Title: Fighting Another War

Author: CrimsonSnowflake

Warning: There's blood and fighting in this one, but since you've continued to read this story I'm sure you're able to read it without freaking out.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings belong to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien, all the copyrights associated with HP and LOTR belongs to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.

"It's only when we truly know and understand that we have a limited time on earth - and that we have no way of knowing when our time is up - that we will begin to live each day to the fullest, as if it was the only one we had." - Elisabeth Kubler- Ross, 1926-2004

Chapter 37:

I'll Bite If I Have To

It was a rather peculiar and yet familiar sight that greeted him when he awoke. Gandalf, in all his white glory, accompanied by Pippin, who seemed quite small when compared to the wizard, sat by his bedside. A long-stemmed pipe—one Harry had often seen on their journey—rested in the old man's calloused hands, each time Gandalf inhaled embers glowed lightly from where they were situated in the pipe's chamber. Smoke filled the entire room with an odour that very much reminded him of the more calm evenings when the entire Fellowship had gathered around the camp fire, looking to each other for some company. A blissful time that he would have been more than happy to have returned to.

"They are curious creatures those two dragons of yours. Fiercely loyal and yet stubborn enough to disobey their master. I quite like them. They are just the sort of challenge that you need. Something to keep you on your toes, I would say, but even they cannot manage that for long." He inhaled and exhaled, watching with far away eyes as several rings of smoke flew through the room. "I must say that I am disappointed in you, Harry. I did not think you silly enough to fall victim to Regulus' manipulations, nor did I believe you to be so cruel as to leave your mate behind to fade away."

Green eyes shifted, staring up at the stone ceiling. "Is it not better to deal him the blow now rather than allow his hopes to rise even further and extend the torture? Our relationship was doomed from the beginning. I should never have allowed it to blossom to the extent that it did. It was my mistake and for that I apologize. I could have spared both myself and Legolas much unneeded pain."

A quiet gasp came from the hobbit in the room. "What are you saying?" Pippin's accent grew thicker in anger. "What happened to you? What turned you so bitter that you would say such things about the bond you share with Legolas? He has endured all your whims! Every time you drew back he fought for you! Every time you refused him he continued working for your attention, your affection; your love!"

"Pippin." Gandalf warned, putting a restraining hand on the hobbit's shoulder.

"No! He needs to hear this! Harry needs to understand how selfish he really is. I have watched—we have all watched—as they struggled with each other, watched as Harry ran and Legolas pursued. Your relationship you say? Your relationship has been nothing but a relentless hunt on Legolas' side and a cowardly flee on yours. You gave nothing while he gave it all." Pippin's entire frame trembled with rage, his eyes flashed with emotion and Harry was sure that it was only Gandalf's hand that kept the hobbit from jumping him. "I agree with Gandalf. I'm disappointed in you and I most certainly don't believe that you deserve any of what Legolas has given you."

"Peregrin Took! Step outside, I wish to speak with Harry alone." The glare on the wizard's face said it all, resistance would not be tolerated.

"Do not take his words to heart." Gandalf said once the door closed behind the hobbit. "Pippin is weary, frightened and does not know the weight of his words."

"He does." Harry parried, drawing his arms up and ignoring the pain that shot through them as they bent and came to rest under his head. "He's well aware of what he is saying, and he's right. Everything he said is true. And they are all reasons for me to cut my ties with Legolas and allow him to move on to someone else."

"Foolhardy that is what you are. Your skull is as thick as the walls surrounding us." The old man waved his pipe around in agitation. Bushy eyebrows drew together in a furrow, shadowing angry grey eyes.

"You shall speak with Legolas once his party arrives. You shall tell him of your worries, of what is holding you back and you will see that it does not matter to him so long as he gets to have you by his side. There is no other for him, Harry, as you well know." There was a sense of finality to his voice that made it perfectly clear that Harry had no choice in this matter, which, of course, did not sit well with the young man.

"No matter what you believe, no matter what you have been told in the past, you do not deserve to be alone in this world, my friend. Why do you keep pushing him away when it is so obvious that you want nothing but to throw yourself into his arms? Did you not enjoy our stay in Edoras? Did you not enjoy the connection you shared with Legolas then?" A wrinkled hand reached out to rest upon Harry's.

A frigid tension filled the room as Harry froze. He drew in a ragged breath, turning away from Gandalf and fastened his gaze onto the ceiling. Tired of keeping the truth hidden Harry took a deep breath and plunged. "I love Legolas. I love him. I love his possessiveness, I love his humour. I absolutely adore the way I can just sit in his embrace, take in his scent and feel as if nothing is wrong with the world. When this war is over I want nothing more than to complete our mating, begin a family and live happily ever after with him by my side. But I am realistic, Gandalf, I know that I won't live through this war and I don't want him to live through the pain of losing me."

