was broken from the final heavy blow he laid against her shield and upon her fair face could be seen numerous small scratches.

Merry it seemed had recovered somewhat and staggered over to them still cradling his sword arm close. Éowyn stared at the blackened spot where once the Leader of the Nine had stood then turned and embraced Harry with all the fierce strength she could gather. For a long moment they both stayed there, enjoying the feel of the other before Éowyn broke away and turned to where her uncle lay still.

"Harry, he yet lives, you must save him!" she cried when she reached him.

As Harry ran over he barely heard Théoden whisper through bloodied lips, "Éowyn, my eyes must have passed already from mortal sight for your beauty should not be here amid such death and ruin."

Harry waved his wand over the broken King and frowned in worry at the results. Many broken bones and internal injuries but he was not yet beyond hope of saving. He immediately began working his craft as his wand moved ever over the body of the King as he set about stabilising his most grievous wounds.

"Do not waste your time, master Wizard," said Théoden softly as Éowyn wept at his chest. "My body is broken, but I go now to my fathers and even in their mighty company I shall not feel ashamed! The Black Serpent was slain by my hand and the armies of Mordor did break before our charge, a mighty victory worthy of the House of Eorl."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," said Harry stubbornly. The wounds were survivable, but they required the will to live. He cursed the rohirric glorification of heroic death for Théoden now felt his death would be most fitting and was not fighting for life but to say some parting words to Merry and his niece.

"Farewell master Holbytla," said the king as his eyes continued to fade. "I fear I will not now be able to listen to your tales nor talk to you of the herb-lore of our peoples as I promised. Where is Éomer? I would talk to him before I pass for he must be King after me."

"He is near, Théoden King," said Harry as he worked ever faster and with more desperation. "But if I have anything to do with it you will not be passing any time soon."

Then Harry decided to take desperate action. He looked to Éowyn and saw that she did not wish to let him go. He said to Théoden, "I am sorry, my King. You shall have to reprimand me later."

Before the king could respond Harry cast a heavy sleeping charm upon the him, it would serve to slow his rapidly weakening heartbeat. The man had lost much blood due to his internal injuries and Harry knew that would help, even if it could rob the man of his final words.

"What have you done, has he passed?" Éowyn asked.

Harry shook his head. "Not dead. A very deep sleep. I would have a little more time but he commanded me to stop. You may wish to look away, this will look unpleasant."

Éowyn refused and he saw her eyes were set steely grey. He turned back to the fallen King.

Had he had potions this would have been an easy injury to fix. Without them though he could not reach the serious injuries upon his organs. Most medical charms were aimed at healing surface injuries. They were not unusable on internal injuries as they were quite generally applicable but they required a close contact between the spell and the injury. With internal injuries that was a hard thing to manage and thus for most such injuries potions were much preferred. With no potions available to him there was only one way to reach them.

"Éowyn, pass me my sword, I cast it down near you," he said.

It was a measure of the trust she bore him that no questions then came. She handed him his broken sword, blade still sharp as a scalpel though broken and still clean of foul blood thanks to his charms.

First he shrunk it so that it might be more easily held, then after taking a breath, he cut open the King's chest and forced his ribs apart so that he might gain access. He needed to work fast or he would only do more damage.

Éowyn gasped in horror when her uncle was cut open and his ribs forced aside.

It was then that Éomer rode up at the head of what remained of his éored for the battle was yet to be won.

"What has happened?" he cried upon seeing the King. "How came the King to this? Does Théoden king now lie slain?"

"Harry tries to save him, he says he rides the very precipice of death," said Éowyn to her brother. "But the battle is not yet won, Théoden cannot lead and you would be next after him. You must continue the fight, we will remain here."

"It must be so," admitted Éomer, "Yet do not believe I have not noticed your presence sister. I am not pleased to see you surrounded by such death but I must accept it for now as this is no place for argument. I will lead the Eorlingas to victory for our King, alive or dead."

He then remounted his horse and cried for the Rohirrim to follow. They charged the remaining Haradrim and cried "Théoden King! Théoden King!" as they raced to battle.

As the discussion continued Harry worked. His wand was finding all the tears within the body of Théoden and he mended them with as much haste as he possessed. He did what he could to clear the fluid build-up in his lungs and healed them as best he could. A minute passed, then two and he knew he had to stop lest he do more damage than he healed. He healed the cracked bones and closed the opening.

Finally he found that Théoden's heart had stopped beating. He cast an oxygen breathing charm upon the head of the king and began pressing upon his chest rhythmically. After a minute there was no result. After a further minute a spell indicated his heart was beating again, though still weakly.

Harry breathed out in a long sigh. He checked the King's life signs and they were now much stronger though he'd managed to re-break a number of ribs. He quickly healed them as he did not want any more damage to be caused if he could help it. Théoden would most definitely be sore when he woke up but Harry found that much preferable to death. If the King was aggrieved then Harry would deal with that when the time came.

He turned to Éowyn who was watching him with wide open eyes from a distance. It was obvious she wanted to do more but knew there was no way she could help.

"Is it done?" she asked in trepidation. "Will he live?"

Harry ran a bloodied hand through his hair, grimacing as his own injuries reminded him of their presence. "He should. I wish I could be more sure than that but I believe he will now survive. He will need to be taken to the Houses of Healing as his recovery is likely to be long. How does the battle progress?"

"I know not," Éowyn said, her tone stating plainly that he should have guessed that.

Still about them were men and wounded upon the battlefield and from one of them they found out the battle yet continued.

Lord Aragorn's forces had joined those of the Rohirrim and Imrahil and the Orcs and men of Khand were in full flight. The Haradrim yet fought for in their veins ran the blood of Númenor of old through the Black Númenorians who had made their homes upon the southern shores before the fall of Westernesse. It would yet be a bloody battle but victory was soon to come upon the fields of Pelennor. The darkness was not yet complete.

Chapter Text

Though the battle for Minas Tirith was for now won Harry knew that there would be no rest for him yet. Within the City the casualties had been steep and he knew that the Rohirrim would have suffered many injuries upon the spears of Mordor. They would need his help.

"We need to bring the King back to the City," he said to Éowyn as he looked out at the remnants of the battle, "And you and Merry too. We should go to the city so that you can rest. Once you're safe inside the walls I'll heal your wounds then I fear I have much work yet to do here."

Then a hand, pale and fair reached out and gently pulled at his face and his sight found the pale grey eyes of the Lady of Rohan. He saw much weariness and grief within, but there was happiness too. "I know you will do what you can Harry, you saved my uncle even when his own words demanded otherwise. All the service you have done Rohan is as nothing in the face of this thing. You have my eternal gratitude."

In those eyes then Harry did see love, the love he knew when the Witch King had been driven before them. He knew that he would let no man come between them. Finally and after searching two worlds he had found the woman who would possess his heart through his life and into the unknown journey of men beyond the Walls of Night and into the embrace of Ilúvatar.

They both shared in that moment and simply sat content in the presence of the other. All around them was death and ruin yet they felt no urgency.

"We should go," said Harry eventually. "If you want, I can carry you?"

"I do not think it would be proper," said Éowyn without fire and shook her head. She swayed as she rose and a weakness took her and she could not stand. Against her protests Harry swept her up in his arms and looked between the fallen form of Théoden and Merry's tired face as the Lady of Rohan rested her gilded head upon his chest.

"I cannot carry all of you," he said apologetically as he realised the Hobbit had been almost ignored in their exchange. "But I can perhaps do better."

Though it was difficult with Éowyn held in his arms he was able to flick his wand at both the King and the Hobbit and they rose smoothly into the air. As the Hobbit rose his eyes grew wide in wonder and he shifted so that he bobbed through the air as Harry began walking towards the City. He would have Apparated but he could not risk causing further hurt to Théoden who still teetered upon the brink of death.

"Why, Gandalf has been holding out on me!" cried Merry as he shifted in the air. "I should have much preferred this method of travel to the long days trudging over windswept hills and mountains."

Harry smiled at the still somehow irrepressible Hobbit. "I don't know if Gandalf can do this," he said before lowering his voice and jesting. "I think he might be a bit of a phony, I haven't seen him conjure a single dove from that hat of his in all my time near him."

"And yet without him my heart might yet be too cold and distant to accept you," said Éowyn as she turned her head up to him upon his chest. "For it was he who released my uncle from the spell of Saruman and by that taught me the meaning of happiness again."

"Then he is a much greater wizard then me!" laughed Harry. "I can conjure doves by the swarm but I've never been able to produce anything so fair as you."

Then he brought them all to the Gates of the City and walked through the cheering men who filled the streets, jubilant at the hard-won victory. Not far behind him came the victorious commanders atop their horses with their banners streaming through the air and horns proclaiming their victory.

The Rohirrim soon clustered around their fallen King and questioned Harry as he walked. He was much gratified that they had an almost complete confidence in his ability to save their leader and they made no move to take the King from him.

With as much speed as he could muster he took them to the Houses of Healing where he laid Éowyn down in a soft bed made all the more comfortable by a little transfiguration and charm work. Next he created another bed each for Théoden and Merry, both just as fine and comfortable as Éowyn's.

The Hobbit squirmed into the sheets, delighting in the comfort he found there. "I don't care what you say," he declared, "I would much prefer you had joined us from Rivendell than Gandalf. I have much missed my bed back at home but this is a very passable alternative."

Harry then begun work on healing the broken bones and minor ailments suffered in the battle and he started with Éowyn for of all the people now in the Houses her hurts seemed most important to him.

It took just minutes to set and heal her bone, for it was a minor break only and his magic was more than up to the task. He then healed her minor cuts and bruises though she protested that they troubled her none he would not leave them when the solution was so simple.

Soon Éowyn was once more of sound body though the exhaustion of the day still weighed in her bones. She bid Harry look to Théoden and Merry next for she would have to sleep after the long night's ride before.

Harry looked first to Théoden for his situation was still the most tenuous. His body was now well enough that he should not die yet still he would not awaken. Harry did what he could to ensure the man had the best possible chances and took a short time to heal the more minor wounds he had initially passed over. He then turned to Merry.

The Hobbit did not on the surface seem to be grievously injured and yet his health was weakening. A chill and a shadow had settled over the Halfling and sat most heavily on the arm that had stabbed the Black Captain of Sauron. That arm from the fingers to the elbow was deathly cold and pale and Harry could not understand the cause.

He checked for curses and magic but he could find none about the Hobbit and it was not the Hobbit alone that suffered that mysterious ailment. As more of the injured were brought in he found that those who had been closest to the darkness suffered similarly though none so acutely as the one who had injured he who had never before felt the bite of a blade.

Both Théoden and Faramir, captain of Gondor were so injured too. Théoden's strength continued to wane as his will to fight was drained from him. Harry healed his injuries and he was for the most part healthy yet he would not wake nor could Harry find the true cause.

Faramir too had fallen under the darkness and his hurt was worse even than Merry's. A day and a night had passed since he had taken the wound and the chill had brought him to the very edge of death. His breathing was shallow and rasping and his heartbeat perilous and slow. Despite this Harry could find no cause for his malady and he was left without solution as the now ruler of the city edged ever closer to death.

For Steward of Gondor he was now, though he held the position in name only. Gandalf had been unable to combat the madness that had taken his father in the darkest moments of the battle and Denethor had lit a fire in his flesh. He had cursed Gandalf with his last words and accused the Wizard of taking his son from him. Thus was a small victory won. Denethor passed from the world yet his son still lived and for that the city was most grateful.

Harry knew that Faramir had fallen while holding the walls of the Pelennor but once again he could not understand the cause of his deathly cold. He asked those in the houses how Faramir had come to this state and they told of how the winged Nazgûl had descended upon his as he lead the rearguard of the force that was retreating from the Rammas Echor once it had been overrun.

Harry panicked for a moment when the made the connection. If this darkness was related to the Nazgûl then Éowyn, Théoden and Merry all could have been touched by it. He found that indeed Merry and Théoden had felt the dark influence, and a shadow had settled about their souls. To his relief he found that Éowyn was untouched by the darkness for she had been under his influence only briefly and the warmth of Harry's light had kept the chill from her.

He went to Gandalf then to ask his counsel, he had never seen anything like what befell his patients and hoped Gandalf might have more experience. There was no comfort to be found in the wizard's words.

"These hurts are beyond my ability to heal," he said wearily. "They are wounds of the soul, not of the body and I do not have the ability to right them though there is perhaps one who could."

"Who, Gandalf?" asked Harry.

"Aragorn could heal them perhaps," said the Wizard, "yet he will not pass into the city until the war is done and he may take up his crown."

Even though Denethor, son of Ecthelion and Steward of Gondor had fallen to madness and was no longer present to linger jealously over his unoccupied throne Aragorn would not pass the Gates. He claimed that to do so would surely cause disagreement among the Captains of Gondor and so he stated he would not take up his crown before he felt he had earned that right.

Despite the return of the King, the assembled armies of the West and the rebirth of the White Tree Gondor was still imperiled. All the armies of Men were now combined yet they still could not hope to contest the numbers of the Dark Lord. The army that had sieged Minas Tirith was but one of many and should they come together again the armies of Men would be sorely outmatched.

So, out of respect for Denethor who had ruled Gondor well and with great wisdom for many years until the Dark Lord's machinations overthrew his courage Aragorn would not pass into the City.

Others did come. Éomer came to see both his ailing King and his sister. He was so much gladdened when he entered to find his sister healed and well rested that he collected Harry into a crushing bear hug. "Beortwiga for truth!" he cried in joy. "For I owe you the life of my King, my sister and perhaps the lives of all my people. Would that I could thank you with a gift fitting of your valour but I think you already possess that which is fairest and most dear to me in this world. Know this, you will ever be a friend of the Mark and all of your line will know that they shall have a home at Meduseld should they have need of it."

It was not all good news for Théoden continued to decline. His age caused his strength to fail more rapidly even than Faramir's and soon his grip upon life became tenuous in the extreme. Éomer was grim when Harry explained this to him but understood there was nothing more Harry could do. He resolved to bring Aragorn to the Houses as soon as may be, he declared that Aragorn would not allow Théoden to perish.

Éomer stayed long that day with his sister for he wished to understand the madness that had driven her to follow them to battle. He was not wroth with her for he of all men knew her ways best and knew how powerfully she clung to that which she felt was hers. He also had shared in her grief and loss when Éomund their father died at Emyn Muil when both were young.

Soon after their mother followed their father in her grief and Théodwyn, sister of Théoden passed on too to leave them alone. Yet alone they did not remain for Théoden adopted them as his own and they grew up alongside Théodred as brothers and sister.

