AN: Alright, this chapter is long in coming, and I won't apologize for that because there was been enough apologizing. Heavily ill family and a time-consuming occupation have been my focus IRL. Since I have a few days completely free from any work, I plan on updating all my 'active' stories. Truthfully, I've let it pile up, so hopefully I can play catch-up and return to a less boggled schedule.
"You can tell us nothing else?" asked Gandalf, looking less than pleased. He wasn't the only one. The entire Company — minus the obvious two — was gathered about Harry. They'd just been woken up by the White Wizard and seemed overly concerned in Harry's opinion.
"I've told you already, Gandlaf, there's nothing else to tell." Harry rubbed a hand over her face. "He was creepy and horrid and smelled like sulphur, and I've had enough of experiencing a Dark Lord's feelings to last me several lifetimes. Can I go wash my face or something? I feel . . . disgusting."
Gandalf muttered something in his gruff voice that sounded like, "Beg your pardon," and sent Harry a look from beneath his enormous brows. "Off you go, my girl."
"Thanks."
Harry walked out of the room and into the corridor. She roped a passing soldier into telling her where the scullery was and when she got there she had to wait until the cook finished making breakfast for the king before she could pore herself some water. All the pails were being used so Harry transfigured her hat into one. Then she wandered outside where it would be safe to get wet and washed.
It was only after she ran out of water that she remembered she could have conjured her own, but that reminder only served to make her even more irritated.
"Stupid Eye," she murmured under her breath, transfiguring the pail back into her hat and giving it a sharp shake to straighten it out. What really irritated her was that she didn't know why she was so irritated in the first place.
"Maybe it's because that tosser won?" Harry hadn't even tried to put up a resistance, she'd merely stood there and let herself be . . . what, talked to? Put like that it sounded stupid. It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. Aragorn and Pippin spoke to the Eye too, and they weren't acting like a bunch of . . . Harry twirled on the spot furiously and stalked back into the hall.
It was not because of the pain she'd felt; the Cruciatus Curse had been far more agonizing, and would linger about the limbs for hours after it was lifted. More likely it was because — yet again — she'd let a Dark Lord enter her mind.
All those hours of practising Occlumency with Snape (admittedly under duress), even letting Voldemort trick her, even letting Voldemort briefly possess her body at the Department of Mysteries; all that learning had gone down the drain. Half a year wasted that could have been better spent learning something more productive — like healing spells. Harry was beginning to wonder if she would ever become an Occlumens. It seemed such a hopeless endeavour now that she looked back on it that she thought she ought to just give up learning how to clear her mind.
It infuriated her that she was reduced to thinking like this. She didn't normally pity or doubt herself —not to this extent — and she wondered now if this was what Sauron had reduced Aragorn and Pippin to think; if this was what Sauron specialized in. Being a Dark Lord, she supposed it would be part of his job, not accounting killing.
Thinking this made Harry feel better.
After calming her wrath into exasperation, she went to visit Shadowfax in the stables. The white horse nudged her on the shoulder affectionately when she offered him some sugar cubes she had conjured. She wished she could change into an animal already. She bet she wouldn't have half as many problems as an animal. But she couldn't even not think about thinking!
"What's it like being a horse, then?"
Harry became unnerved when Shadowfax sent her a distinctly Gandalf-like look. Creepy horse.
All right, so she had to practice not thinking. The hand stroking Shadowfax's long silky main slowed without her being aware. Gandalf had already told her, "Why, I sleep, of course," but she hadn't gotten anywhere down that train of thought. Really, sleeping didn't do anything to stop her from thinking; she dreamed quite vividly and those dreams were a result of thinking while asleep.
For some reason, Harry's mind travelled back to the pain she'd felt earlier when talking to Sauron. What a stupid thing to think of. As if pain could help . . . Harry paused, mind stalling. But didn't it, though? Harry hadn't thought of anything while she'd been under Sauron's curse. Sauron's mind curse, as Gandalf had explained.
Her heart sped a little. Was it possible?In the physical sense, it wouldn't hurt her to try.
Harry sat back down in the corner of the stall (much to Shadowfax's displeasure — the horse had been nosing her curiously for more sugar cubes), closed her eyes, and concentrated.
'What business brings you here, Istar?'
'Certainly none of yours,'Harry had told the eye, and that was the last thing she had thought before pain overwhelmed her.
Harry concentrated hard on that pain. She wrapped it in metaphysical hands and yanked it to herself. She remembered how it had felt, jabbing into her head, invading her mind, throbbing through her . . .
"Harry!"