Gently Harry sat up, drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping slender arms around them. The soft sheets covering his body pooled around him, caressing his skin as it fell to rest on the bed's mattress. Almost like a child he curled in on himself. His voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm all too aware of the fact that elves fade away when they lose their loved ones. I think of it every time I see him. Each time I see someone I know die I am reminded of it."

He looked up, a glint of vulnerability shining in his eyes, the first he had shown in months. "I don't want to be the cause of Legolas' fading. I thought that maybe, if I distanced myself before things got really serious then he could still have some time to find someone else, someone to keep him from fading when I am gone. So long as he stays alive I don't mind him being with someone else."

"I think," Gandalf began, slouching a bit in his seat while lightly tapping a finger against his pipe. "that you should, for once in your life, choose to be selfish. And this time, when you put your mind to being honest with him and loving him, stick with it. Tell him your every thought, your every worry and everything will fall into place. You shall see."

And with that their conversation ended.

It was the calm before the storm. Harry could feel it. The ever looming presence of Sauron's approaching army weighed heavy in the air and it was becoming more and more obvious by every minute that passed that sometime before nightfall a battle would commence. His body was restless, unable to stay still, and had him pacing back and forth on the balcony joined with his room.

Two days had passed since the grave conversation he had shared with Gandalf and his mind was troubled. His injuries weren't healed—or at least not to the extent he would have hoped for. He could still feel a rather unwelcome twinge of pain whenever he moved his left shoulder in a certain way. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be able to fight—in fact he was determined to do so—but it was also quite clear to him that he would be suffering through it. With his beaten body he wouldn't be able to move as fluently as he usually did when on the battlefield, and that would cost him dearly. Nonetheless, he would join in the battle, take down as many of the enemy as he could and die just as he was meant to.

A pink appendage peeked out of his mouth for a split second, running across the seam of his lips and wetting them. Harry lifted an arm, allowing his fingers to caress the cool stone of the balcony's railing. Smoke was rising from the ruins of Osgiliath, the orcs growing more daring—acting as if they did not fear an attack from The White City. It vexed him that they had the audacity to mock them so openly, as if Harry and the others had been nothing more than a mere trifle. He sneered, his fingers coming to a stop on the edge of the railing, establishing a tight grip on it. The flesh covering his knuckles turning white as his hand trembled in ire.

It was unbearable, waiting for them to make the first move when he would have liked nothing more than to ride out and catch them off guard. Had it not been for his injuries he was certain that he would have done exactly that. Or at least, he would have; had he not realized that controlling these impulses worked greatly in his favour. After all, following them had only served to mess up an already messed up life even further. No, Harry had—after a lot of time spent pondering both his conversation with Gandalf and his relationship with Legolas—learned his lesson.

Hissing as a small amount of pain shot through him, he relinquished his hold on the railing. Standing up straight he winced, feeling the skin surrounding the wound on his shoulder stretching uncomfortably as he did so.

"You should be resting." A quiet voice came from the darkness of his room.

"I should." Harry agreed as a small figure stepped out from the shadows and into the soft light of the moon, joining the wizard on the balcony.

"Why aren't you?"

"Would it be silly of me to say it's because I'm bored?" He smiled down at Pippin.

"Yes it would." The hobbit bluntly stated, turning to stare at the rising smoke that Harry had previously been observing. "It's more likely that you're simply scared."

"Scared, huh?" Allowing a quiet sigh to pass his lips, he used the railing to support more of his weight. "I guess I am, in a way. Just as you are."

"I'm sorry for saying those things. I don't know why you did what you did and it was unfair of me to judge you before I knew all the facts." Pippin mumbled, eyes darting back and forth from Harry to the stone floor.

"Gandalf spoke to you, did he?" It had been almost impossible to not see that Pippin had meant every word he had said the night of their falling out. And he had known, the moment Gandalf had asked him to excuse the hobbit for his behaviour, that the old wizard would have a talk with Pippin and order him to apologize. Harry didn't mind, in fact he had expected it. Gandalf was nothing if not protective of those he loved and Harry was, it seemed, a part of that group. In a way it was flattering, even though it—in most instances—led to things he would've rather have lived without.

"Mhm." Pippin grinned up at him, his cheeks flushed with what seemed to be a mixture of embarrassment and happiness at things having returned to normal between the two of them.

"Here," the hobbit continued on, holding out a hand for Harry to hold. "Let me help you back to bed."