Their losses had returned again. Théoden was taken from them for the longest time by the sorceries of Saruman and on times would not even recognise the face of his own children and then Théodred also was taken from them, eldest brother and protector.

Small wonder she refused to leave Théoden's side once he was returned to them. That Éomer rode beside him only ensured she should not be unsure in her choice.

Éomer could not begrudge her that. Her presence had saved the King's life and her and Harry's battle against the Witch King would be sung of until the world grew old and the lands of the earth changed beyond all reckoning.

When he left that day he promised he would convince Aragorn to come to the Houses for he had seen the shadow laying upon some of those who dwelt there and knew the importance was absolute.

Another visitor was Peregrin Took of the Shire and now Guard of the Tower. He lingered long at the side of his longest friend and brother in all but blood and spoke often to his now sleeping form. Harry tried to give what comfort he could but there was precious little to give, he had no answers for the fearful young Hobbit.

So too came Legolas and Gimli. Gimli was gruff and uneasy as he looked over the unconscious Hobbit for Dwarves were not known for great displays of emotion before strangers. Legolas was much different, he spoke kind words and sang uplifting songs in beautiful lilting tones that brought a little light to the room and a smile to Pippin's face.

Harry listened in interest when they both explained just what had happened when they passed into the Paths of the Dead little more than a week earlier.

"Never have I felt such a chill in my bones," said Gimli darkly. "The fear of that place was heavy upon me and I near turned away at the entrance. A Dwarf retreating in fear of the dark beneath a mountain!"

"I felt it too, Gimli," Legolas said. "The feeling of watchful darkness. Unlike anything I have ever experienced."

"Aye," said Gimli, "but you did not come near so close to turning back as I, much to my great shame."

"But what did you see?" asked Harry in interest.

"I would not speak of it," said Gimli. "Save to say that it is no journey I would undertake again." He shuddered in remembrance.

"There was little enough to see in truth," admitted Legolas. "Ever as we walked through the darkness there was the feeling of watchful eyes upon us and grey forms of dread lingered in the corners of my vision. I saw nothing more until we passed from the Path and into the Blackroot Vale."

"A whole day our passage took us for it was night again when we emerged from the mountain. We rode then to Erech and were followed. Dead things moved in the night and spectral banners snapped in unfelt winds behind us."

"At last we came to Erech, the place where the Men of the Mountain swore their Oath to Isildur and Aragorn promised that if they followed him he would hold the Oath they broke to be fulfilled. They followed."

"When the next day came the host remained still faint, shapes in the air," continued Legolas. "Frail they seemed to me, the last mortal whispers of Men long diminished yet when Sauron's darkness came it seemed they grew more terrible. I still do not know if their arrows can pierce or their swords bite for it seemed their only true weapon was fear.

"When we came at last to Pelargir upon the Anduin we were met by the fifty great ships of Umbar and a number of smaller vessels. The Army of the Dead swept towards them and they were filled with panic. None stood before the Dead when they came, the Corsairs threw themselves from their ships in panic and of them most drowned or fled south.

"Behind us came men of Lamedon and Lebennin and we rode through the fleeing men recklessly for none would turn to fight in their terror. After the battle was won the King of the Dead asked Aragorn to free them of their Oath to him and he did. At that moment the Grey Host simply melted into the air and a sigh of wind came to my ears, the great host of the Dead granted rest at last."

"We then boarded the ships and freed those slaves chained within before we made all haste to Minas Tirith. We were lucky indeed as a wind blew up from the West in our time of need and drew us here at greatest speed." When Legolas finished his tale Harry was fascinated.

The ghosts sounded like ghosts that Harry knew, almost exactly. None knew exactly why some people lingered upon the mortal plane in his home world but whatever the reason it seemed nigh universal. Perhaps there was something to be learned there of the nature of death. Whatever it might be Harry could not guess.

They then talked of other things. Eventually Harry excused himself to visit Éowyn when Gimli began for the third time describing just what he intended to do with the Glittering Caves once the war was done.

On the next day Aragorn did come, though he did not do it openly for still he wished to avoid conflict among allies ere the battle with Sauron was ended. Upon arriving he spoke to the Master of the Houses. Though he was learned in the leechcraft of Gondor it was much waned from the days of Kings and Aragorn was unimpressed by the man. Harry had done much to aid those who dwelt in the House and it was as if all others had stopped their efforts in the face of Harry's miraculous healing. Aragorn commanded them to return to work for much and more yet needed to be done and no one man could shoulder the burdens of them all.

Aragorn called for Athelas but there was none to be found for the men of Gondor had long forgotten the uses of that plant named in the Sindarin tongue the 'healing leaf'.

One of the women of the Houses, Ioreth, was sent into the city to find the plant and soon the herb-master came to him spouting lore and stories and discounting the properties of the plant as fable. The combined ire and Aragorn and Gandalf both drove him from the room in short order for they had no use for such wasted academics.

Aragorn kneeled by the pale and gaunt form of Théoden whose breath came much too weak and it seemed to Harry that he held in the land of the living by his will and magic alone. Quietly he called to Théoden, trying to guide him back and stay him from death yet even Aragorn did not have the strength to defy the Black Shadow alone.

Harry then stood over him and the light of his patronus pushed away the dread and darkness for but a moment and Aragorn was strengthened. Yet the shadow had sunk deep into Théoden's flesh and could not be purged so easily.

The influence of Saruman was not wholly passed and now that wound was pulled open again by the shadow of the Witch King. He would not return so easily.

A child ran into the room alongside Pippin the Hobbit and in his hands he grasped a few meagre leaves and dry, but Aragorn smiled to see them for they would be enough.

He crushed them in his hands and from them came a light scent that brought life to the heavy atmosphere and if it were possible the colours in the room became deeper and more vibrant as it seemed joy and pleasant feelings were brought to all. He commanded hot water be brought to to him and when it was he cast the leaves into the water and the scent became greater still and the very air seemed to sparkle with it.

Aragorn asked Éowyn to join him and together they coaxed the old man back to awareness. His eyes flickered open and settled immediately on his niece.

"Twice now I have returned to the living to see your face my daughter," he said softly. "There is no kinder fate a man may bear."

Éowyn cried out and hugged the man who was father to her until he hissed in pain for though Harry had done much to heal him his aches and pains would remain for some days.

"It would seem you have little respect for my position, master wizard," said Théoden when his eyes alighted upon Harry. "Yet I would not begrudge you it for I have now another chance to see that which is fairest to me."

Harry inclined his head. "I am sorry my King, but I've never been good at watching people die."

"It is not a thing any man should become accustomed to," said Aragorn. "Harry has done both Rohan and Gondor a great service in seeing you saved."

Aragorn then left the room to tend next to Faramir for he was ruler of the City and next to Théoden was in the most dire condition. It did not take as much time to bring Faramir back for his will was still as strong as his body had been. Faramir of Gondor had resisted the pull of the Ring and now with the aid of Aragorn he resisted the call of the shadow. His eyes opened at the command of his king and they looked to Aragorn with light and life not seen in them for months.

"You called me, my King, and I came," he said reverently. "What would you have of me?"

"Dwell no more in the shadows!" Aragorn said. "Long weariness have you suffered but your hurts are healed. Return now to the light and rest for I will have need of you soon."

"As you will, my Lord," said Faramir. "For I am a loyal servant of the King returned."

And Aragorn went to the others who had fallen beneath the shadow for they were many, yet as he approached and called to each in turn they returned and knew him for it was spoken by the women of the house. "The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known."

After all Aragorn went to Merry for though the strong spirit of the halfling had fought the shadow better than any other still he was falling beneath its pull. Of all the men injured so by the Nazgûl Merry should have been worst for none among the others had dared to smite the cursed flesh of that fell creature.

Of such strength and gaiety was his spirit, however, that even that black shadow could not entirely best him and it took only a short time for Aragorn to recall the Hobbit from his dark sleep and back to the world of the living. A laugh came from all who witnessed this last awakening for the first words to pass his lips were truly those of a Hobbit. "I'm hungry. What is the time?" he said as his eyes fluttered open.

Pippin smiled broadly at the return of his oldest friend. "Dinner is past but it's not yet supper-time," he said. "If you asked though I should think they would not begrudge you this."

"Indeed," said Gandalf, "nor would they begrudge you anything that may be found within the City for they hold your name in high honour for your deeds."

"And if there's anything they cannot fetch you then just ask me," said Harry. "You may have saved my life yesterday and that's not something I take lightly."

Merry then asked for much food and for his pipe and he took up residence by his injured King and they both talked together and talked finally of the Shire and the herb-lore of his home as Théoden had promised. Harry was only too happy to oblige his two charges and such food was brought forth that he proclaimed, "Gandalf, I think you need to have a talk with Harry, for if he is any measure you have been holding out on us! How much rabbit did we have to eat and yet here Harry has produced a spread to rival even the elves with just a wave of his wand!"

The White Wizard chuckled at the Hobbit's jest. "Indeed it seems I have been rather overshadowed, it seems youth has a few tricks yet to teach me in my dotage," he said good naturedly.

Soon though the good cheer departed for all knew that the war was yet to be won. Though he heard some news travelling about the city upon idle lips Harry was not privy to the councils of the captains of the west for though his opinion was sought and valued there were yet things that must be kept in most secure confidence.

Word came from Rohan on the day after the battle and the news was good. The host of Orcs from Dol Guldur had been driven from their land by allies unlooked for. A great Elven host from Lothlórien had crossed the Anduin and given battle upon its banks. Those few men who remained in Rohan, having been late for the muster had joined them and the Orc host had been broken and put to flight. The news was well received by all within the city and Éowyn spoke of her joy at the news.

Apart from that Harry was not told of the many plans that were surely in the making. He was unsure why for he did not believe anyone still harbored any distrust of him but from discussion with Gandalf he understood that his presence was like a beacon in the Unseen and would surely draw the Eye of Sauron upon him. It would be best if one so watched was not involved in the most secret of councils.

"I fear for you," said Gandalf when Harry approached him. "The Eye of the Enemy cannot now be ignorant to you and such is your power that it could be put to dire use should you come into his possession."

"I can look after myself Gandalf," said Harry resolutely, "I have done it for many years and I guarantee you he will get nothing from me."

"It is not what he may get from you that I fear," said Gandalf. "It is what he may do with you."

"I don't understand?" said Harry.

"Your powers are like nothing seen before on Middle-earth," Gandalf said. "That light spell of yours is curious. I have been granted the ability to summon the light of Anor in even the darkest of places and yet even that cannot wholly compare. How did you come to learn of it?"

"Years ago," said Harry. "I encountered creatures that feel a bit like the Nazgûl when they're near. A patronus can shield you from them or even drive them off. I learned it from a friend."

"Hmmm." said Gandalf as he seemingly became lost in thought. "Yours is the light of Eärendil or even the trees long past and it will only do you ill. Not since before the sun was placed in the sky has such purity been seen within Arda and when it was…" he trailed off into thought again.

Harry waited a moment before prompting, "And when it was…?"

Gandalf started from his thoughts and looked grim. "Dark things befell the trees. Ever does the dark seek to snuff out the light. Morgoth coveted it beyond all things and sought to destroy it in his jealousy."

"But Aragorn said Morgoth was dead? Defeated and cast out?" asked Harry.

"Not dead!" said Gandalf. "For no child of Ilúvatar's mind may be killed in truth. Cast out, yes, beyond the Walls of the World. Yet he could return, if he could but find his way."

Harry's eyes widened as he understood what the White Wizard was saying. "Then I will stop using the patronus," he said. "With no beacon then Morgoth will be stranded?"

"We must hope it is so, and we must also hope that no other fell things are drawn hither," said Gandalf.

For that reason Harry was kept from many of the secret councils for Gandalf still feared what could happen if he took a more central role in the conflict.

Their concern was appreciated by Harry but his curiosity still drew him to think on what he did now and what he'd so far heard. He knew that an item of value to the enemy had been found and that someone bore it on a quest though he did not know to what end nor for what purpose. His conversation with Gandalf convinced him that further knowledge could prove dangerous. He did not fully appreciate the power that Sauron wielded but he knew enough to be wary. He intended to ask Gandalf when next they talked.

Much of the rest of his time he filled with the company of Éowyn. Much they did walk about the gardens and the streets of the White City and on their walks Harry did all he could to return the buildings to their unbroken state. Both found the city beautiful but the white walls and stone felt stifling for both had long grown used to the wide open spaces of Rohan and the sight of a horizon that stretched far into the distance.

The gardens of the city were beautiful though and much time was spent walking the fragrant healing gardens of the House of Healing. After the darkness of Mordor had been pushed back upon the death of the Black Captain the many flowers of blooms in the garden reopened and a great riot of colours was unleashed. Both Harry and Éowyn found them to be beautiful and the time they spent there was some of the happiest they had known despite the black cloud that yet hung over the mountains to the east.

Two days after the Battle of Pelennor Fields it was announced that all able bodied men were to be ready to move out for the captains of the West intended to challenge Sauron in his own domain and were not content to wait for the hammer to fall upon them.

Harry was with Éowyn again, walking arm in arm with her through the gardens as they discussed their childhoods, Harry's was not a happy subject. He had mentioned his war against Voldemort to her already but no he was finally willing to talk of his life with the Dursleys.

"I don't think they hated me," he explained sadly as he spoke of his aunt and uncle. "But they hated what I was. I suppose they tried to protect me from it in their own cruel and ignorant way."

"How could any person treat a child with such callous disregard?" she asked as she shook in vicarious anger.

"I never cared to ask," Harry said as if it didn't matter. In truth it didn't. Long years and the wall between worlds now separated him from that childhood. He may not have forgiven them their actions but there was at least one lesson of value that he had learned from Severus Snape. He would not let the past dictate the future. "I'm sure their reasoning would seem unsatisfactory."

Éowyn remained quiet at that and simply gave him her unspoken support.

She now understood a little better how he could live alone for so very long without company. Over long years and many hurts her own heart had become cold and unfeeling to stave off the pain of her many losses. Harry had seen a similar fate and she now understood that he perhaps didn't even realise his own loneliness after a time. A cruel fate that one so full of love could be so bereft that he did not even notice the lack.

"For the longest time I thought my parents were drunken wastrels," Harry spoke after a long pause. "I think that was what hurt the most. Not the ridicule, or the chores or anything else. When I found out that they weren't, that they were loved by many and died to save me… well it awoke something within me I suppose. Like I finally had hope?"

"You have more than hope Harry," Éowyn said, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "And I declare that you will never go without again."

"For the longest time after coming here I wanted nothing more than to return," said Harry. "Now, I think, finally, I have found a true reason to remain."