Harry blinked and opened her eyes. Crouching before her, wide-eyed and concerned, was Aragorn. It appeared that he had been trying to get Harry's attention for the last few minutes. Judging by the stinging of her cheeks, he even resorted to trying to slap and shake her awake.
"You've almost missed breakfast. You were gone for over two hours," Aragorn explained as they walked out of the stables.
Harry stopped flat and blinked in surprise.
"Surely you're not serious?"
It had worked far better than Harry could have hoped it would! But surely that wasn't possible? Surely magic didn't work like that? Surely you couldn't just wave a wand and . . . oh. Right. But still, it seems too easy almost, especially as she'd had been having trouble with it for so long.
Aragorn and Harry made their way into the great hall, Harry's still flummoxed.
Just as they were about to step foot through the doors, a shriek sounded about their heads. A faint shriek, stolen by the wind. A familiar shriek.
Aragorn and Harry looked up, Harry's heart thumping. It had to be, it had to be . . . "Hedwig!"
And there was her beautiful owl, wings beating furiously against the high wind, no more than several dozen metres away. Harry cursed the Golden Hall for being situation on a high outcropping and in the middle of bloody nowhere. Hedwig was struggling against the force of the alternating wind pressure, but looking determined. Heads swivelled up as she gave another joyful cry and flew over Meduseld, descending, and — too tired to even try to perch herself on Harry's shoulder — struck Harry ungracefully in the chest. Harry's arms immediately enfolded Hedwig so that she wouldn't flop on the ground.
"Hedwig," Harry whispered, the absurd lump in her throat finally subsiding.
Hedwig gave a weary hoot and lifted her leg. There was parchment clutched in her talons and Aragorn immediately pried it out and unrolled it. By now the rest of the Fellowship had congregated by the doors and were looking on anxiously. There was now a known possibility that something was wrong with Frodo and Sam.
"What does it say?" Gandalf demanded, situating himself between Harry and Aragorn, his staff almost smacking Harry in the head.
She frowned and batted the staff away. "Let's all just go inside; I have to take care of Hedwig."
This suggestion was approved by all, except an impatient looking Gandalf, and only once they were seated about the king's long breakfast table did Aragorn read the letter. The hobbits seemed to be healthy by their account, if not a little despondent, but that was only to be expected.
". . . And down the bottom, written in what looks to be mud if I am not mistaken —" Gandalf peered closely and nodded "— it says: 'Near Minas Morgul now, according to Gollum. Lost pack. Please send more food.'"
"Is that bad?" asked Merry, looking back and forth between Gandalf and Aragorn.
Gandalf snapped. "Are you deaf of hearing, Merry, of course it is bad! They have no food or water."
Merry flushed in embarrassment. "Only I meant if it was bad that they were near Minas Morgul now." He looked very small and hunched over.
Gandalf sighed, obviously apologetic. "Forgive me, Merry. It is this whole business today of which I am still weary. Nonetheless Frodo and Sam seem healthy, if hungry, and we shall immediately send Hedwig back to them —"
"Oh, no, we won't!" protested Harry, looking up from feeding Hedwig. The owl was in her lap, resting her feathered head against one of Harry's forearms. "Not right now we won't! She's tired, and hungry, and just flew who knows how many bloody miles— leagues, whatever!"
They all stared at her. Gandalf looked on with a sort of understanding frown.
"I'm worried about Sam and Frodo, of course," Harry said, "but I won't sacrifice Hedwig. If I send her out now she'll fall from the sky out of exhaustion and then what will Sam and Frodo have?"
There were mutterings of "quite right", "the lass speaks true", and "beg your pardon", the latter by an apologetic Gandalf.
"I thought too quickly and spoke too hastily," he said now, patting Harry on the shoulder in a grandfatherly way. "We shall wait until Hedwig rests before sending her back, of course."
Harry nodded, grateful that they understood.
The conversation then changed to what had happened early that morning, which Harry mostly tuned out of, preferring instead to take care of Hedwig. She was strong enough now to perch on Harry's shoulder, and lovingly bumped her head against Harry's when Harry gave her some owl treats.
"But at this time we have been strangely fortunate," said Gandalf, taking a sip of water. "I have been saved by Pippin from a grave blunder. Many times had I considered whether or not to probe the Stone myself to find its uses. Had I done so, I would have been revealed to Sauron. That would be . . . not good, to put it lightly. Alas that he has seen the Black Wizard!"
Harry's head shot up. Gandalf was staring at her. So was everyone.
