A/N: So i just came back from LONDON! Woohoo!
Nah, who am i kidding i was stuck in Scotland. Anyways, R&R, that's all i ask of you (hahaha...darn that reference :/ if you know where that's from...).
"And they were zipping past us, circling in the most graceful way any capable. The long bodies seemed boneless as they flew, twisting and turning. I quite enjoyed it. Zuko seemed stricken with panic," the young Avatar laughed as he told the story, and Harry flushed crimson red. He wasn't exactly proud of mistaking two gentle giants for the ferocious dragons in his own world.
"Well, never seen the Fire Prince trembling in fear," scoffed Katara. "I would've given a million bucks to see that."
"Yea…" Sokka's agreement sounded somewhat haft-hearted, like he'd rather be someplace else.
"Hey, how do you confront a pair of dragons – a pair, mind you, not only one – and not be afraid of being roasted like chicken? Well anyways, we figured they wanted us to dance. And we did."
"You what?!" Toph nearly toppled back in laughter.
"Danced," repeated Harry. Aang looked askance at him.
"Why do you say that with such pride?"
"For…for personal reasons." Harry thought back of the days of the Yule Ball, when Parvati had been dragging him across the dance floor until he wasn't sure which was his left or right. He was over the moon when he'd been able to dance without any lead.
He detached himself from the group as Aang continued their tale in the Temple of the Sun Warriors, on the excuse of making tea – which he could, after paying attention during Herbology on Plants and Their Uses. In the background, he could hear Aang's voice going on about the Dragons, how they opened their massive jaws and blasted flames at them. Harry still could not forget the heart attack he got, having real hot flames bursting in his face, and being surprised later that he weren't a charred pile of ash, and instead surrounded by the circling fires, feeling the warmth and life against his skin.
"…it was exhilarating, like being enveloped by a rainbow! It was a myriad of colors, showing us…that the true use of fire is life, not destruction." There was silence as Aang said this in utter amazement, but out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw that Sokka paid no attention to the young boy's awe.
"You know, I'm surprised Zuko didn't get his balls charred," retorted Katara. "With all his ancestry…"
My ancestry includes a guy who kept his balls safe from Death, thought Harry irritably to himself, and went over to deliver his tea to the group. Sokka didn't even look up, his eyes trained on the floor, until Harry went over to offer him some tea. He looked up, throwing his face into light for the first time, and Harry could see trouble riddled amongst the dark youthful features of the young soldier.
"Hey, Zuko, can I…um, talk to you for a second?"
"Sure," Harry replied, though rather uncertain. Sokka stood, leading the following Harry past Appa, who stirred slightly.
"So…what's up?"
"If…if someone was captured by the Fire Nation, where would they be taken?"
"What'd you mean?" Panic began to rise within Harry. "Who got taken?"
"When the invasion plan failed, some of our troops were taken. I just want to know where they might be."
"I can't tell you." He couldn't. He really didn't know the answer.
"What? Why not?"
"Knowing will only make you feel worse," Harry replied, hoping to buy his time. Come on, conscience…where are you when I need your stupidly annoying voice in my head? He turned to head back to the camp, but Sokka's firm grip on the shoulder stopped him.
"It's my dad. He was captured too. I need to know what I put him through."
"It's not good Sokka." He felt something of a headache, a tingling in his brain. Was that the heralding of the arrival of…?
"Please." Please…Harry echoed in his mind, help Sokka find his dad.
Then it spoke. And Harry didn't like the sound of the name he was given. But he had to.
"My guess is they were taken to the Boiling Rock."
If Zuko had been looking for a way to start a war as easy as a push of a button, he found it: putting two orcs together in one room.
They fought hard. He could hear the grunts and the rage that the two orcs possessed. Then there was a roar of anger, as he heard an orc being pushed down the stairs. The next thing he heard was the clash of weapons down in the dining area, the terrifying screams as the fight wore on. Armor clashed against armor, sword against sword, helmet again helmet, and the riot downstairs grew, until Zuko could see the fight from the tower window he faced. The fight had spread to the courtyard somehow, orcs throwing themselves at each other, snarling and ripping at each other's throats. Now he knew why Frodo was so fearful of orcs.