Then he smiled softly and decided that the mood was in much need of cheering. "Enough of those dark thoughts. Tell me of the happy times in your childhood, I do not doubt you have some tales you could tell of your brother that might somewhat reduce his lordly stature."

Then she laughed again and it seemed to Harry that the sun shone brighter over them. So she told him of the time Éomer had tried to scare her from her saddle and had lost two of his teeth upon being kicked in the mouth by the pony she was riding. Of how their mother, Théodwyn had to threaten to take his horse from him if he would not bathe at least once a week. Happy stories from a lighter time, and each was glad for the company of the other.

That was how they were found by the runner who came to fetch Harry. Both knew that the final days of the war approached, for good or ill and Harry would once again fight against the darkness.

Again Éowyn was offered a choice, would she sit idle and watch her heart ride away to an uncertain doom or would she go with him and do all she could to lend him strength? For her it was no choice. No longer did she thirst for valour and renown on the field of battle but she was still the shieldmaiden of Rohan and would fight any foe that would threaten those whom she loved.

Both knew that King Théoden would not wish her to ride out and Éomer who was to command the Eorlingas would not suffer his sister to join him as it was likely that the entire host rode to its death under the dark shadow of Mordor. Their need for the other was heedless of this though and both decided in secrecy that Éowyn would join them under the cloak of Harry's magic.

It was unlikely that they would be able to deceive the eyes of Gandalf as they had the men of Rohan. Harry went to Gandalf in the hope that he might stay quiet yet he would not condone such deception for the command to leave Éowyn in Minas Tirith was only to her good. Though she was recovered in both mind and body from the battle below the City she was not yet wholly free of weariness.

Théoden was to remain within Minas Tirith for the time being. His age and the hurts he had taken in the battle were much too serious for him to consider riding again to war so soon. It was fortunate indeed that Théoden was older and wiser than most for he realised his situation and accepted it much though he wished to stand at the fore of the battle that would decide the fate of his people.

Théoden's presence did cause some issue for Harry and Éowyn for it was impossible that should would not be missed soon after the main force departed.

In the end they decided to attempt the deception anyway. The greater part of the host was to travel afoot for a great many of the horses of the Rohirrim had fallen in battle and most of those that remained were to be sent along the west road to protect them from the force they had bypassed which was still residing in Anorien to the North.

Instead of using charms of concealment this time Harry transfigured Éowyn into a different form though he would not change her eyes nor her hair. Her voice was deepened and the bones of her face altered to be more masculine, he hoped that this would be enough to fool Gandalf. Unfortunately their deception would be for nought if it was noticed that Harry was spending time with some hitherto unknown man and so it was agreed that they would travel merely in sight of the other and not side by side. They would surely be looking for Éowyn among the thousand who rode to battle ahorse but she would be among the infantry and likely below their sight.

Remembering how close she had come to death upon the field at Pelennor Harry imbued her armour and weapon with every protection he could think of. While it might not make her unkillable he felt it was unlikely that any Orc or Troll would be able to best her.

On the next morning the army formed up before the city and Harry and Éowyn embraced before the gates to leave the impression that it was a sore parting. Harry then climbed atop Hildwig with whom he had been reunited after the battle and joined the Captains of the West at the fore of the force.

Before the army had marched away Éowyn had thrown on what armour she could and had joined the rear of the column. The mood among the men was dark, yet as Harry rode and Éowyn marched they felt the lightness in their hearts and went confidently towards whatever doom awaited them.

Chapter Text

With just eight and a half thousand men they marched to contend the will of Sauron. Harry had been brought up to ride with the leaders and listened as Prince Imrahil laughed at the absurdity of it.

Such scant numbers could never hope to dent the defences of Mordor. The Mountains of Shadow were tall and impassable by any mortal man and within them crept dark creatures from before light ever fell upon Arda from the lamps of Aulë. Nameless evils and spawn of Ungoliant of such dread countenance that even Orcs dared not tread there.

The only passage through was either the Pass of Cirith Ungol which Aragorn took great care to avoid or the Black Gate of Morannon which lay across the Pass of Cirith Gorgor.

"Surely this is a joke!" cried the Prince of Dol Amroth. "A host so small marching to the Black Gate of Mordor is a madness beyond any I have known."

"Madness or hubris," said Gandalf, "And it is the latter we must hope the Dark Lord sees in our march for it will surely see our weapon closer to its destination."

Harry agreed with Imrahil for had he known that they were to march to battle with so few against defences so great he might have made more attempt to dissuade Éowyn from following in his tread. Now that he knew he still would not gainsay her, as much as he wanted to keep her safe she wanted the same of him.

The march was easy and untroubled for before the day was out they passed by the way to Minas Morgul and left a watch should a new host come forth. Gandalf cryptically counseled that anything more might draw the eye of Sauron towards that which would best remain hidden. The Morgul Vale was quiet and empty, no more Orcs dwelled there for the Tower of Sorcery had been emptied to lay the siege upon Minas Tirith.

Despite this the long years held under the Shadow of Sauron left it an evil place that no man would tread lightly. The fields of the Vale were set aflame and the host of the West continued on.

For near a week the host marched and ever darker did their mood become. A failed ambush set by Orcs and men of Khand was driven off thanks to the skill and warning of the Gondorian scouts. The battle did not last long and few men were lost as the attackers broke and retreated before it even came to true blows. After that no more was seen of the enemy yet a shadow over their hearts grew ever darker.

Finally, after the brief battle Gandalf decided that Harry should know of the true stakes of their quest as by now the die was cast whether for good or ill. He told him the verse of the Rings of Power.

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie
One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them,
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.

Harry's knowledge of Sauron's history was still sorely lacking and he did not in full understand the story Gandalf spun. In his mind he saw the One Ring as being alike a Horcrux and the anchor that held Sauron to the world. In truth this was far from true for the fallen Maia was immortal and needed no such trinkets. Yet it served to understand the importance of the Ring and he was told that even now, with hope and the luck of the Valar, it moved closer and closer to its destruction in the fires of Orodruin.

"So now we are bait," explained Gandalf finally. "No more can we do to aid Frodo in his task directly but it is hoped we might draw the gaze of the Enemy away from his own lands while the bravest of us pass through to the Cracks of Doom and the final destruction of the Ring."

Harry was filled with many emotions upon hearing the story. Incredulity that such a task would be given to a Hobbit of all things. Amazement at the audacity they showed in sending the most dangerous weapon of the enemy right into his lap. Frustration that the task could have been completed so much earlier had he known.

"It is a pity you did not tell me of this earlier," said Harry, somewhat put out. "I could have taken the Ring to Mount Doom in a few hours at most."

"I was given to understand that you did not wish to take full part in our trials?" asked Gandalf. "Would you truly have dived headfirst into the most crucial part of our fight without heed?"

"Well, perhaps not," admitted Harry. He had, after all, been most loath to enter the war even on the sidelines as he had. "But even now I'm sure I could find the Hobbit and see the Ring destroyed in less than a day."

"The Ring is a perilous thing, most perilous. Do not be fooled by its small size and unassuming appearance," said Gandalf. "It can bend even the mightiest among us to its will. You also are much too obvious to the sight of the Enemy for me to ever risk such a thing."

"I have fought possession before," said Harry in frustration. "I am not weak minded."

"Strength of mind has little to do with resisting the allure of the Ring," Gandalf said. "It is more the strength of your desires that will undo you."

Harry was finding it hard to understand the Wizard, if the Ring had a compulsion charm upon it then how could it be so difficult to resist its pull? "I don't follow?"

"I have been tested by the Ring," admitted Gandalf. "And I did not even touch it. I am sure if I had it would have taken me completely. I dread to imagine what I might have done with such terrible power."

Harry doubted that such power could be possessed by a thing so small and plain as Gandalf had described. "Surely you exaggerate, Gandalf?" he asked. "The Ring would be dangerous to the unsuspecting, I admit, but it surely can't be as bad as you say?"

"The Ring bears the greater part of the power and will of Sauron the Deceiver," Gandalf clarified for him. "And you would do well to remember it. Not since Morgoth has a more powerful evil been seen in this world. You yourself have seen the works of Morgoth, have you not? The remains of darkest Udûn in the uttermost North?"

Harry shivered in remembrance of those Dark shores. They were not a pleasant introduction to his new world. "I have, but I could fight the Darkness there. Perhaps not forever, but I did it for many days before I found my way free from the warped rocks and churning water."

While Cuiviénen had brought him nightmares and fear in the night it was nothing to the terrors of Udûn. Great beasts of many eyes roamed the waters there and dark chittering things lined the shadows and ever sought to bring an end to any that walked in the light. For days did Harry did not sleep yet as each day past it became a greater nightmare and he was almost undone. He saw no foes yet ever they resided in the corner of his eye and the back of his mind. He heard their voices in the wind and smelled their stench in the air yet no sight nor sound did he find of them.

At the end and in desperation he performed the most harrowing escape he had ever known. He Apparated clear into the air at the farthest reaches of his sight and then did it again before he fell. Again and again he Apparated, crossing the wide leagues occupied by the chiefest evil ever seen in the history of the world. Each time he appeared he hoped to leave the shadows and clawing darkness behind yet ever it pursued him. Finally he reached a barren shore and was utterly spent in his exhaustion and managed to Apparate one last time to the ground, landing heavily and near breaking his leg in the process. Beside where he lay was a single green shoot, young and fresh and alive. It was the first green thing he had seen since his arrival and he wept to see it.

"And yet all you saw was the very faintest memory, almost beyond recall," Gandalf said. "By the reckonings of Men and Elves that cursed place was shattered and cast down more than ten thousand years ago. Evil fades, as do all things in time. Yet still it bore enough power to test you sorely I do not doubt. Sauron is no Morgoth, of that you should be grateful. His evil is but a shadow of that of Morgoth yet a living shadow is so much greater than such a distant memory."

That was unbelievable to Harry. When he had arrived in that place he had felt the evil presence immediately, alike to the sensation of Voldemort's Horcruxes. Yet this evil was across a land as large as a country and in some places stronger even than that.

"I do not wish to put you down, my boy," said Gandalf kindly. "You should be grateful that you will never be tested by the Ring as I was. It leaves an itch that cannot be reached."

Harry still did not fully believe the man. If there was one thing he was entirely confident of it was his own self-possession. He could not believe that his mind could be so simply overcome by a simple band of gold, no matter how evil its maker. He felt that perhaps Gandalf was simply more susceptible to the Ring than Harry was. He eventually took his leave from the Wizard and went to spend a short time with Éowyn as he ruminated on the old man's words.

Still the march continued and even darker did the mood become. Overhead far and unseen by all save Legolas flew the winged Nazgûl and though they did not descend nor let loose any sound the dread of their presence was palpable and some men lost hope.

Aragorn bade those whose courage failed them remain not a day from Morannon for he said they may yet regain their honour and fight a battle worthy of story. More than a thousand men took his offer and turned back to hold the crossroads from their foe. So it came to pass that the Lords of Gondor stood before the Black Gate of Mordor with just seven thousand men.

The Captains of the West formed their troops upon two hills that sat at though mouth of Cirith Gorgor and awaited the response of the Dark Lord. The Nazgûl had descended again and now sat perched about the towers of the Morannon. Men did quail from their gaze as they looked down upon them as so many beasts to the slaughter.

The gates did not open nor did any sound pass from within and the Captains of the West knew their ruse must be maintained. So it was that Aragorn, now proclaimed the King Elessar, rode into hailing distance of the towering iron fastness of the Black Gate.

Harry was bid to ride alongside and did so though took pains to remain towards the back of the retinue and unseen.

"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!" cried the heralds. "The King Elessar is come to demand atonement for the misdeeds of Mordor! Come forth to justice!"

A long silence was the reply and at first it seemed that Sauron would not take the bait. But long he had seen these events and long had his plans be set. A rumble issued from the huge iron gates of Mordor and slowly they pulled aside. From within came a group of riders and at their head upon a massive horse rode one known only as The Mouth of Sauron. So long had he been in the service of his dark master that his name had been long lost to time and when asked he said only that he was The Mouth.

"Are there any here who are worthy to treat with me?" he asked scathingly through a mouth warped and bloodied by the evil words spoken on behalf of his master. "Not the Lord of this paltry host, surely. For any brigand could muster such a pathetic host and call himself King."

No answer came from Aragorn but his gaze burned with such fury and hate that the Black Messenger shrank beneath it. "I am the ambassador of Sauron the great and may not be assailed!" he cried.

"And so you have not. Yet it is also customary for an ambassador to use less insolent language when treating with another yet it seems you cannot keep your black tongue behind your lips," said Gandalf as he rode forward.

"Ahh," said the Messenger. "So Gandalf the Grey is the spokesman. Much we have heard of your schemes and plots ever at arm's reach and ever from a safe haven. How much desperation must you feel that you would come here where death awaits you so readily?"

"For death is all you will find here, as your friends did before you." Then the Mouth threw down a wrapped package and out of it spilled a coat of finest gleaming silver rings and Harry heard Pippin cry out in anguish.

"You have another of the little rats with you I see," said the Mouth. "You have grown desperate in your dotage, Gandalf the Grey, if you would try to send such misbegotten spies into the realm of the all seeing eye. Yet the halfling was dear to you I deem. Or perhaps his task was one you would not see fail? It matters not for if you wish him to live then you will hear the command of Sauron the Great."

Harry then rode forward for he had heard such speeches before. "I don't think they will, oh great Mouth," he said forcefully. "For we both know that there is nothing that could stop their deaths at your master's hands even if he did still live."

"And you? What place do you have to interrupt the treaty of your betters?" snapped the Mouth.

Gandalf laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and shook his head. "Though Harry speaks out of turn in this he speaks for all of us. Much though we wish I friend would return to us we would not sacrifice everything for your lies and treachery."

"So this is Harry, who the peasants of Rohan call Gledfréa. The Wanderer, the Lost, the Hermit, the doom of your charges," the Mouth sneered for his Master had seen Harry and his actions from afar. The Dark Lord had watched Harry from his first appearance upon Arda, for it was no surprise to him. For years he had watched and bided his time for he knew that the eons meant nothing in the Nameless Void. Much did the Dark Lord glean from his mind in the years of his wanderings and he knew Harry son of James could be no threat to him for he had not the power to contest the Lord of Mordor directly, "Such august company you keep oh great King."

"Silence!" cried Gandalf as he cast aside his grey raiment and a light shone beneath as his white robes were uncovered. He moved forward and picked up the package thrown to the ground by the Mouth. "We will bandy no more words with the forked tongue of Sauron the Deceiver! These few items we will take to remember our lost friend by. Begone now for your embassy is over and your death awaits you now should you linger here!"

