A/N: I really don't see how anyone can miss Anne Hathway running around as a prostitute singing about the hell she's living.
Not-Gonna-Login: I don't like you.
"So, we trudge up a mountain, go to some unknown territory, not knowing if we'll come back in one piece."
"If that is what the Tribal Master requires of us, I suppose we ought to do as he says, isn't it?"
"And you aren't even afraid of being charred by these 'Masters'."
"I'm a twelve year old boy with the fear of nightmares. Do you think I'm not?"
"You're a hundred and twelve, to be precise," corrected Harry, having heard from Toph's mockery about Aang being quite nimble for his age.
"I spent a century in a block of ice, when you had yet to be born!" If looks could kill, Harry would be dead.
"Fine! Just concentrate on keeping your flame burning while I bother about my ancestry!"
"You don't have to believe the stuff the Tribal Master said, Zuko. You know, your ancestors weren't all that bad…other than Sozin or Azulon, or Ozai, or – I should shut my mouth, shouldn't I?"
"You have no idea how much of help you'll be by doing that."
They made their way over the edge of the hill, and found the whole congregation of the Sun Warriors lined in a semicircle on the plateau.
"Alright, how in Neville's knickerbockers did they get here? Is there some sort of elevator that we could've taken? If so I am going to declare war on this tribe," said Harry in a fierce whisper.
"Surely you won't want another war just after this one ends," joked Aang, somewhat light-heartedly. "And what is an elevator? You seem to be coming up with new terms everyday, Zuko." He smiled, unaware that Harry was on the verge of laughter. But the young wizard couldn't risk his offending the Avatar – who knew what the kid could do?
Together they made their way to the ring of Sun Warriors, and from there they were pointed up a stairway, one as tall as the turrets of Hogwarts.
"Oh no, there is no way I'm – "
The next thing he knew, he was standing at the top of that terribly long staircase, bending over and panting, while struggling to keep his flame going.
Then there was a roar, one that sent dread running down Harry's back. He knew that roar; he'd heard it too many a time in the First Task…
Dragons.
"Holy Deceased Dumbledore's Unborn Son of a Horcrux Slaying Acid Pop-loving Wizard…" Harry wanted to bolt down the stairs. He couldn't face another dragon. Not after that terrible Gringotts breakout and the Hungarian Horntail.
However, Aang beat him to freaking out.
"Zuko! My fire went out!" The boy's face was full of fear and desperation.
Harry felt nothing but helpless. "Well, what do you want me to do?"
"Give me some of yours!"
"No! Just make your own!" Even as Harry said it, he knew Aang couldn't make his own fire. That fire had been from the First Flame.
The Avatar leapt upon him, struggling for a grab at his fire.
"Stop cheating on me!" Oh snap, what would Ginny think of that?
Alas, in their desperate struggle, Harry let go of the fire.
A rumble sounded throughout the area. A blast of wind hit their faces, and the next thing they saw a red and blue blur of twisting and turning.
The Liondragon and the Swedish Short-Snout.
Oh poop.
Darkness had been his only companion on his rough journey to Cirith Ungol – the orcs had casually bumped him against boulders and rocks as if his bones were as tough as a sky bison's; which was totally not the case. Of course, there'd been a lot of orc saliva dripping on his face, but that was the last thing Zuko ever wanted to remember. What did they eat?
He found his answer as they carried him into the dark building of Cirith Ungol.
It must've been hundred of orcs, either growling at each other, fighting for food or beating each other with weapons that Zuko had no wish to come into contact with. They all turned as his body was brought in within the gates, but gave him no second glance, much to his relief, all snorting and continuing clubbing each other.
They dragged him up the stairs, and Zuko was amazed that his skull was still intact once they reached the top and plunked him a bench.
He felt the web coming off, and then his clothes. Well, there went his wish for Mai to be the first to strip him.
They took off his shirt, then his singlet he believed to be made of some sort of gem. He didn't feel his pants coming off – thank goodness, he felt no need to feel the breeze.
It was only long after they'd tied him up did a warm sensation seemed to spread across his body, and he felt his eyelids fluttering. He could move. Finally!
He'd been about to stretch his sore, aching legs when a growl reminded him that he was in enemy territory. Dammit.
"Hands off!" barked the rough voice of an orc. "That shiny shirt…that's mine."
"It's going to the Great Eye," snapped another, this one slightly higher pitched. "Along with everything else."
Everything else. Instinctively Zuko grappled for the Ring.
The Ring, that wasn't there.
For the first time, he was free of that cumbersome piece of gold, free of that burden.
Yet, for the first time, he wanted it back.
Oh snap, he was balancing on the edge of bipolarity.
He needed the Ring back. He couldn't let it fall into the hands of the Dark Lord.
"Master Frodo, do tell me when you're done with your business, for your forehead is about to get as red as a blood-flavored lollipop."
"Many thanks to someone!" Frodo whipped around, his voice nearly lowering into a growl.
"Your welcome, Mr Baggins, so now that you've got a near apple on your head, come sit."
Only when Frodo had calmed down did he notice that a desk had appeared out of nowhere, and that Dumbledore was now seated in an armchair, twirling his extraordinary long hair.
Frodo sat hesitantly, eyeing the professor warily.
"So…where exactly is Gandalf now?"
"Gandalf the Grey no longer exists. He has disappeared from all heavens."
"So he's really dead?"
"If you're talking about Gandalf the Grey, yes. If you're talking about Gandalf the White, no."
"Is that the same person?
"The White Wizard is a more powerful doppelganger of the Grey. A reincarnation of Gandalf."
"But he is still the same."
"Still the same riddle-loving song-singing Istari. Just in a different body with white hair, white robes, white boots and a white staff."
"So Gandalf is alive?"
"You really must be more specific, Frodo, Grey or White? For Grey is dead, White is reborn."
"Gandalf the White then," said Frodo, the words new on his tongue. "He is in Middle-earth?"
Dumbledore did not reply, but his hand seemed to hover above the glass orb at the edge of the desk, and muttering something unintelligible, he began to caress the orb, as if it were as fragile as an egg.
The glass seemed to glow for a moment, a myriad of colors washing over the surface, whilst inside mist began to churn and swirl. Frodo stared wide-eyed, mesmerized by the beauty it now possessed.
"Come Frodo, look into it." Dumbledore now held out the orb to the hobbit. Frodo looked up uncertainly.
"What will I see?" he breathed.
"You know I'm not like that long-haired elvenlady Galadriel," said Dumbledore, though Frodo begged to differ. "I'm not going to tell you riddles about what you will see. Just take the damn thing."
Frodo took it upon his hands, and when he looked into it…
All it's beauty was gone.