"I'm not crippled, you know." The young wizard muttered in annoyance; despite already having looped his arm around Pippins.

"You want to fight don't you?" A satisfied air surrounded Pippin when Harry nodded in the affirmative. "Then it doesn't matter if you want to be helped or not, you need to heal before you can do any sort of fighting."

"You're beginning to take after Gandalf, Pippin." Harry complained, groaning as they, in a joint effort, lowered him to the soft bed.

"Listen to yourself, you are groaning and moaning with each step you take and you think you'll be capable of fighting without some rest?" An admonishing glare accompanied these words; something he had never expected to see on Pippin's face. "In this condition it would take a miracle for you to even lift up your sword."

"Well," Harry jokingly began, smiling at the hobbit. "Miracles have been known for happening around me."

"Indeed, one would have thought you'd have run out of them by now." A cheery voice suddenly cut into their conversation, drawing their attention to the wizard leaning against the open door.

It was odd, Harry mused, being only three people when he had become so accustomed to being surrounded by the Fellowship. And while it was immensely comforting to have Gandalf and Pippin by his side there was no doubt that it would have been even more so if the others had been there as well. Hoping for things to be different was fruitless and Harry would be much better off if he focused on what was to come, preparing himself to accomplish his goals—or rather his one, ultimate goal.

"Don't worry about that," He smoothed out the wrinkles on his sheets, resting his hands in his lap when they were as crease less as they could get. "I imagine that I'll run out of them soon enough."

"Oh believe me," Gandalf retorted, "I am quite happy that miracles seems to prefer your presence. It is something I grow more and more grateful for with each day that passes."

"Can't say you haven't found use for them." Pippin cheerfully added his two cents, nodding in satisfaction at having properly tucked in the young wizard.

Harry agreed. "They did not go to waste, that's for sure."

"Now sleep, I shall tell you when it is time for you to come and fight." Gandalf placed his hand over Harry's eyes, shielding them from the rest of the world.

He had slept, for hours upon hours until the sun rose and set, until the orcs and goblins had gathered outside the city gates armed to their teeth and thirsting for blood. There was no doubt in his mind that Gandalf, the clever man, had laced his sleep with magic, forcing him to sleep longer and heavier than he normally would have done. And when he woke his injuries had, much to his amazement, healed to such an extent that he could move without causing too much discomfort.

In a flurry of movements he flung off his covers, rising from the bed fully dressed as his clothes had not been removed the night before. Determined green eyes scanned the whole room in search of his weapons. It did not take long for him to find them, and just as he was about to fasten his sword and its scabbard in his belt the door slammed open with a great bang.

"Get out of bed, Harry!" Pippin's out of breath voice echoed off the walls. "It's begun!"

"I'm aware." He dryly retorted, strapping his wand on the inside of his right arm with a simple flick of his wrist. Kneeling to the floor he picked up a stray knife, hiding it in a strap wrapped around his leg for easy access. Even a dimwit would have known that carrying as many weapons as possible was a wise idea when dealing with an entire army of orcs.

"You should head on up to the higher levels." Harry said while rising to his feet and sweeping off towards the door. "The battlefield isn't fitted for a hobbit such as you Pippin."

"Stay safe, will you Harry?" The hobbit hesitantly asked of him just before he headed out.

"I'll stay as safe as I can manage to keep myself." He answered, his right arm moving to rest on the hilt of his sword, fingers caressing the rough leather.

Without further ado he swept out of the room, running down to the lower levels in search of a certain wizard. It did not take him long. Only a few minutes could have passed by before he caught sight of the white clad man. In a most efficient and impressive manner Gandalf ran back and forth, shouting out orders and taking control over the city guards. He was, in fact, so efficient that by the time Harry had managed to make his way to stand by his side all the soldiers had lined up by the city walls. Some on top of it, some beneath.

"Use everything you've got, Harry." Gandalf muttered, glancing at the young man standing beside him. "Magic, sword and even your body. I do not want to see you dead at the end of this. Slightly injured I can handle, but forever lost to us? No."

"I know, I'll even bite if I have to." Harry joked, shifting from one foot to the other as he looked out at the sea of orcs, goblins and even trolls. They were a menacing looking bunch, dark skinned with yellow or even brown teeth. Snarls and sneers made their grotesque features even more so. What truly made them intimidating though, was the eyes glowing with maliciousness and those sharp, hooked weapons that seemed to glint each time light hit them.

"Don't worry though." He was quick to reassure when seeing the dark look appearing on Gandalf's worn face.