Then rage twisted the face of the Messenger of Sauron as he was sent from their presence, for he could not stand against the Captains of the West in their umbrage. Long years he had served under Sauron from meanest follower to Chief mouthpiece and never had any treated him with such disdain. Yet he could not then teach them the folly of their words for his Master had plans laid already for that purpose and none stole the Dark Lord's prize from him and lived. He returned to his fell horse in a rage and struck its sides with such force that blood ran from new wounds and the creature sprang away and back towards the refuge of the Morannon.

Before he even came near though the trap of Sauron was sprung in its full force. From the Gates issued a great wave of Orcs and Trolls in such numbers that soon all the ground of Cirith Gorgor was black with their presence. From the shadow of the Ered Lithui came a great host of Haradrim who came behind the host of Gondor and encircled them in their entirety. Still though the sky was not marred by the clouds of his sorcery for the wind yet blew strongly from the West and chased before it all pestilence and shadow.

Soon the two hills upon which the host of the West was drawn up were surrounded by forces more than ten times their numbers for Sauron had sprung his trap and done it with all the force available to him.

Overhead the Black Captains returned to the wing anew and their fell beasts loosed their cry yet even now the men did not quail. Upon one hill stood the standard of the White Tree and on the other the White Swan and Horse of Rohan and all around their armour shone in the light of the sun. From his place at the fore of his half of the force Aragorn called out in a voice, clear and strong and bid they stand for today would not be their doom.

With a great shout that shook the very ground the forces of Mordor charged the two hills and battle was joined in fury. Harry moved through the fray like a battering ram, ever surrounded by a circle clear of Orcs or warriors of the Easterlings. Éowyn was far from him on the other mound and he meant to reach her though thousands of Orcs stood before him.

None could stand against him and the smell of burning flesh spilled into the air as flames issued from his wand. Orcs and Sauron's newest breed of Trolls both were blasted to ruins by flashes and spells from his wand and their dropped weapons rose up at his command impaled those around their once wielders.

He was utterly heedless of the battle going around him for he saw Éowyn now from afar and ever did she stand at the forefront of the battle in her attempt to push their line towards Harry. The light of the sun shone in her hair and she was a bastion of strength for the defence yet she pushed too hard in her want. Seeing her now Harry knew she could not stand for ever for in her need she had become separated from the main force. The charms he had laid upon her turned aside all the blades and arrows of the Orcs yet all about her they pressed inwards, determined to end one who so effectively defied the darkness.

Harry knew he could not allow any harm to come to her and so he gathered his magic and burst towards her appearing in a bright flash that threw all the Orcs for yards around to the ground and those nearby cried in terror. All about him there was a short lull as the Orcs mastered their fear under the watchful gaze of their dark master.

"I almost lost sight of you my Lady," he called to her now that he was at her side. "I was worried you might be lost before I could find you."

She laughed for the battle fury of her sires had returned and she knew the joy of war as she slew. "Lost? I think not! I told you we would remain together even through this darkness," she cried joyfully.

As she spoke a shadow descended and darkness rolled across the sky at his command, though no Witch King was he. Khamûl he was and now leader of the Eight that were Nine. The Black Easterling he was known as and a great King of Rhûn he had been before Sauron gifted to him one of the Nine rings of men. Now, though, his power could not match the Witch King and in moments his beast was felled from below him by flash of magic and steel and his black form was sent tumbling to the ground.

Harry would not allow the Nazgûl any time nor triumph in his attack and he struck almost instantly.

Before Sauron's new Captain could rise he was struck by fire of such ferocity that his Morgul Blade was melted and ruined and his armour was blasted from his body. No mere flame could destroy such a true servant of Sauron though and he stayed yet bound to Middle-earth until his Master would fall. Even in his immortality he was much diminished by the assault and lost his physical form and was forced to flee to his Master's fastness. Even as he fled the remaining Nazgûl came together to break the flagging defence of Men.

For though the lines of Men had great strength in Aragorn, Éomer, Imrahil, Gandalf, Harry and the spell bolstered Éowyn they could not be in all places at once. The forces of the Orcs pushed ever at them giving no time nor pause for breath or planning. The Captains of the West cut through the Orcs like they were grain before the scythe but they could not come to the aid of their men. All about each hill the Orcs pushed at those places not held by a great Captain of Men and the lines there buckled.

Of all the Captains only Harry still remained mobile about the battle and the cracking of his hasty Apparitions echoed across the battlefield as he fought desperately to stop the defensive formation from collapsing in the face of such overwhelming numbers.

But then the light again burst through the darkness brought upon them in the Black Easterling's descent. The fresh wind blew renewed again from the West and all about the men took up a shout. "The eagles are coming! The eagles are coming!"

And come they had. Gwaihir the Windlord came with his brothers Landroval and Meneldor and brought a great force of the eagles of Thorondor. They descended upon the Orcs and men of Harad and bore many skywards to drop them amidst their own or crushed them mightily in their strong talons. The greatest of them contested with the fell birds of the Nazgûl and drove them back and away from the hosts of men. Bred by Sauron from forgotten creatures of the Elder days in a mockery of the Eagles of Manwë. The light of the Valar was not within them and they could not in the end contest the sky with Manwë's creatures.

The men cheered and cried at the sight for the Orcs were struck by a terror at the new threat though they did not yet break nor flee such was the strength of Sauron's fell will.

Then it seemed the world paused. For the presence and Eye of Sauron lifted from the battle and fled east to Orodruin. Hearing their Master's fear and panic the Ringwraiths broke from the battle and flew with all speed to the Mountain of Doom. The Orcs surrounding the two hills broke then for their Master's will had released them in his uttermost panic and they cried without purpose and were cut down by sword and by talon as Men fought back resurgent at the expression of Sauron's terror.

Long moments passed and Harry knew that something was wrong. Nothing had happened, Sauron yet remained and the Ring could not have been destroyed. Had it been cast into the fiery pit of Mount Doom as Gandalf said then Sauron's power would be broken and all his works in Middle Earth would be cast down. Far distant the great tower of Barad-dûr was pinned still to the heavens. The Ring had not been destroyed.

The terror of Sauron past and now the Men trembled at his fierce and terrible jubilation. The Ring had returned to him and its bearer had capitulated to its will. All knew that the day and the world were to be lost, ever shrouded in darkness and despair until the end of all things.

Harry could not allow that to happen, he would not. Frodo was at Mount Doom, that was why the Ringwraiths rode thither with such urgency. He could still save everyone.

He looked to Éowyn after tearing his gaze from still quiet Orodruin and she immediately divined his purpose.

"No!" she cried and lunged to clutch at him.

He twisted and at the moment Éowyn clutched at him in desperation he disappeared from the battle. She felt such discomfort as she had never before experienced, as if her body was being squeezed by the mightiest of trolls. It past in but a moment and they both reappeared upon the slopes of the Mountain of Doom with a mighty crack that shattered stone upon their arrival.

Éowyn released him and fell to the ground retching as the sensation had been far beyond the most unpleasant thing she had very experienced. Still though she looked up and said, "I said you would not be permitted to leave me like that again."

Harry extended his hand to her, smiled and said ruefully, "I should have remembered I could not deny you. But we must be quick. I fear the ring bearer may have succumbed at last."

With a quick spell he was able to roughly locate Frodo and saw that he was still within the great chamber of the Cracks of Doom. Grasping Éowyn to him he apparated again, this time to the door that led into the heart of the great volcano. The sensation was not so unbearably sickening this time, whether due to the shorter distance or her own acclamation she did not know.

"Éowyn, you must stay here and make sure no-one leaves the cavern. He would be invisible so I will have no easy time finding him," he said. "I need you to do this for me."

For a moment she regarded him but finally accepted the need and weighed her sword again in her hand for she would not fail though she was tired and weary of battle.

Far behind them the Winged Nazgûl rode upon the wind faster than any creature in that age of the world. Their Master immediately sensed the presence of the human sorcerer whom he had long watched from afar appear within his realm. No being of such power could hope to pass into the Nameless Realm without drawing His sight. His terrible will and need drove the Nazgûl on yet they would not come fast enough.

Harry then ran within. He saw before him a hobbit who was shouting frantically for Frodo of whom there was no sign. There was no sign of anyone else yet his wand told him Frodo yet remained within the mountain and the precipice was no so wide that he could easily pass without notice.

A whispered spell later and a fine white powder settled across all the ground about him. He moved forward and repeated the spell until he saw footprints in the dust and he knew that Frodo was attempting to get by him.

A red spell flashed into the invisible Hobbit and his body reappeared as it fell and disturbed the thin powder. As he fell the Ring dropped from his finger and finally Harry came to hear its siren call in his mind.

He saw the power he could wield through the ring, it could give him the power to return to his home and he stared in wonder at the power of Sauron's chiefest creation.

Surely with this Ring he could save everyone. The power it contained was alike to nothing Harry had seen before. He had thought it nothing more than Horcrux yet now that he saw it he knew it was so very much more.

The power of Sauron was part of the making of the world. His voice sung in the music of the Ainur that brought the world into being. He had the power to warp and change all things to his purpose and should Harry take it for himself no-one would ever stand in his righteous path again.

He moved slowly towards the thin, flawless strip of purest gold. He heard the tired voice of the other Hobbit calling to him yet he ignored it as one would a fly.

"Don't do it!" the Hobbit cried. "It has to be destroyed!"

Harry did not hear him. No mere Hobbit could know of the true power of the Ring, the glory and strength it could bring its wielder. The Hobbit could not know Harry's loss nor his longing for home that was ever a dull ache within his heart and his memory.

Surely with the Ring he could drive the Orcs from Gondor and Rohan. He could make all the Men, Elves and Dwarves of Middle-earth live together in peace. He could return to his home, the home so cruelly denied him.

A stray thought flickered to Éowyn.

She would not begrudge him this. He had told her of his loneliness and loss, he had told her of the wonders of his world and the friends now consigned to memory. She would not deny him his reward. None would.

He would save the world with the power of the Ring and all would thank him. He could return to his home and surely Éowyn would join him. No-one would deny the hero of Middle-earth such a boon. If she did not come then he could make her, she would surely forgive him in time.

His hand was inches from the Ring as it lay upon the ground, fire flickering across its mirrored surface. He picked it up.

Such a small thing, feared by so many. So many who lacked the mental fortitude or moral will to risk it. Had not Dumbledore said that only Harry was truly worthy of the Elder Wand, of all the Hallows? Of all Men only Harry had the moral character to be entrusted with such power. Only Harry knew when to use it, and when to abstain.

He saw in his mind's eye the happiness he could bring to both worlds with the Ring. An eternal age of light and wisdom brought about at his behest.

He brought it up to his eye and held it between two fingers.

Gandalf was as weak as Dumbledore, he knew. He did not have the strength to carry such a burden of responsibility. Harry had carried that burden through all his years. All his friends, his entire country and now the entire world had come to rely upon his judgement and character. He, of all people, was the only one worthy of that power.

A pair of hands grabbed at the precious ring held just inches from his finger. The Hobbit was not content with merely shouting his ignorance to the world he would also fight Harry for the Ring. Harry grasped tightly at the Ring as the desperate Hobbit grabbed for it in envy.

Harry's hand shot out and the halfling was thrown from him to land in the white dust still strewn across the floor. A cloud of the powder flew up as he was cast from Harry with the most powerful piece of wandless magic he had ever conducted.

He stared again at the Ring with new wonder, such strength could it grant him. Even now, just resting upon the palm of his hand it granted him magics beyond any he had before conducted. His hand came up, his finger extended.

He slipped the Ring onto his finger.

Chapter Text

All about him was fire. Fire and a burning power.

The Ring slipped onto his finger easily, as if it had been made for him. He opened his eyes and for the first time it was like he could see with the true sight. Unlike lesser beings he did not turn invisible for he had the power to command the Ring to his bidding and he felt its power run like a bright fire through his veins. His power was ascendant and the evils of the world would shy and cower at his coming. He looked now at the world with new eyes.

He saw the weakness of Frodo Baggins and the seed of Sauron that had been planted within his mind. He saw the lingering darkness in his shoulder where the Ringwraiths, now surely servants to Harry's own will, had caused him injury.

Then he saw Samwise Gamgee the Hobbit who had tried to stop the waxing of his power. He saw a simple and misguided mind in need of moulding. He saw loyalty to Frodo and an absolute unwavering dedication to the quest given to him by Gandalf.

He also noted the the final remains of a creature, stick thin and gaunt thrown into the fires of Mount Doom by Frodo in a struggle unknown. Yet even in death his essence still clung to the world thanks to the power of the One Ring.

He then cast his eye further afield, across all Middle-earth to watch the goings on within his new protectorate, his domain.

In Nurn armies of slaves toiled under unforgiving skies. The whips of their masters cracked over their heads as they worked the noisome fields of Mordor. Thousands of men and women held under the dominion of Sauron who could now be freed thanks to his new power and fortitude. Soon he would aid them as he had so many others and they would welcome him as saviour.

In Harad he saw the unrest. The great armies had marched north and the populace now chafed under the rule of their cruel Kings and Lords. He would come down upon them and dispense justice unto the wicked. The poor and the downtrodden would see him come in fire and in glory and they would know to whom they owed everything.

In the East he saw a rebellion in whole. The slave armies of the Easterlings had marched to battle and now Wizards, servants of Manwë and clad in raiment of blue led those who remained in open revolt against their overlords. They would not stand a chance if Sauron were to win his battle at the gates of Mordor. Harry would ensure that Sauron did not win.

There, upon the borders of Mordor an army of Men stood besieged by tens of thousands of Orcs, Men and foul things. More died by the second as they were pushed further and further up the hills upon which they made their final futile stand. Atop one of the hills stood Aragorn, the King of Gondor returned and his white banner fluttered defiantly in the wind. Harry knew that he would fall if no intervention came. Though the Nazgûl fled and the Eagles decimated their attackers there was no hope of victory without further aid. He looked further afield.

There, before a great dark fortress another battle was being fought. This one was between Elves and Orcs and the power of Galadriel caused the Orcs to retreat from her. The armies of Lothlórien besieged Dol Guldur and many fell to the poisoned arrows of the Orcs coming from that great mountain fastness. With all the Nazgûl gone to the war in the south there was no power that could stand before the Lady of the Golden Wood.

He knew Dol Guldur would fall and Galadriel's power would cast down those cursed walls once and for all when the elves had their victory. Yet Harry did not have to wait. The power of Sauron held the walls of Dol Guldur aloft and so Harry pulled his strength from them. Down they tumbled in uttermost destruction as the power of Sauron was rent from the stones. Elves by the dozen cried out and were crushed beneath the falling rocks yet Harry paid them no heed. A small price to pay for the destruction of that fell place. His eye once wandered once again.