"Harry told me nothing untoward occurred, except for the enemy appearing overly happy at finding her. This does not bode well, I think, and I am not sure what it means. He may perhaps want to capture Harry for some nefarious purpose; use her and her magic against us. He thinks we are still in Orthanc, and that is one good thing. For the moment all we can do is change our plan." He shrugged a little, turning to the king. "As I said we have been strangely fortunate with Pippin's blunder. We know now the enemy's plans and can move against him accordingly."
Thèodan stared in silence, hand stroking his beard.
Gandalf sighed irritably. "Sauron moves to strike the city of Minas Tirith. If the beacons of Gondor a lit, Rohan must be ready for war!"
At last, and after an awkward silence, the king spoke. "Tell me. Why should we ride to the aid of those who do not come to ours?" He looked at Boromir particularly pensively as he said this. Boromir clenched his fists but said nothing. "What do we owe Gondor?"
"I will go," said Aragorn and Boromir together.
"No, Aragorn," said Gandalf hurriedly, then whispered something in the man's ear.
The rest of breakfast was a sullen business for all except Hedwig, who was tucking into a dead mouse that Harry had conjured for her with great relish. Tthere was many a pinched nose about the table at the sight. Indeed breakfast probably would have been entirely missed if it weren't for Gandalf announcing his, Boromir's, and Pippin's leaving and — after a moment's thought — Harry's.
"Why you ought to argue with me I have no idea," Gandalf was saying impatiently to Harry's questions a little later while loading up a couple of saddle-bags onto Shadowfax. "You shall be of much more use in my company than the king's, and not to mention your studies, neglected presently I am sure, and which none but I may help you with."
"I never said that, Gandalf!" Harry said back, getting angry in turn; partly because of the studies remark (which wasn't true, but then Gandalf didn't know that yet), but mostly because Gandalf was way out of line. The wizard seemed more short-tempered than usual this morning, which Harry could only take to mean that he was still agitated over what had happened with the palantir and Pippin. Not to mention all that came after. "I just asked why exactly I have to go with you, although now that you've told me in precise detail . . ." Harry trailed off, letting sarcasm enter her voice.
Gandalf sent her a side-long long, which was not entirely missed by the others who were hovering in nearby stalls, and threw a light blanket over Shadowfax's back. "Indeed, Harry. Have you packed?"
"Everything's in my pocket," Harry sighed.
"I shall fetch your horse," Aragorn volunteered. Harry sent him a grateful look; she did not yet know how to saddle one.
Meanwhile, in one of the stalls, Pippin and Merry were arguing in low voices; which was to say, not very low.
"Don't you understand? The enemy thinks you have the ring. He's going to be looking for you, Pip. They have to get you out of here."
"But then why are Harry and Boromir coming?" questioned Pippin.
"I expect Harry for the same reason as you," said Merry, sounding annoyed. "And that is your fault too, you know. If you hadn't looked . . . why do you always have to look?"
"I do not know," said Pippin sullenly.
Merry tutted. "Well, I should think Boromir is going because that is his home. As luck would have it you had nothing to do with that . . . although, what with all your messes, I'm beginning to wonder."
"Yes, but I am not going now," Boromir injected, to the surprise of everyone. He had always expressed a desire to go back to Minas Tirith, even as far back as Rivendell.
Gandalf paused in his packing. "You do not wish to go, Boromir?"
"I find myself contended with Harry going in my stead. I shall be of more use here as a representative of Gondor, especially with King Théoden and his misgivings barring our way. And it is not as though we shall not meet up with you later. The black ships call upon the wide river."
Harry blinked.
"I feel my city much safer with two wizards in it," Boromir smiled, again shocking both Harry and Gandalf. "If Lord Denethor ought protest to my lack of presence, tell him I shall be along shortly, which is the truth besides."
"Your father . . ." Gandalf began, then changed his mind. "As you will," he said.
Nothing more was said on the matter.
Harry slung a leg over her war horse (managing to do it herself this time but only because she'd climbed on a stall beforehand), plucked Hedwig gently off of her shoulder and bundled the bird in her lap. Hedwig was still too exhausted to go long-distance flying yet. Harry would send her away a day from now when Gandalf wrote the letter. In the meantime she would be riding with Harry on the horse.
Harry hoped Hedwig liked horses.
Judging by the haughty glare Hedwig was throwing at the steed's back, probably not. Harry had nearly forgotten how jealous and territorial Hedwig became if Harry were to pet other owls or animals. Likely she thought Harry had gotten a new pet. The horse wasn't really hers, though, Harry was just borrowing him until she transported herself back to Earth and got another broom.
Speaking of which, she would have to do that soon, preferably when they arrived at Minas Tirith.