One by one bodies began to fall, bloodied bodies beginning to pile up in the war of the courtyard. Soon, the snarls ceased to continue, grim quietness falling over the courtyard, silent as the tomb. The eerie darkness enveloped Cirith Ungol, and soon Zuko began to feel a shiver of dread creeping up his spine, followed by a sudden urge to retch at the sight of the strewn carcasses.
He had to get out of here, before he lost his lunch – if Frodo even had lunch before this. Desperately, he tugged at the bonds that held his hands, trying to slip from the strong rope, but no avail.
"Stop your squealing, you dunghill rat!" came a growl. Zuko flipped over on his side, only to come face to face with an orc – a quite alive one, as a matter of fact. "I'm gonna bleed you like a stuck pig."
Shit. Zuko's eyes widened at the sight of the black blade that would soon be piercing through his now pounding heart. He hadn't hoped his end would be like this. What would happen to him if were to die now? Would he die in Frodo's body, and never get to see his darling Mai again? That would really suck – he'd been hoping to generate more 'electricity' with Mai.
Luckily, he didn't find out, for just as his death strike was to be made, the orc jerked, and the blade dropped to the floor with a clang as a blue glowing blade protruded from the chest.
Then came the voice he'd never thought he'd hear again.
"Not if I stick you first."
The colors faded. The orb was now painted with a dark picture of Gondor, it's usually stunning scenery now clouded with billowing black smoke. The majestic feeling Minas Tirith usually possessed was now gone, filled with lost hope and lost lives. It was a dreadful scene, with carcasses strewn across the barren plain, friend or foe. Frodo had no access to the senses, but at the sight of the death-filled field he could literally smell the reeking souls of the dead. Many thousands of souls, lost to the earth by a single battle begun by a single piece of accursed gold.
"This isn't real," Frodo whispered, fear clinging to his voice. "Tell me this isn't true, Gandalf."
"For the thousandth time, it's Albus Percival Wul – "
"Shut up old man. I'm trying to convince myself this ain't true." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows at the hobbit's sudden crankiness, but made no comment on it.
"But it is, no matter how much you wish for it not to be," replied Dumbledore. "Gondor is now the death place of many. Death shall always linger in the shadow of Minas Tirith."
"But Gandalf and the rest of the Fellowship, they still live?"
"Patience, my young hobbit, now just look into that giant ball in your hands."
"You had to put it that way," muttered Frodo, and looked into the orb once again.
This time he saw a line of soldiers marching from the gates of Minas Tirith, about a thousand. All rode their mounts with weary doggedness, but on their faces remained the passion to fight. And leading them, his head held high and armor shining, was Aragorn. Beside him, the rest of the Fellowship came. Merry and Pippin trying not to expose their fear, especially with the thousands of orcs behind those Black Gates; Gimli with sheer determination on his stout, bearded face; Legolas, his silky blonde hair billowing behind him.
And Gandalf, with the magnificent white robes he adorned, holding his staff high and proud.
They came to the Gates, Aragorn calling the army to a stop before continuing on with the Fellowship, stopping just at the edge of the Gates.
A figure emerged as the Gates opened. For a terrifying moment Frodo thought it was a Black Rider, upon seeing the black steed it rode and the large amount of black it wore. But then he saw it was not one of the Nazgul, noticing the horrible ghastly mouth it had. Frodo could not see it's eyes, covered by the silver spiked helmet, and he began to wonder how the creature was not falling off the horse.
The creature began to talk, every movement of the mouth and the exposure of the yellowed teeth sending a sense of discomfort through Frodo's body.
Gandalf spoke to the inhuman being for a moment, his face harsh and set. The creature merely sneered, taking out a piece of white cloth.
Except, it wasn't ordinary cloth; it was mithril.
And that was his mithril chainmail.
Frodo choked back a sob. "Oh, Zuko, you ass, what did you do?"