Further north again was another battle, this one before a great lonely mountain to the east of Mirkwood. There Dwarves and Men fought together against the armies of Easterlings of the North. Thousands of men lay slain upon the spear tips of the Easterlings and the Dwarves joined the battle without hope for their numbers were too few. In the middle of the battle King Brand lay dead and over his ruined body stood a lone Dwarf who bore a passing resemblance to Gimli. "Khazâd! Khazâd!" cried King Dáin Ironfoot of Erebor as his foes pressed in about him. The old Dwarf fought with his axes in hand and great strength did he display despite his advanced years but it would not avail him.

Harry knew that Dáin would die there upon the field, that Dale would be taken and Erebor would be put to siege by the host of Easterlings.

It seemed all the world was consumed in war and in all places battles waged. The few remaining Dúnedain of the north battled with the Elves of Lindon against the much weakened forces from Gundabad. And far in the west a small quiet land was being slowly consumed by the fires of industry. Its small, good natured people painstakingly crushed and warped by the will of a Wizard from afar.

All this Harry saw and he knew he now had the power to change it. He could save lives and homes and all would know the depth of his aid. He could aid them in their war, cast down the evildoers and their supporters. He could place in charge those whom he deemed trustworthy and then he could take his reward.

He could do all that and return finally to his home. He knew there was only one option.

Power flowed through him and he raised his hands. The fires of Orodruin rose at his call and now not only his thoughts were aflame for the mountain rose to his wrath. He brought his hands together with such power that a great shock wave rolled from them, near knocking both Hobbits into the merciless lava that roiled below.

It spread across Mordor and at Morannon the ground shook at his power brought forth. All the lands of Mordor say beneath the power of Sauron, the power Harry now commanded, and could be turned to his will. The earth tore and cracked at his command and the Orcs were taken with a great panic. All about them the ground collapsed into darkness and nothing and the great army of Sauron was cast to their doom amid rock and black blood.

Atop the hills before the gate the army of Men cried out in wonder and fear as Middle-earth was torn asunder by his will. But the destruction would not stop. The collapse continued far out beyond Morannon and towards the hills upon which the Men of the West stood in battle.

Standing at the peak of one of the hills he saw Gandalf became old and worn before his all seeing eye. Grief and despair passed across his features he spoke some words to Aragorn who stood beside him and the King became grim.

Gandalf began chanting in desperation and the collapse was stayed at the lower reaches of the hills though many men still were lost to the deeps. Harry felt a pang of horror that his power had gotten away from him yet greater still was his rage. Gandalf would stand against him, he would pit his own power against Harry's in fear of his own weakness.

Harry could see the mind of the wizard and was wroth. Gandalf thought that Harry had fallen to the Ring, that the Ring had taken his power and that Sauron could now command his will as his own yet Harry knew it was not true.

Harry had never encountered a will greater than his own and his pride told him he never would. He had defeated Voldemort, he could shrug off Imperius without difficulty and he could resist even that which could lure the great Albus Dumbledore into its clutches. The Ring, his Ring, his Precious Ring could not defeat him for nothing ever had before. Now that he possessed the ring he could be certain that none could ever assail him, not even the mighty Gandalf in his jealousy.

Harry saw his thoughts, he wanted the Ring for himself. His own weakness left him unable to claim it the first time but now he wished for it himself. He would be a threat to all the peace that Harry would bring and he needed to be ended. He once more brought forth his power but before he could crush the Wizard from existence something else caught his attention.

Udûn shook. Harry's power now was greater than any save one and He could now find him. Morgoth, the greatest of the Valar and the creator of all of worth within Arda would return in triumph and in flame. The pathetic Children of Ilúvatar would be subsumed by his will and Manwë would be cast from his seat at Ilmarin which should never have been his.

A flicker of excitement burned within him when he saw that. His own body so long prepared was to be Morgoth's anchor in the world.

But that was not what he wished. Harry did not wish to surrender to any Dark Lord. The Ring had deceived him, lured him to its power and promises and taken from him all that he was. He had not even felt it and even now fierce rage and burning hatred such as he had never known burned in his veins. Those feelings were not his.

At that moment the inferno about him rose again and his clothing was smoking and scorched for Sauron had come in full glory to proclaim his victory. Though long he had remained at his fortress of Barad-dûr he was not without power. Indeed now after many years his power had grown again to match that he had had when he cast down Gil-Galad of the Ñoldor and Elendil of Gondor at the end of the Second Age.

The Ring knew only one master and that was the one who forged it and laid his power and will within it. The One Ring of Sauron the great could not be stolen from him for in its making it housed a greater part of himself and there was only one who could proclaim power over Him.

For that was the true deceit of the Ring, no power did it grant its wearer beyond the meanest form of invisibility. It instead promised power and then took the mind. At the moment it was claimed it would claim its wearer in their entirety. Their will was lost and replaced by the will of Sauron who then wielded his and their power both through the vessel of their body and so he was triumphant.

Now, so close to the Ring and the final part of himself he was terrible to behold. Fire wreathed him and armour of blackest iron-clad his towering form from head to foot. Of Sauron himself no more than his eyes could be seen, twin dark infernos burning in the regal spiked helmet that adorned his head.

"So at last you come," he spoke, his terrible voice shaking the very foundations of Orodruin with his words. "Drawn to my power like a fly to the fire."

The will and power of Sauron was so great that Harry was struck still and unable to fight his blinding influence. In his mind the smallest voice yet fought but it was dwarfed by the will of Sauron ascendant. Imperius Curse was as to nothing before the power of one who had crafted Arda from the firmament and warred for the control of it since before the birth of Men.

"Brought to this world, beacon and vanguard for the King of the World returned," his voice boomed through the cavern. "Touched by Him as you passed the Walls and purpose granted."

Still Harry could not fight for most of him did not wish to. In his mind he screamed as he felt his self subsumed almost entirely by the unyielding will of Sauron. For Sauron was born before the creation of Arda and greater than any mortal Man.

"Your purpose is come to fruition," said Sauron in terrible elation and Harry felt his words in his bones. "Call now to my Master and yours. Break the Walls of Night and call back the first and greatest to his awaiting Empire."

The voice of discord was almost completely gone, mere seconds after Sauron came upon him. Harry's will was blasted away in the fires of ageless malice. He wanted nothing but to fulfill his purpose upon Arda. To give meaning to the loss of his friends in his old world he would do this. If he did not his years alone would surely be for nought.

Harry could now see why he was here. Alone of all Men in all the worlds he had died a true death and yet been returned from the Halls of Mandos to his mortal body. He had traversed the Walls of Night when he had gone to Voldemort that night in the Forbidden Forest and then had been given the chance to return. None had ever before seen that journey that were within the grasp of Sauron. The Gift of Men took them ever beyond his grasp upon death and of all of them only Harry had been returned to his mortal form from the Halls of the Dead. His passage had marked him, the only one who had been in both the Void and within Arda. A bridge between worlds.

Touched by uttermost darkness from earliest life he bore a fragment of Morgoth with him wherever he went. All darkness, discord and evil came into being when Morgoth sang against the Ainur in the Music that created all. So Harry bore a small fragment of the Dark King back to Arda when he was summoned forth. That fragment was the anchor used by Sauron to pull Harry hither and it would be the anchor used by Morgoth to return to his creation.

The voice failed within him and he could fight Sauron's will no more. Had he not put on the Ring perhaps he could yet have resisted but now his will was subsumed almost in entirety by the far greater will of the Lord of Barad-dûr.

He raised his hands once more and prepared to once more complete that for which he had long been groomed but his concentration was broken. Sauron let loose a cry heard across all of Eä.

Before Morannon where Gandalf still contested the destruction of Sauron with the shouted words of the Valar he heard the cry and for a moment the power he fought waned. He cried to Aragorn to call a full retreat while they yet had time to escape.

At the ruin of Dol Guldur the Lady of Lothlórien heard the cry and felt hope and dread in equal measure. The pain of Sauron carried far and his agony brought her to her knees. For a moment she could see the events that unfolded, the dark clouds of shadow no longer clouding her sight and he cried out in fear. All about the Elves cowered at the sound for even the youngest of them knew that now was the hour of Doom. The moment at which Arda would either fall or stand triumphant.

The cry came too late for Dáin, son of Náin, King under the Mountain. Moments before it rolled across the battlefield he was impaled upon the many vicious spears of the Easterlings assailing him. His battle was long, his life was run and as he closed his eyes for the final time the pain of Sauron was the last thing he heard before he went to the halls of his ancestors.

Far across the western sea in the Halls of Mandos dark eyes, solemn and terrible turned eastward in expectation. No other emotion stained his impassive face but beside him Vairë, the Weaver of Time wore a sad smile.

Harry saw a sword impaled through the great armour of Sauron. There stood Éowyn her sword still in hand, her face bloodied and pale and her hair tousled but no less fair for all that. Fire sang about her and it seemed her head was alight for it shone the reflected light of flames and was red as blood. Sauron turned as he gave a terrible shout and she was thrown from him as her sword melted and warped in her hand, even Harry's strongest charms come to almost nothing in the face of the greatest of the fallen Maia.

"You would strike me!" came Sauron's dreadful voice, trickling with rage. From his torso liquid fire dripped from the wound inflicted against him. "You, a mere woman of meanest stock would stand before the final victory of Sauron and defy me?"

She lay there upon the ground but kept her sword in hand and did not balk. "Defy you I will!" she cried. "For I am of the house of Eorl and do not bow before the darkness."

"The House of Eorl," said Sauron, his voice mocking and cruel. "An ignoble house from the lowliest race of Men. Never known the touch of the Endless, you are beneath my sight."

She looked to Harry and Sauron saw her gaze. "You would hope for the aid of another?" he said. "One who has no use for you any more. You are as far beneath his gaze as you are mine. Not even worth ending you for you are less than an insect before my power."

"I would fight you still!" she declared, still strong in the face of Sauron's endless might. She pushed herself once more to her feet, her twisted blade pointed at the Dark Lord in defiance.

Sauron moved closer to her and said, "There is no fight. Only Death. None, not even your vaunted Wizard can contend my will. Your death will not be easy."

"So be it." said Éowyn quietly. She lunged forward and struck at the Dark Lord with her ruined blade but he blocked it negligently with his forearm. He was faster than any Man and though she had inflicted upon him a wound the body of a Maiar could not be stopped by such mortal hurts. The thick black armour covering his body was impervious to mortal metal now that the charms had been stripped from her sword and it bounced from him without damage.

Her arm was jarred by the force of the impact but she spun with the momentum and launched another attack which was blocked again without effort from the Dark Lord.

She looked again to Harry and he stared back impassively. His face was set in boredom as if her life or death was less than nothing to him but it was the eyes that gave her hope. The eyes that she had come to love were now alight with fire but not yet utterly lost in fury. Within them was the barest glimmer, the faintest hint of more beneath the surface.

For seeing Éowyn in battle against the Dark Lord had renewed his struggle and now his mind was a battleground. With Sauron's attention directed towards the Lady of Rohan Harry's mind fought back with all it had. He fought it as he had fought the possession of Voldemort long years ago and focussed on his feelings of love for Éowyn.

It availed him little. For the Dark Lord did not fear or hate love, it did not pain him as it did Voldemort. It was as nothing to him and had no meaning before the Dark eternity of his existence. The Dark Lord loved only one thing, himself, and so he thought that love beyond the self was the uttermost weakness.

"That is how you would seek to fight me!" he cried and sadistic mirth echoed through the chamber. "With love? The most fickle and weak of all the forces in the universe is how you would hope to defy the all encompassing shadow?"

Éowyn did not respond but struck out at him again. This time he lashed out and once again she was thrown back for to the ground and her sword clattered at her side.

All around fires roared at Sauron's command and Orodruin raged with his will. This mere woman, Éowyn of Rohan had struck him a blow beyond any save Elendil himself and he would see her ended for her hubris.

Then at last Harry spoke. "Come with me," he said through gritted teeth. "We can leave this world, be safe in my own."

So great was his concern that he broke some of Sauron's control yet he still was not fully himself. Éowyn knew it for she met his gaze and her eyes softened even at the Dark Lord walked towards her to end her life.

"Here is your world, Harry," she said softly yet still he heard her. "Here are your people. Come back to me, Harry. Do not leave me here alone."

Again the will of Sauron fell upon him and his face became drawn in rage. "You think you know my mind?" he spat. "I have been shorn from my home and you would deny me the right to return?"

Tears came to her eyes and she said, "This could be your home if you would but let it, more home than ever you found in the world of your birth."

As she spoke the Lieutenant of Morgoth stalked towards her and his burning blood left a trail of flames in his wake. The dread flickering light they gave off joined the malevolent orange glow of Orodruin's lake of fire and it seemed the entire world was to be set to flame. She raised no more defence when he reached her for her eyes were still locked upon those of Harry and she watched in hope as the battle was waged within. Sauron's black hand, with four fingers only, closed around her slim and pale neck. The black iron of his gauntlet contrasted with her fair skin like ash upon snow and He raised her from the ground effortlessly.

She cried out in pain but her eyes did not leave Harry and then Harry saw through her eyes what he was to become. About him flickered sickly green flames and his clothes burned at their touch. His skin was blackened and his eyes burned with malevolent ire. Akin he looked to Sauron, yet lesser in all things. He recoiled in horror from her mind in that moment and his will again succeeded in pushing back the influence of Sauron.

He could see now what was before him, the death and cruelty that would be wrought by his hand. Éowyn was now moments from being crushed in the plated gauntlet of the Dark Lord. Upon the plains before the Morannon thousands of men fled Harry's own power and wrath. At Dol Guldur hundreds of Elves lay dead by his careless hand.

So too could he see his home, his friends of old and he saw they were happy. They had grieved for his loss a decade ago as he had theirs but in time those wounds healed and now they lived happily and in peace. He would still return to them had he the power yet he knew now he did not. It had never been in Sauron's power to give such gifts, his power was only to grasp and steal from others.

Harry was not saddened by that. Instead he was glad, for in his heart he knew he would not easily part with this world. He had at long last found a purpose in this place, simple though it may be. He could not give that up due to the impossible dream of a past long lost to nostalgia. His heart would reside for ever more in Middle Earth and he knew he would never leave it while Éowyn yet remained within.