"Of all the inquisitive hobbits, Peregrin Took, you are the worst!" Gandalf hoisted Pippin onto Shadowfax; awkwardly, it would seem, as the hobbit let out a very small yelp. The wizard sat in place behind him.
Legolas walked up to Harry's horse, whispered something into his ear, then smiled up at Harry. "May Elbereth protect you, Harry." His voice rose, full of feeling. "May Elbereth watch over all of you!"
"Thank you, Legolas," said Gandalf. "I am certain we shall need it," which was, perhaps, not the most rousing statement he could have made in the circumstances. Especially not with an already terrified hobbit in earshot.
"Gandalf, how long until we reach Minas Tirith?" asked Pippin.
"Three days as the Nazgul flies. And you better hope we don't have one of those on our tails!"
A few more farewells, a sulky parting with Eowyn ("Without you here, they would let me do anything!" "Well then, do try to stop being useless and maybe they'll change their minds."), and several gifts later, they were off, cantering out of the stables, down the slope of Meduseld and out the front gate. A sharp jolt overcame Harry then, as she realized that she may never see her friends again after this. A cheerful start to a perilous journey, she thought sardonically, and tightened an arm about Hedwig.
They made camp by the River Isen very early the next morning, the horses exhausted, Harry's even more so. Shadowfax stood grazing pleasantly in the moonlight, his flickering tail glowing molten silver. An elf horse, was Harry's brief, fanciful thought before she shook her head. Shadowfax was special, there was no doubt about it, but he was no elf.
A couple of feet away Gandalf and Pippin were engaging in a low and intense conversation — or what could be termed an intense conversation between one very wise wizard and one senseless hobbit.
Harry herself now stood, stroking Hedwig gently down her wing. She ambled off a few metres into the dark to give them some privacy. Hedwig was well fed and rested now, having slept in Harry's lap for the better part of the day, but she was loath to see her owl go.
"Hey girl, you're going to have to go back to Frodo and Sam, alright? They need you more than I do at the moment."
Hedwig hooted sadly and nipped Harry on the nose.
Harry reached into her robe pocket and pulled out the short sack which was filled with months' worth of food and drink, and tied it to Hedwig's leg. There was also a note in it, but Harry couldn't read it. "Make sure you don't lose that."
Hedwig glared at Harry, and if the parting nip on her ear was a little sharp, Harry didn't hold it against the bird. She watched Hedwig flap gracefully into the night, moonlight glinting off of her snowy feathers until they seemed made of gossamer.
Elf owl, thought Harry, and she smiled to herself.
The interior of her tent and her bed in particular looked more than welcoming. Harry sat on it, moving aside the Horn of Gondor — a parting gift from Boromir that Harry was to give to Lord Denethor — as she dug through her knapsack and found her textbook. It wouldn't hurt to read a little. She had already told Gandalf of her achievement, and the wizard, after congratulating her, had immediately pushed Harry to more study. Harry had moved on from not thinking to concentrating, and from concentrating to thinking about her animagus form.
Moments later an irritated grunt drew her attention from a brief passage about animal instincts.
" . . . know, Peregrin Took. It is of no use apologizing, I have heard enough off it to realize you do not know what you say, and therefore do not mean it! Go! Be gone with you, I have no more patience this morn."
Hurt, shocked, Pippin sighed unhappily and retreated to the bed he had chosen for himself where he curled up under his blanket looking very small and morose. Harry wanted to go over to comfort the poor dear, but quickly pretended to be reading her book when Gandalf looked sharply at her, as though Harry had been entertaining notions of recalcitrance as well.
They left a few hours later, at day break, the dawning light bright and beautiful in the clear sky.
Harry had no earthly clue just where they were, and was a bit hesitant about asking Gandalf. The Wizard still hadn't gotten over his crabbiness. Just that morning he had snapped at Pippin for dropping a twig too loudly. It was ridiculous! When the Grumpy Gus was not paying especial attention to them, Harry discreetly ushered Pippin out of Gandalf's immediate line of sight, taking care to have him at her side with her most of the journey, even having him ride with her.
The next few days past in uneasy accord. Something large and winged flapped over their heads one night, luckily after they'd extinguished the fire, and Gandalf hurriedly shushed them. "We ought not make any noise now. Be as quiet as possible."
"Was that a Nazgul, Gandalf?" Pippin asked, terrified. He'd huddled himself beneath Harry's cloak and was pressed tightly up against her side, her arm wrapped around his shoulders. Gandalf was pressed against him on his other side.
Caught in a mild mood, Gandalf patted Pippin on the head.