"I'm afraid I cannot help myself. Whenever you are concerned, my dear Harry, I will always worry." Thick, bushy eyebrows furrowed as troubled eyes turned to look at Harry. "Spare me the pain of seeing you die this day. Spare me the pain of delivering the news to your mate."

Harry swallowed continuously, unable to remove the hard lump that had formed in his throat. "You know I cannot do that, Gandalf. You know what I have to do."

"You do not have to do anything!" The wizard heatedly burst out in a rare moment of weakened restraint.

A small smile, meant to console and relieve Gandalf of his sorrow, appeared on Harry's face then. "I could not live with myself, knowing that I sacrificed my friends into the grasp of Death without fighting him for them. As you well know."

His demeanour changed, turning more neutral, more stony. "I will die, probably at the hands of one of the beasts standing down there, and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it. Not even Legolas."

"Then, if you are determined to go through with it, I have only one advice to give you." Gandalf sighed, leaning more heavily on his staff. "When the time comes think things through properly and choose wisely. For your own, as well as our sake."

He could detect a small amount of displeasure—bordering anger—in the wizard's voice. Harry would not be swayed though, no matter how much Gandalf expressed his disapproval. And so without any further comment on the subject Harry drew out his wand, turned to face the massive sea of orcs and prepared himself for the battle that was about to occur.

His eyes sparkled with determination. "Let's kill some orcs, shall we?"

And just as he uttered those words the battle began in the form of decapitated heads showering down upon them. Distressed cries rang from the crowd as the guards ducked behind their shields, paling when they turned to see their fellow Gondorians' stone cold heads lying upon the ground. The twisted grimaces, the open mouths were all clear indicators that the men had died a painful excruciating death. Torture had, most likely, played some part in the picture.

"Archers at the ready!" Gandalf shouted with vigour. Seemingly not at all affected by the cruel trick played on them.

Simultaneously, the guards—those standing closest to the edge of the gate walls—notched their arrows, nearly shaking with the tension that sprung through both themselves and the bow. They waited, waited and waited for Gandalf's command. And finally it sounded, bringing with it a shower of lethal arrows. Like stones the orcs fell to the ground, twitching before falling still. Outraged roars followed their descent, though Harry suspected it to be more an indignation of the fact that they had actually dared to fire at them rather than the fact that some of their comrades had been killed. Heartless creatures they were.

Once again Gandalf issued a command and the city guards notched their arrows for another shot. Harry watched as they sailed through the air, the dull coloured feathers at the end fluttering in the wind until the arrow gracefully arched down towards the ground and buried itself into its victim's chest. With a keening wail the goblin fell.

The battle commenced.

Hours flew by, blood was shed and the sun was chased away by darkness. The enemy managed to penetrate the city gates, slowly conquering the city, level by level. Both his sword and his flesh was stained black and red, a disgusting mixture of both orc and human blood. The spray from a decapitated body could reach far, he had experienced when one of the city guards had lost their head to the sharp edge of a sword. His own sword sang through the air, the blade a glowing read due to the heat that had begun to spread through Harry's entire body. Even the air surrounding him was beginning to heat up due to the fiery blade.

His breath came in gasps as he ducked, dodged and attacked. Driving his sword straight into the chest of his current opponent, grimacing at the squeal that pierced his ears. It was a wonder, he mused, that he had yet to lose his hearing. With a quiet grunt he ripped his sword out of the orc, wrinkling his nose at the smell of burnt flesh. A dull thud sounded as the cold body slumped to the ground, not deigned important enough to receive a second glance from the young wizard.

A shift in the air alerted him of the attack mere seconds before it occurred. His breath hitched as he dropped to the ground, feeling a deathly, sharp edged axe cut through the air just above his head. Some short strands of dark hair drifted down to the earth right before his eyes. He had barely manage to avoid having his head split in two. Swiftly he stretched out his foot and spun around, resting his hands on the ground to keep balance before throwing his body into the air, his feet spinning around like a deathly weapon—it was very much like a move he had seen a street-dancer use once. An immense feeling of satisfaction rushed through him at the tell tale sound of a breaking nose.

Still on the ground he rolled to the right as the injured goblin shrieked with rage and swung its axe at him. The sharp edged weapon cut into the ground, mere inches from Harry's head. Green eyes widened, swivelling around to take in his attacker looming above him. It was not a pretty sight. Dark blood ran down the goblin's mouth and chin in a river from its broken nose. Yellow eyes were narrowed, a manic glint shining in them promising both pain and death. Once again the axe descended.