Yet the power of the Ring was strong and he could not release it. So complete had its hold become that even as he fought to a victory within his mind his body and hand remained unable to strike out at its Master. It remained upon his finger and he could not command his body to remove it. Its hold was as if wrought from iron and even as he watched Éowyn brought to close to her end before him he could not find it in him to bring harm to Sauron or the Ring. He watched helplessly as Sauron towered over his love. His spiked gauntlets squeezed slowly, drawing ever deeper into her flesh and her blood began to flow. From Sauron's injured breast burning blood dripping from his own wound and upon the ground beneath them they burned and sizzled as they mingled.

Harry could see only one option. He fought with all his will and in victory he took a step back until he was atop the precipice over the Fires of Doom below. Éowyn made a strangled noise as she saw what he planned and Sauron dropped her and spun to face him. She clutched at her blackened throat and gasped for air but all the while her eyes were fixed upon Harry and begged him to stop. He saw in that moment that she would live, he had not failed her too. Her wounds were not so deep that she would die, he could rejoice in that knowledge at least.

It gave him strength to do what was needed.

He stepped backwards once more.

Sauron watched as Harry stepped backwards and his fear was palpable. The power of Sauron and the power of the Ring, one will set apart, weighed upon Harry with all their might. Still, he had the strength to step from the precipice to his certain Doom.

Sauron saw Harry fall from the edge and his will lashed out in terror. It came upon Harry in that moment and it was terrible in its power. Sauron knew Harry yet had the ability to save himself from the fires and so he commanded the plummeting Wizard to Apparate to safety. Sauron, who only loved himself could conceive of no reason any Man would choose to sacrifice themselves so completely when another option yet remained open.

Harry did not heed the command. Fixed within his mind was the image of that which he thought fairest in all the world and it was the image of Éowyn among the flower gardens of Minas Tirith as the bright light of the sun shone in her hair. There was no power within him that could act to destroy something so beautiful and so he ignored the command to save himself and smiled as he fell towards the fires of Orodruin. For a moment that image sustained him against the roaring hurricane of Sauron's will. A moment was enough and he hit the burning surface of the molten lake at the heart of the Mountain of Doom.

His body burned in the fires beyond even the forge of Aulë and he screamed in pain yet he felt no regret. His flesh melted from his bones and his bones were flashed to charcoal and his pain was beyond anything known but he was glad that he'd had the strength at the last. Finally the Ring of Sauron warped and melted upon the remains of his finger and in the uttermost heat of Orodruin the Dark Lord's power was undone. In that moment Harry finally knew relief and his soul did depart easily to the Halls of Waiting.

With such a great portion of his strength destroyed Sauron could no longer sustain his terrible form and fell to his knees as his black armour melted from his visage. Returned to the world was fair Mairon before the corruption of Morgoth and his evil deeds had made him monster. He clutched his head as he felt his power ripped apart with the Ring in the fires of Orodruin. For a moment it seemed he might sustain his form even in his greatest withering yet Éowyn, daughter of Éomund would not allow it. Her contorted and half melted sword swung through the air with a fell whistle issuing from its ruined blade. As Sauron kneeled among the fires of his greatest creation his head was severed from his shoulders and finally his form was lost to the world for evermore, never again to come upon any being of Arda in malice.

Sauron's still kneeling beheaded body shone with a bright and painful light and exploded outwards throwing all those about back. Éowyn was flung almost to the entrance of the Crack while Frodo's unconscious body would have been thrown from the walkway and into the rising fires of ruin had he not been caught by the ever vigilant Samwise Gamgee.

Blasts of fire and shattered rock crashed around them as power rushed through all in a raging torrent Éowyn lay there uncaring for her despair at Harry's sacrifice was complete. She stared blankly into space, slumped upon her knees as she realised her loss.

Though Éowyn seemed content to accept death Samwise Gamgee was not. He had travelled across the face of Middle-earth with the ringbearer on his quest and he had no intention of failing his task now. He would not let Frodo die. He summoned what meagre strength he still had after his fight with Harry followed by being in such close proximity to the power of Sauron and managed to lift Frodo upon his back.

All about him Mount Doom was being undone and he staggered towards the entrance to the Crack and called for Éowyn to join him, though he did not know her name.

"Miss!" he called. "This whole place is going to go up, you must get to safety!"

Lost in uttermost misery she still responded. She considered for a moment throwing herself to the fires but knew Harry would not approve. Though he had said no words she had understood that what he did was for her and her alone of all people. He sacrificed himself to allow her more time with her family, the one thing he regretted most and so for now she followed.

The three survivors of the End of Sauron stumbled from the Mountain of Doom and into the sickly orange light of the lava flows issuing from across its face. From there it flowed on to the ancient lava plateau of Gorgoroth.

The group managed to reach a high spur of rock that would protrude above the coming flows. They then collapsed, Sam in relief and Éowyn in grief and both utterly spent in both mind and body. Lava flowed all about them and the heat was terrible, from above burning ash fell upon them yet they were too exhausted to avoid it. Overcome by their exertions, the heat and the foul air being cast upon them by the eruption they both succumbed to unconsciousness and lay still as all about them burned.

Minutes later the Orodruin became undone and sent fire and brimstone to rain over all of Sauron's realm and his Kingdom was at last reduced to ash.

Chapter Text

When Harry again became aware he found himself in a high hall of such length that it seemed the end was beyond the limits of his sight. He lay upon a floor of purest white stone, utterly unblemished and without join. It was neither warm nor cold and how long he lay there thinking of what he had done he did not know.

Eventually he stood and found himself naked like his last journey beyond the veil of Death. As before his clothes materialised about him as he thought on them and he looked about for whomever was to greet him this time.

There was no-one, but the great tapestries that adorned both walls of the hall drew his eye and he looked closer. Such beauty and craftsmanship was beyond anything he had ever seen for it seemed as if the figures within danced and moved like wizarding images from his home. Upon it was an image of a great battle and so lifelike was the rendition that it felt as if it was still happening even as he looked upon it.

Atop two hills stood a force of Men and upon them shone light from the sky above. A shaft of heavenly light lit their armour and weapons and they looked unassailable in their glory. All around them were dark things, ugly things and each of their foes was shrouded in a living darkness.

As he watched he saw a light far distant, beyond the two warring armies. A great mountain of fire and ruin had lit up the night beyond the dark walls from which the shadowy army had issued. He saw the beasts and men alike cower in the face of its wrath and then attempt to flee when it reached out to smite them. The earth tumbled and fell from beneath the dark army and they were all consumed in fire and brimstone.

It was the battle at the Black Gate, the battle he had brought ruin upon when he became enamoured of the power of the Ring. He looked on as the destruction did not abate and the brave Men of the bright army were cast screaming into the pits of Harry's created hell. So fine was the tapestry and so detailed was it that he felt he could recognise the face of every man he had brought ruin upon. There was Beregond of the Tower Guard being thrown to the flames of Harry's folly and there went Eanhére of the Rohirrim too.

Harry stepped back and wanted to cower from the beautiful and terrible reminder of his power as yet more Men whom he had known died at his unthinking command. He had come to know many of the men of Gondor on the march to Morannon and he had spent even longer among the Rohirrim. Though he'd found many of them simple or boorish the knowledge that he was responsible for their deaths in such a manner was crushing.

He took his head in his shaking hands and would not look up at the destruction he'd wrought, so great was his shame.

"Do not despair, Harry Potter," said a musical voice so pure it cut through his misery in a moment. "For your trials are at last behind you."

He looked up and met an impossible set of eyes. Golden stars they were, shining in a face more beautiful than any he had ever imagined. Her hair was purest spun silver and reflected all around her in a million facets, ever glittering and fair. She was garbed in robes of queenly beauty, intricately woven thread that shifted and shimmered like water as she moved. She stood taller than he, much taller for in her countenance was the great power and light of the Valar. He felt his anguish ebb from him as her presence soothed him like the gentlest balm.

"I am Vairë," she said simply as a look of soft compassion set upon her features. "I would have you join and talk with me a while."

He found himself doing as she bid immediately. He pulled himself upright and found himself only coming up to the angelic woman's waist. Even as he thought it she became shorter though in no way was she lessened. He still felt the power and glory of her form yet it seemed she now somehow took up less space beside him.

"I do not know that I am deserving of your kindness, my Lady," Harry said respectfully as they began to walk down the seemingly endless hall. "I failed utterly, I killed so many people."

"Many died at Morannon and Dol Guldur," she stated with utter certainty. "Many more died at the gates of Erebor. The blame does not lie with you for you fought something altogether greater than yourself."

"If I had been better, stronger, more in control they wouldn't have died," said Harry in sorrow.

"None can be more than they are," said Vairë, her voice still soft and soothing. "Even the Valar can only be as we were created by Eru. The drive to be more is not unique to Men but it is in them most strong. It is your greatest strength and your greatest weakness."

"I do not understand," said Harry as his brow knitted in confusion.

"You wish even now to be better, stronger, smarter, more wise," she said shrewdly. "And that is exactly what you were promised by the Ring. Is it any wonder that you stumbled?"

"It was no mere stumble," said Harry in frustration. "I should have known better. People died. Hundreds of people died."

She did not acknowledge his temper for her voice remained musical and kind. "And so too did you."

Harry sighed at her words and fell silent. He could not bring himself to believe that a simple act of self-sacrifice would wash away the deaths of so many. Perhaps Vairë heard his thoughts.

"There is no self-sacrifice that is simple," she said. "It is always noteworthy, and it always has a power beyond any expectation."

"This wasn't the same as when my mother saved my life," argued Harry. "She was offered a life, but gifted it to me instead. I was just trying to undo my mistakes."

"You would have lived, would you not?" she asked rhetorically. "Your use to Sauron was great and so too your use to Melkor whom you call Morgoth. You gave your life for all those upon Arda."

"It would have been no life," said Harry. "A servant in a dark realm of unspeakable horrors."

"And you think perhaps your mother would have been happy with her life had you died in her stead?" asked Vairë.

"No!" cried Harry, "But. It's just different."

"Perhaps the only difference is that you are not named Lily Potter," she noted.

Harry was again silent as he pondered her words. He understood what she was saying, but he could not find it in him to believe her. He knew all his darkest thoughts, the ones that crept up on him in the dead of night and when things seemed hardest. What he had become under the thrall of the Ring was not so terribly unfamiliar, he could not believe he was as good a person as she suggested.

Vairë stopped by a portion of the tapestry and Harry joined her without a second thought. This part showed an obviously pregnant young woman of great beauty cradling the still form of a handsome dark haired man as a great dragon lay bleeding upon the earth in the background.

"Túrin Turambar and Niënor Níniel you see before you," she said as she looked upon the scene sadly. "Brother and sister. Children of Húrin in the First Age of the Sun of the line of the greatest of Men known upon Arda. Both noble, kind, honourable and true. Yet the child she carried was his. The designs of Melkor rent them from each-other in earliest life and the wyrm, Glaurung stole away her memory and they met and loved in ignorance. Would you judge them weak? Culpable?"

Upon the tapestry the wyrm breathed its last halting breath then a look of horrible realisation came upon Niënor and she stared at Túrin's features in agony and recognition. Upon her face Harry could see the love and the pain together for though her memory was returned she still loved her brother as a woman does a man. She kissed his still form one last time with desperate intent and longing, then she left him and threw herself from a precipice into the nearby foaming river in search of death and redemption.

"No," said Harry, his voice choked with sadness. "Not weak, it was Morgoth and the dragon that brought them to it, they could have done nothing more."

"But the love was theirs, was it not?" she asked again. "Even when restored they could not undo their feelings, their actions. Melkor had not the power to create such feelings."

"But they were tricked into it," argued Harry. "Whatever happened after they were tricked could not be their fault, they wouldn't have done it without being deceived."

"Yet you would claim the blame for what happened after Sauron so deceived you," said Vairë as they began walking again.

Harry fell quiet again for a short while before he spoke again. "My Lady, why are we having this conversation, if I may ask?"

"You have visited my husband's Halls before, Harry Potter," she said. "Only once before has a Man been so gifted by Eru to be allowed a second chance at life. Lúthien Tinúviel sung a lament so moving that her love Beren Erchamion was granted another life with her upon the earth. You are from beyond our sight, yet you fall still under Námo's purview. I have long held an interest in the fate-touched that come to these Halls."

"They don't look like they did last time," said Harry with a frown.

"They would not," said Vairë tolerantly. "Your perception of them is crafted by your experiences. After so long dwelling upon Arda you have now the ability to see them in their true form."

"So King's Cross was here?" Harry asked. "Was it really Dumbledore?"

"Indeed," she said, her head bowing gracefully. "The souls of Men may wait here a great long while before they must finally move on to the embrace of Eru, he insisted on waiting for you. I believe he feared what he would find in the beyond."

A thought sprung to Harry's mind. "Did he know what would happen to me? About Morgoth and Sauron?"

Vairë shook her head, bathing the hall in flickering lights. "He did not. He did not even know of Arda. His perception of this place was much like yours was at the time, he saw an echo of the true Halls. None save Námo knew of the trials you would face but he cannot interfere."

"You mentioned him before," said Harry, "who is Námo?"

"Námo is my husband," she said as an impossibly beautiful smile bathed the room in warmth. "Most now call him Mandos, he is the Doomsman of the Valar and he oversees the Halls of the Dead where you now stand."

"He's Death?" asked Harry with wide eyes.

"Not at all," she said patiently. "Death is but a lie told by Men ignorant of the Gift bestowed upon them by Eru. Námo merely provides guidance to those passing from one life to the next."

"So if I'm not dead then I can go back?" asked Harry without much hope.

"Such a favour is not within my power to grant," Vairë admitted sadly. "Nor is it within Námo's. Not even Manwë may toy with the fates of the Children of Eru."

"I have heard of him," said Harry, remembering some of his talks with Gandalf. "He is the King of the Valar, isn't he?"

She smiled. "In a sense. He prefers to think of himself as the Messenger of Eru, for it is only by His will that he acts."

Harry accepted that for what it was and they walked further down the seemingly endless hall.

"You didn't really answer my question," he said after a while. "Why am I here?"

"I answered the question you asked," said Vairë, a flicker of amusement in her starry eyes. "Though I may not have answered the question you meant to ask. You are here because you are ready to move on, for the same reasons all Men come here."

He sighed in annoyance as it seemed she again dodged the question. "I mean why am I here and why am I talking to you? I assume it's not what would usually happen."

She took pity on him then and answered as he wished. "You are to come before Námo for his judgement and I wished to speak to you. Ever since you came to Arda you have been watched by the Valar and much time have you spent in our thoughts."

"Why me though? I realise my death and return is unusual but surely I am not so interesting as you suggest," he said.