"Most likely," said Gandalf, giving the hobbit a small, comforting smile.
Pippin whimpered.
"We should be safe for the time being," said Gandalf a little while later. "Harry, is there some sort of spell you can use to cloak your horse's footsteps? Shadowfax has no need of one and I shall not take any chances now that we are so close."
Harry put a silencing charm over her horse's hooves and asked, "Where are we, Gandalf?"
"In the realm of Gondor," the wizard answered. "The land of Anorien is still passing by. Now, let us be off."
They rode heavy and long into the night, twilight threatening to burst the edge of the horizon. Harry was almost asleep when they came upon a group of cloaked men hiding in the mist, huddled down everywhere in front of a white stone wall with packs, torches, and little tables. Meat roasted over small coal pits glowing red and orange, and her stomach — having had nothing for half a night — rumbled distractingly. These men were quite obviously friendly as Gandalf knew them by name, even scolding them on occasion.
Harry observed all this from under the brim of her hat, wondering just what they were about, camping here in the gloom. Likely they were some sort of scouting party. She would even go so far as to think they were a hunting party. But what were they hunting?
Orcs sprang to mind.
". . . you know the passwords of the Seven Gates and are free to go forward," the leader of the men was saying, his face heavily shadowed by a long hood. "But we do not know your companions. What are they? What is the little one? A dwarf out of the mountains in the North? What is the big one? A man or an elf? We know you travel with odd companions, Mithrandir. We wish for no strangers in the land at this time, unless they be mighty men of arms in whose faith and help we can trust."
"I will vouch for them before the seat of Denethor, Ingold," said Gandalf, Shadowfax stamping a little below him. The men whispered amongst themselves. Obviously this was some great honour. "Sitting before me is Peregrin Took, of the Shire. The one beside me is Hadrienne Potter of, er . . ."
"The United Kingdom," muttered Harry.
"Hadrienne Potter of the United Kingdom," Gandalf continued as though he hadn't stuttered. "Very valiant, both of them. I know of no men that could compare."
"Man?" Pippin burst out from his seat in front of Harry, surprising everyone. They'd thought he'd been asleep. "I am no man, but a hobbit!"
"But what is a hobbit?" asked a gruff voice somewhere in back.
"A Halfling," Gandalf answered. "Nay, not the one that was spoken of," he added, seeing the wonder cross the men's faces. "And now that you know, may we please go onward?"
"Hold, Mithrandir," said Ingold, placing a hand on Shadowfax, who snapped at it. He hastily backed away. "I have no knowledge of this United Kingdom. Is it somewhere in the South?"
"I should say it is nowhere," said Gandalf vaguely. "Tis a magical place, one only where wizards may tread. Yes, she is the one whose magic destroyed the Uruk army," Gandalf added, after hearing the many gasps.
Harry almost gasped as well. How did they know?Come to think of it, how did they know about Frodo?
"And now that you know my companions mean you no harm, indeed are in fact the very opposite, we shall now go on. We haven't time to linger."
They weren't stopped this time. Ingold even called out "Farewell!" in a cheerful voice as they passed through the narrow gate at the wall.
Harry didn't waste a second once they were out of earshot. "How do they know about me, sir?"
Gandalf seemed amused that Harry would ask such a thing. "How do you think? Gossip and rumours abound everywhere, and especially in these suspicious times we need all the hope we can get."
"Are you saying they found out about me through word of mouth?" asked Harry, incredulous. "It's only been a week since the battle at Helm's Deep!"
"And how long did it take us to get here?" said Gandalf.
Harry still found it hard to believe.
"Where are we now, Gandalf?" asked Pippin.
"Ithillien," the wizard answered. "It runs for more than ten leagues from the mountain's foot and follows the river, enclosing in its fence the fields of Pelennor, which is where we are going now. Then onto the main gates and the seven tiers of Minas Tirith."
They rode for a little through Ithillien, taking the shortest rode to the Pelennor. When they stepped through yet another gate, Harry saw for the first time Minas Tirith. The city reminded her strongly of Hogwarts. Not for the way it looked, but because of its presence. Minas Tirith was purely offset white, gleaming in the morning sun and a hundred times bigger than Helm's Deep. It really sort of looked like an elaborate cake with a knife blade stuck in the middle. Harry had never thought anything could ever come close to the majesty of Hogwarts; Minas Tirith almost topped it.
"Wow," she breathed.
"Indeed," smiled Gandalf.
"Wow," attempted Pippin.
Gandalf frowned at him good-naturedly.
AN: Hold on to your asses, it's gonna be a triple.