The clang of steel meeting steel resonated through the air. Harry gritted his teeth, his muscles trembling as he parried the blow. He was at a disadvantage, blocking an axe descending from above was not the easiest thing to do, or rather it wasn't something he was used to do and as such the muscles needed to do it were too weak to keep it up for long. A wince flashed across his face when he felt his arms giving in, the axe coming dangerously close as a result.

"Harry!" Gandalf's voice suddenly reach his ears. "Keep an eye on things here would you?"

"Keep an eye on things? I'm a little bit busy here, if you didn't notice!" His voice was hoarse and he found it more and more difficult to keep a pitiful whimper from escaping his throat.

"Oh pish posh!" It was a wonder that the wizard could sound so unconcerned when he had acted so worried at the beginning of the battle. "You can easily take him down! Now stop playing, take him down and keep an eye on things."

"Charming, isn't he?" Harry questioned his opponent with an annoyed sneer before retracting his free hand and boxing the goblin straight in the mouth. A grimace flitted across his face as he shook his hand, casually kicking the wailing creature off of him in the process. His knuckles were blackened with his opponent's blood as well as slightly sore from the punch. It had been too long since he had engaged in a fist fight rather than one with his wand or a sword, Harry mused, he was beginning to get out of shape.

"Draw back to the higher levels!" Harry roared, delivering one final kick to the goblin's head, successfully rendering him unconscious and lying on the ground to be trampled on.

The battle continued on, robbing more lives and injuring more men. Harry's movements were, even after the many hours of fighting and little to no rest, fluent. His kills were swift and instant, leaving no room for his victims to suffer. And unlike the battle at Osgiliath he did not seem to tire so easily. His magic induced sleep had done him some good then. Apart from that, however, the battle was very much like it had been at Osgiliath. They were grossly outnumbered which, as it ought to do, affected the fight to a great degree. Still, every single man within the city fought courageously and Harry was bloody proud of them. Their relentlessness, the never ending fighting spirit within them; it was inspiring to observe.

Gandalf had, long since, returned from whatever business it was that had demanded his immediate attention. Harry had no knowledge of what said business had been, nor did he know how it had played out. And to be honest he didn't have the time for it. Who would when in the middle of a life threatening ordeal? His lips curled upwards, revealing his teeth in a most feral growl and narrowed his eyes as a dreadfully familiar high-pitched shriek echoed through the air. Yet it would seem that his old enemy was not there for him this time, as strongly suggested when the witch-king completely ignored him, even flying right above his head, and headed straight for Gandalf.

Thoughts of aiding Gandalf was, despite how much he clung to them, pushed away in favour of more immediate and life threatening matters. More than one orc was on Harry's heels, thirsting for his blood and occasionally swinging their weapons at him. They missed more than they ought to have—considering their advantage in numbers—and Harry allowed himself the satisfaction of thinking it to be his superior dodging skills at play. This small pleasure was, however, put to the test when Harry—blinded by the rising sun—tripped.

It was a simple mistake. A dead body—whether it was an orc or a man he did not know—had been in his way. His feet, finally feeling some of the fatigue that should have come along at a much earlier stage, were not steady. But ultimately it had been the lack of sight that had been his doom.

His fall had knocked the breath out of him, leaving him winded and heaving for air. Several replications—of various colour—in the sun's form, tainted his vision. His back was aching and the fall left him so surprised and out of it that he had no possibility of escaping what was to come.

A blinding pain suddenly originated from his chest and belly. Wide green eyes flashed open, brimming with tears as a hoarse scream tore out of his throat with a tremendous force. His fists clenched tightly, nails digging into the flesh of his palms, drawing forth blood. He coughed, reaching up to grasp his throat as he desperately tried to clear the crimson coloured liquid from his airways. The blood trailed from the corners of his mouth, running a river down his chin. Astonishment welled up inside of him when he suddenly became aware of the bringer of this unimaginable pain. Three swords, each one gleaming proudly in the light of day, tainted by old blood stood straight up in the air. Kept so by the flesh of Harry's own body.

Spasms shook his body. Panic and fear settled in as his vision turned dark.

Death, it seemed, had been determined to claim him.

A/N: Don't kill me! We've all known that this was going to happen for a while now and now it finally has. Oh happy day. But seriously, I'm quite happy-yet at the same time sad-that we've finally come to this stage in the story. It won't be many chapters left now until we've reached the end.

Anyway, I'd like to propose a guessing game! Yay! I would like all of you to leave a review where you guess what will happen to Harry now that he's been killed. I'm very curious to hear what you think will happen. And who knows, maybe the first one to get it right will get a small prize... But that won't be revealed until I've posted the next chapter.

I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter, I made it especially long for you!