"Yours was one of the most crucial roles in all of Eru's creation," she explained gently and they stopped again at another portion of the tapestry. "Without you Melkor would return and Dagor Dagorath would come upon the world when it was weary and old and all things would wither and die in the fires of war."

Here the tapestry depicted another great battle. In this one towering figures wrestled and battled amid smoking ruins. Mountains were cast down, the earth torn and warped and the sea whipped into a tempestuous fury. In the center Harry saw a great armoured being, taller and more terrible even than Sauron. He was wrestling another hulking man, and the ground shook as they met, strength to strength. Eventually the dark figure was cast down and the battle ended though the earth was forever changed.

"The first great battle with Melkor," said Vairë in explanation. "Fought in the earliest days of Arda when it was young and strong. Long we fought until finally Tulkas threw Melkor into the dust and even young as it was Arda was marred in the struggle. It could not survive another such battle between the powers of Valinórë."

"That doesn't make sense though," said Harry in confusion. "Without me Morgoth wouldn't have had a way back in the first place."

"Melkor would return always," said Vairë with an understanding smile. "With your presence or without. Yet now he cannot, stayed by the sacrifice of a single Man."

"Wh… what?" stuttered Harry. "How could that be?"

She turned once again to continue walking and Harry followed, still amazed at the revelation.

"He no doubt hoped to speed his return to Arda with your presence," she said as she touched his shoulder affectionately, driving away all doubts. "Yet he did not reckon on your true strength. What little of his influence remained upon Arda was pulled loose and cast into the Void when you forfeited your life. He lies now beyond the Door of Night in uttermost darkness, his only tether and path to return shorn from him. He is utterly adrift and can never return hence."

They walked in silence again while Harry considered this newest revelation with hesitance. He glanced about him and noticed that the tapestry no longer held pictures but swirling and dancing colours that seemed to sing to him in his mind with a music beyond any that his mortal ears could hope to comprehend.

Finally he asked a question that had been weighing upon his mind since he saw the depiction of the Battle of Morannon upon the tapestry of history. "What about Éowyn?"

Vairë turned to him now and smiled a smile greater than all those before, no longer merely kind or understanding but a smile of genuine happiness.

"It makes me glad that you have asked," she said. "But I have not the sight to discern her at so great a distance. She yet lives, for she has not passed through these Halls, but more than that you must ask my husband."

Suddenly the Hall along which they had been walking came to an abrupt halt. The tapestry upon the wall was now black with a single figure alight with wonder and glory upon it. But that was not what grabbed Harry's attention. There now stood before them two huge doors, perfect and intricate and white. As both came to a stop the doors swung upon without aid, whether thanks to the power of Vairë or someone else Harry did not know.

The Weaver of Time then walked in and Harry followed. He entered a room that was indescribable in its vastness. Pillars like mountains rose from the floor and disappeared into the distant mists of the impossibly high ceiling. Fires and points of light innumerable hung in the air throughout the space and the walls and floor gave off a soft warm light.

Adding to the scale of the room was its emptiness. Across a floor that stretched for acres and more, even to the limits of his sight no people moved and no other adornment was found. In what may be the middle of the room, at the furthest reaches of sight was a throne and upon it sat a man, though Harry could see little of him.

"Why is it so empty?" Harry asked Vairë in hushed tones. "These are the Halls of the Dead, surely they cannot be empty?"

Vairë did not respond. Instead a deep and loud voice rolled across the space, impossible strong and authoritative. "My Halls are not empty, Harry Potter," said Mandos and suddenly Harry saw a multitude of souls all about him. Each was surrounded by friends or loved ones and their happiness was clear for him to see. Elves, Men and Dwarves all were represented and it seemed almost every one of them was smiling in the company of their families.

Far more Elves than either Dwarves or Men for of all the Children of Ilúvatar, true and adopted, only they may reside forevermore within the Halls of Mandos. For Men it was but a stop upon the greater journey beyond the circles of the world to a final fate unknown. Dwarves were collected there upon their passing by their maker, Aulë, and then placed in Halls apart to await the remaking of the world.

Harry looked on in wonder as all about him smiled and laughed and shed their mortal worries as they came at last to the bright shores of the shining West.

Then, just as quickly, they melted away again and Harry found himself stood before the Doomsman of the Valar. The journey had been impossibly quick, just as had his journey down the endless hall of history alongside Vairë. For the Valar such constraints as time and space were nothing more than the weakest of pulls.

Unlike his wife Mandos did not reduce himself for Harry's benefit and stayed in his form as a huge dark haired man of terrible solemnity. Where Vairë's eyes were bright, his were dark and seemed to look not at the surface of a man, but the deepest parts him. His fair face was set into a stern frown as it seemed he weighed the virtue of Harry's soul.

"You come before me once again, Harry Potter," said Mandos, his deep bass rolling over Harry like a physical presence. "Once more it falls to me to render Judgement upon you."

Harry bowed his head respectfully before the Lord of the Dead for his aura of authority was nigh absolute.

"Do you have anything you wish to ask of me?" boomed Mandos after sharing the very briefest look with his wife.

"I… One, my Lord," said Harry, thinking of his conversation with Vairë. "What happened to Éowyn and the others?"

Mandos stared gravely down at him for a moment then his eyes became distant. "The one you call Éowyn lies gravely injured," he said dispassionately. "She has not the strength of heart to fight her hurts."

"The periain will recover from their trials in time, though the one named Frodo will eventually depart Endor in search of peace," he continued.

"Those others you would call friends have survived. Many did not. Beregond, Eanhére, Thain, Eadwig, Arden, Heimir…"

As the list of the dead grew longer Harry fell back into grief. Though he did not recognize even half of the names he still felt the weight of each one upon his soul. Each was a man with a mother and father, most had a wife and many had children waiting for their return.

Before he could fall too far, however, Vairë reached out to him again and placed a comforting hand on his arm. As before his grief fled at her touch and though he still heard every name and he knew the weight of each he did not become buried.

Worse, though, was the unknown fate of Éowyn. She was alive for now but almost certainly wouldn't remain so. Harry had seen her fight Sauron himself, she had driven her blade deep into the body of the Dark Lord. He has seen her accept blow after blow and even certain death with bravery he did not think he could match. She had done all of that for him.

And now she lay near death.

It was a strange thing, he mused. Here he was, supposedly dead, and surrounded by invisible millions who shared his fate with smiles upon their features yet he did not wish for her to join him in death. He had no idea why that might be but he accepted it for what it was.

"Though these deaths are many," said Mandos after finishing his roll of the dead, "they are not all you have done. Would you wash out their stain with your virtuous actions?"

Harry stood straight as he was questioned by the Judge of the Dead. "The stain of death cannot be washed out," he declared and added after thinking of his conversation with Vairë. "Instead I will remember them as my failure and hold them alongside the good I have done. Let others weigh them against each-other."

Mandos nodded gravely. "You have listened to my wife, this does you credit. We are, all of us, what we are and nothing can diminish that, the good or the bad. Are there any more questions you wish to ask?"

"Well," Harry began uneasily, "may I ask why I am being judged? What is the purpose? Will I not be sent on?"

"You may ask," said Mandos levelly. "You are to be judged before Manwë. He saw your entry to Arda and knew how it came to be. He saw your strife and your pain. He saw your long loneliness and he knew the trials you would face. Your actions are not without crime yet you dealt the Great Enemy and his Servant a blow unlike any before dealt by mortal hands."

"Years ago another man performed similar actions," he explained. "Eärendil of Gondolin stepped foot upon the hallowed earth of Aman where no mortal was given leave to tread. He brought with him a plea that caused an end to the ruin of Morgoth upon Beleriand. Yet crime he did still commit, he was judged, as you will be, for his worthiness."

"What happened to him?" asked Harry in some trepidation.

"I argued that he was to die, for that was the punishment for setting foot upon Aman," said Mandos solemnly. "Manwë judged differently. His actions were in pursuit of good and by his actions he saved a great many lives and ended much suffering. He was allowed to leave back to Endor, and when his time came he was placed as a star in the sky to ever give hope to those below. His sons were granted the choice of the Edhellen, to share in the Gift of Men or to remain with the Eldar until the world grows old."

Harry looked then into the dark eyes of Mandos, so deep and immovable. "Then what is your judgement?"

The figure before him was silent for a long time as he pondered Harry's fate. It felt to Harry that it stretched out to an eternity and more as he waited before the utterly impassive visage of the Doomsman of the Valar. In truth he was not sure what he hoped for, he did not even know what the possibilities may be. Harry had lost many over his life, not least his parents and his godfather, the thought of being reunited with them was just as attractive now as it had been after he had gone to Voldemort within the Forbidden Forest.

Yet his heart ached at the thought of abandoning Éowyn to her grief. He knew their companionship was yet new and untested but he could not find it within him to inflict that hurt upon her. She was yet young, and she could find happiness in her life if she but allowed it to find her. The words of Mandos made him fear that she might never give happiness that chance.

"Once already you have been returned to mortal lands from my Halls," spoke Mandos eventually. "This is not something that is done lightly. Only the will of Eru may stay Men from their journey into His realm. Though you came perilously close the chance granted to you was not squandered and for this you may carry with you the gratitude of the Valar."

The powerful voice of the Vala rolled over Harry and he waited for his Doom to be pronounced in silence. There was no hint of what was to come in the tone nor in the expression that sat upon the stern features of Mandos. He continued. "I would have you pass from Eä as is your right. To that end I have for you one last question. Do you have any request of us in this matter?"

Harry was surprised that they would ask him what he wanted, and in truth he was still undecided. In the end he knew that he could not decide his own fate in this, for he had neither the wisdom nor the sight to do so. Instead he asked the one thing he would have if it could be granted.

"For myself I have no request, Lord Mandos," he said quietly. "I would ask only that should I be destined to pass on and be sundered from her then I would have Éowyn remain and find happiness upon Middle-earth in the arms of another."

Mandos surveyed him with his ever inscrutable eyes yet Harry felt a lightness come upon his heart. Vairë was pleased by his answer, it seemed, for good cheer at his words bled into all about her. Again it felt as if an age was compressed into a few seconds as Mandos gazed upon him. The deep and dark eyes turned for a moment to Harry's side to meet the refulgent eyes of the Weaver of Time.

"This is not within the power of the Valar to grant," said Mandos gravely. "We have no power over the hearts of the Children of Ilúvatar for they are His domain alone."

"Yet your request may yet be granted in part," spoke up Vairë at Harry's side. Her impossibly sweet voice so very different from that of Mandos.

"Indeed," said Mandos. He was once again silent and his eyes became distant as if focussed on some far off place or time. Eventually his gaze returned to Harry and he thought he saw the slightest hint of ire in it, though he knew not why.

"The will of Eru is in this clear," he said and his voice remained utterly level and without emotion. Harry felt perhaps he had only imagined the slightest hint of agitation that he'd seen. Surely the Doomsman of the Valar was crafted from a stone stronger and less yielding than the very foundations of the earth.

"Your vessel will be reknit and your spirit returned," he pronounced with uttermost authority. "You will be granted the boon of a life of peace and companionship ere you return again to this place before your final journey into the embrace of Eru."

Harry blinked in surprise for he had been sure he was to be sent into the beyond. It took him a moment to come to himself as he realised that he was going to return from death again.

"You will be welcome upon the shores of Aman," said Vairë, seemingly happy at Mandos' judgement. That happiness spread throughout the room and warmed all those unseen who clustered and met across the near endless floor of the Hall. "When your chosen falls to her own mortality you will find healing here for all the days that remain to your life."

"I… I thank you, Lord Mandos, Lady Vairë. I did not imagine I had earned such a kind fate," said Harry in gratitude.

"Eru does not grant boons to those undeserving," stated Mandos as Harry saw his own body begin to take shape between the hands of the Vala. It seemed as if he pulled light from the room about him and wove it into the gleaming body before him. Harry watched in awe as the threads of light melted together into a single form.

"You are charged to remember always the deaths you caused in your hubris," said Mandos as Harry's new body was nearly complete. "Your power is greater than any other mortal who resides upon Endor and you must always know the destruction you may wield. Even now, though you have lost your greatest tool, you must be wary of the deceit of power."

Harry bowed his head in acceptance for he already knew that he would do as he was bade. He remembered Beregond had a child whom he had met for the briefest time. He would do what he could for all those who had been touched by his folly. It was the very least he would allow of himself.

The new body was now complete before him and the glow of the light used in its construction faded slowly until there was nothing left but his new mortal vessel. Then it too faded from view as it returned to Middle-earth to await his coming.

"You are returned to the place you fell," said Vairë softly. "You would do well to look to the cross-roads of Ithilien when you return for that is where you will find those whom you seek. Do not delay over-long for I fear your chosen will not long remain upon Arda in your absence."

She then reached out to him again and placed her hand upon his forehead. He felt the warmth and light that resided within for a moment then he was somewhere else.

He lay upon black and scorching rocks and the sky was filled with smoke and flashes of lightning. He then sat up and found himself upon the slopes of the mountain he'd fallen into, laying atop the cooling lava flows of Sauron's ruination. In the distance he could see the broken ruins of the Dark Tower further marring the ravaged landscape of Mordor.

Soon though, life would return to the land. The fires of Mount Doom scoured Sauron's black land clean, his crafts and abominations reduced to nothing in the heat of the nether flames. Green things of Nurn would spread throughout Mordor in time and birds, beasts and Men would follow. Never again would it know such destruction for Orodruin now lay quiet and spent amidst the remains of its final undoing.

Harry was without garb or any of the possessions he had taken with him to his end. His wand had burned in the fires of Orodruin along with his body and all the rest and was not to be granted him at his return for no longer would he need it. The last link to his home had been severed in his journey from the fires of Mount Doom to the Halls of Waiting and now he would only reside in Arda.

He had never attempted to Apparate without a wand in his possession before but he was sure the Valar would not have been so cruel as to make him take the slow route to Ithilien while time was of such importance to him.

The image of the cross-roads was fixed within his mind and then Harry stepped and twisted upon his foot. A crack echoed one last time across the slopes of Orodruin as Harry Potter returned to the world for the final time.

Chapter Text

"Now come the days of the King, and may they be blessed while the thrones of the Valar endure!" said Gandalf as he set the White Crown of Gondor atop Aragorn's head.

All the people of Minas Tirith and all the Men of Gondor and Rohan looked on from atop the city walls or the wide fields of the Pelennor in awed silence. For it seemed now that they saw him for the first time and could recognise his Kingly stature. Near as tall as the Kings of Númenor of old with strength and wisdom laid in equal parts upon his brow.

Then Aragorn, the King Elessar came into the City at last and his standard was hung from the highest towers and the stars shone atop the White Tree renewed. His reign would return to Gondor the days of its highest glory. Arnor would be reborn from the ashes of its death at the hands of the Witch King and the Reunited Kingdom would rule all of the West in peace and prosperity.

In time many came to pay their respects to the new King. Among them was one whom he had long awaited, Arwen Undómiel came to the City in the company of her father and she was to be wed at last to her long love. Then a mere Chieftain of Rangers, now King of Gondor and Arnor Reunited and the first of the House of Telcontar.

So too did Harry stay within the city with Éowyn for a time. She had been roused from her deathly slumber in moments by his touch and voice at her side.

Even in his state of complete undress none contested when he appeared in their camp and went straight to her side, knowing with utter certainty where she was to be found. He entered the building where she was being treated and went immediately to her side. He ignored all attempts to keep him from her by those who did not recognise him and grasped her hand in his.

He leaned down and laid a soft kiss upon her forehead and called to her and her eyes fluttered open in an instant. Warmth returned to her body as is kindled by Harry's own and she looked up at him in wonder and with love in her eyes.

"You returned to me?" she murmured in awe, her eyes becoming wet.

Harry smiled his own damp smile. "I said I would not leave you, my Lady." he said.

She reached up and ran her hand over his face as if to assure herself that he was truly there. "I did not believe, I thought you lost to me," she said as a shadow of the loss crossed her face.

"I would never leave you," said Harry as he leaned down again and hugged her gently, mindful of her injuries. "And you will never have to fear for me again, I promise you."

She had taken grievous injury in her contest with Sauron at Mount Doom and with his wand now lost to him her road to full health was much longer than Harry would like.

To his great relief her recovery was entirely without issue or concern. Within a month she was returned to her old strength and vitality. That time they made best use of to spend as much time together as possible.

Often could they both be found walking the City or the fields and woods beyond its walls for in that time they could not be separated from each other. Two months passed between the crowning of King Elessar and his wedding to Arwen and through all that time the Lords of Rohan remained at Minas Tirith.

Éowyn was treated with the most absolute respect, for Sam had told everyone of her defiance of Sauron with but a melted and broken blade in her hand. So too was Harry held in highest esteem for his actions though ever when he was thanked for his effort he would demure and say that it was the work of Sam, Frodo and Éowyn more so than he. He had been saved by them, he said. Frodo had been the one to bear the Ring to it's doom and had withstood it much longer than Harry could. And had it not been for Éowyn's desperate fight then surely he could not have broken free of the hold of Sauron to do what he did.

Shortly before all were to depart to Rohan Harry was approached by the Kings of both realms.

"Harry, your service to Gondor and all the free peoples of Middle-earth is without compare," said Aragorn. "I would see you rewarded for that service."

Harry prepared himself to politely turn down the offer for he felt he had no need of such rewards but Théoden cut in.

"You no longer have the full use of your magic," he stated firmly. "You will be in need of a means of support if in time you wish to ask me for Éowyn's hand in matrimony."

Unexpectedly Harry did not find himself embarrassed at the suggestion. By now he and Éowyn had known each other for many months and he felt he could happily spend the remaining years of his life with her. It would be some time before he intended to marry, of course but it felt to him merely a matter of time.

"What did you have in mind, my Lords?" he asked with a wry smile.

"I would make you Captain of Anórien and grant you land between Minas Tirith and Rohan for you to develop as you would see fit," said Aragorn much to Harry's surprise.

"But my King, Anórien is ruled from Minas Tirith , is it not?" asked Harry in confusion. "It is administered by the Steward."

"Faramir has no want of staying in the City, long has he laboured against Mordor in Ithilien and he says there is no land more fair," said Aragorn. "I will name him the Prince of Ithilien and he will remain my Steward but his lands will be to the East of the river, not West."

"Then surely the command of Anórien will fall to you, my King," said Harry, still reluctant.

"I will be travelling to the Northern part of my Kingdom in the months to come," said Aragorn. "I will see Arnor restored, I will have quite enough to command there and a city to rebuild."

Harry then looked at Théoden for his opinion on the suggestion. "I believe it to be a worthy offer," he said. "I would not deny you the hand of my daughter even if you were to turn it down nor even if I knew she would abide by my wishes." He smiled fondly at the thought of her. "Yet it would soothe my heart to know that she will be kept to a standard befitting her fair stature."

"Have you spoken to her of this?" asked Harry as he attempted to gain some idea of how much choice he yet had.

Théoden smiled again, something he had been doing much of of late. "We did, she told us only that the choice would be your own," he said.

Harry smiled and lowered his head in acceptance. "Then I would accept your offer. Éowyn deserves much more than I can currently give her, this would go some small way to achieving what she is owed."

Both kings smiled to hear that Harry would take their offer. For Harry, though it drove home the thought that he and Éowyn might soon be expected to marry. It was a strange thing for him as he had thought that they would have much time together before such thoughts needed to be considered.

In the end it was decided that they would marry at Meduseld before Aragorn, Gandalf and the Hobbits continued North to Arnor and the Shire. It was Théoden who suggested it to them and both agreed heartily with the suggestion. It was a short betrothal and their courting had not been all that long and yet it seemed the last years of the Third Age were to be filled with marriage and joyous joinings and so Harry had no argument. He remembered the beauty of Meduseld and could think of no better use for it than for it to be the place of his final marriage to his Lady.

It seemed when they travelled North that all the Lords of Gondor came to Rohan with their King. Many brought their families, wives, daughters and sons with them as they came and so it was that a great host of near five thousand descended upon Meduseld.

Great feasts were held in remembrance of the victorious dead and stories were told of the valour of all who fell at the Walls of Minas Tirith and outside the Gates of Morannon. It was not mourning for among the Rohirrim the mourning period was not long. Instead those who died in such heroic and glorious fashion were remembered in deed and in song and all the happy days of their lives were remembered. A celebration of life and valour was the way of the Rohirrim, they did not dwell overlong on the loss for all would one day do to the Halls of their fathers and be again reunited.

Despite the presence of all the lords of the land the wedding of Harry and Éowyn was a much simpler affair than that of Aragorn and Arwen earlier that year, the people of Rohan were less given to such extensive pomp. Yet for Harry it would forever remain one of the very best days of his life. The sight of Éowyn in a magnificent dress and with white flowers laced through her hair of spun gold was breathtaking and in that moment he had never loved her more.

Not only the Lords of Gondor had come to the weddings, indeed so too had the great Lords and Ladies of Elvendom. Among them were Galadriel and and Celeborn, the grandparents of Arwen. Harry had overheard an argument between Éomer and Gimli on who was more fair to look upon; Galadriel or Arwen. He could see the beauty in both yet to him there was none so beautiful as Éowyn as she stood before him in Meduseld clad in gown and flowers of purest white. None in all the world could compare to her and if he was to fight Gimli over it then he would and he would be glad.

They were joined by Aragorn, the King Elessar under the golden boughs of Meduseld and Harry would feel a joy unlike any he had ever known when finally he placed a ring of gold and mithril upon her finger. The ring was a gift from both Legolas and Gimli, the combined crafts of their people brought together in a gift to the one who had ended the power of the greatest of all Rings.

Soon, though, the time came for all to part ways. Harry and Éowyn were to remain at Edoras for a time while a home was build at Cair Andros upon the Anduin. Aragorn was to go North to begin the reconstruction of the Kingdom of Arnor and he would be joined by Gandalf and the Hobbits who would return to the Shire.

Éomer took his leave at that time to follow the Prince of Dol Amroth to Belfalas. He claimed it was to look at their horses and breeding techniques though Éowyn whispered to Harry that Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, had caught her brother's eye. Both were happy for him and in time Éomer too became married and Lothíriel returned to Edoras at his side.

Faramir returned to a quiet life of scholarly pursuit among the green boughs of fair Ithilien. Just a year later another wedding was held, this one between a daughter of Hirluin the Fair of Green Hills and Faramir, Prince of Ithilien.

So the year was passed in happiness and light. Harry kept his promise to those whom he had wronged in his folly with the Ring. He made sure that all the families of those lost at the Battle of Morannon would be welcomed and made at home at Cair Andros. Anórien was a rich and lush part of Gondor, even after large parts had been burned by the fires of Mordor in the war, and it had more than enough to support the few hundred families that Harry asked to join him there.

A town was created upon the island and formed an important trading link between Gondor, Rohan and the freed lands to the East. It became rich upon trade and the lands of Anórien were lush and plentiful in harvest. Even at the end of the Third Age it was one of the most heavily populated parts of Gondor, it soon came to eclipse even Dol Amroth in wealth.

Shortly before two years had passed it was discovered that Éowyn was to have a child and much joy and celebration was to be found at Cair Andros. Not a week after the announcement Gandalf the White came there and presented Harry with his staff.

"Gandalf," Harry said in awe when the Wizard offered his staff to him, "I cannot accept this, this staff is yours and yours alone."

"I have seen all the use of it that I may," said Gandalf firmly, "I am to sail into the West and I would have you take this as a final gift and thanks to you."

Harry nodded and when he grasped the staff he felt a warm fire spread through him such as he had not felt in years. He had made do without his wand, able to perform simple magics and Apparition in its absence. The staff was greatly different to his wand yet over the years he came to appreciate its power. It could not form the same detailed spells he had used with his wand yet he was still able to bring about many of the effects he wished for.

When Gandalf left from Cair Andros after his short visit he went then to the Grey Havens upon the Gulf of Lune and there, alongside Elrond, Galadriel and Frodo and Bilbo Baggins sailed at last to the West. His task finally complete within Middle-earth he would return to his old life amid the gardens of Irmo in Valinor after an absence of an age of the world.

With the staff of Gandalf Harry was able to form protections about Cair Andros and raised towers higher than any seen since the days of Gondolin in the distant first age. The city and keep of Cair Andros became a bastion to compete even with the White City and with Harry and his family residing within none would ever assault it openly throughout its long history.

The rule of King Elessar was one of peace and prosperity. No great battles came and never did Harry or Éowyn have to ride forth from their home at Cair Andros in wrath. Soon the first child was born, a boy with his father's black hair, to be called Fastred by Éowyn. His eyes took on the appearance of both his mother and his father and were the pale green of the pools of Cair Andros. His joyous laughter brought smiles to all parts of Anórien and so he came to be called Merlîn by the people of Gondor. Pools of Joy, in the tongue of the elves.

Before another five years passed another child was born to Harry and Éowyn, a daughter who somehow claimed the beautiful dark red hair of her grand-mother yet it shone like her mother's. Though many considered it a strange choice Harry named her Lily after the one from whom she took much of her looks and she was the apple of his eye. For her hair she was named Iavasriel, maiden crowned in autumn, in Gondor and in time would come to be regarded in Gondor as a beauty beyond any other.

As the children grew up Harry discovered that both had some ability with magic and so he took to training them in what he could of his craft. He had not the ability nor resources to create wands for them so the learning was limited but Gandalf's white staff would one day come to be the heirloom of his house. His son, Fastred Merlîn would in time come to master the staff like none before and his works and deeds would pass into legend that would be remembered even beyond the edge of night. His teachings and writings would be recovered in later ages and those who still held the blood of Gledfréa would look to them as their greatest treasures.

Not only did his line bear the mark of magic, but also of Éowyn, the shield-maiden of Rohan. All learned to ride in their earliest years in the tradition of the Rohirrim and even the girls were instructed in the art of the blade for though the peace was to be one longer than any previously known Éowyn would not have any of her children unable to defend those they loved. In the wars in the far future ever would the line of Gledfréa stand steadfast against the darkness and beside their family. None would ever balk from their duty.

When Fastred was just 9 years old Théoden, now known as 'The Old', passed on finally into the embrace of his ancestors and was succeeded by the man whom all knew to be his son in truth. Éomer ascended to the Kingship of Rohan later that year and the peace of Rohan continued for all his life and through the life of his son, Elfwine the Fair.

In the 31st year of the Fourth Age another great wedding was held, this one between Eldarion the firstborn son of King Elessar and Lily Iavasriel the daughter of Harry Gledfréa. Once again all the Lords of the lands came to Minas Tirith to see them wed, even the Lords of the North, the old Kingdom of Arnor came and it was a grander affair than had ever been seen before or would ever be seen after.

Thereafter every now and then a daughter would be born to the royal house bearing the hair of Lily Iavasriel and ever would they be beautiful and pursued by all the young Lords' sons for their wit and beauty combined. So too was the power of magic passed into the House of Telcontar and the secret of its practice passed down through the line, not to wane until it finally the line became lost after years uncounted.

For seventy years Harry and Éowyn lived happily at their home in Cair Andros, occasionally venturing forth to wander through beautiful or distant lands together. Finally, though, the weight of years began to catch up with them. Éowyn felt their influence more than Harry whose lifespan was extended almost to the length of the dúnedain. Éowyn became bowed and old as the years continued to fall upon them both yet she lost none of her beauty in Harry's eyes.

No longer was she crowned in gold, but in shimmering silver. No longer was the light of the sun in her hair, but the light of the moon. She entered the evening of her life but still Harry would never love her less. His own hurt was the thought of her loss when finally age became too much to bear.

In time though she passed on and Harry was left without her for the first time in decades. By now Cair Andros was populated with three generations of his family with a fourth on the way and he was no lonely but he longed to see Éowyn again and his heart wept at her lack.

He stayed in Cair Andros another five years before, in the the 73rd year of the Fourth Age he granted to his son his staff, said his goodbyes to his family and went travelling.

What happened after that is debated among the scholars. When he left he was no longer a young man in appearance yet he still had the vitality of youth such as was granted to the noble men of Westernesse. Some say he still walks the lands of Middle-earth, alone and lonely, aged and bent, ever searching for a way to rejoin his beloved in death.

Others say he travelled to the North and to the last Elf Havens at Lindon and from there boarded a ship into the Undying West.

Yet sail to the West he did and there he lived out the last his extended days in the Gardens of Lórien until finally he passed on into the embrace of Eru and the waiting arms of his beloved Éowyn. When finally he passed into the arms of Eru he found all his family long lost waiting him with joy upon their faces and love in their hearts.

His sons and daughters all shared in his extended lifespan and most of his line shared also in the gift of magic. Over long years his blood did become thinner in their veins and yet still their lives did not wane line those of Númenor and they continued to live to great ages even as the world fell to age and disrepair and the valour of the far off history was forgotten to all but song.

The family of Gledfréa remained upon the island of Cair Andros until the very breaking of the world and never was his line broken or did it ever fall into strife. When the fifth age of the world came at last only one story of the third and fourth ages would be remembered.

Merlin.