Ah another week and another chapter to post. I am pleased with the life that has been breathed back into this story by the appearance of quite a number of followers and reviews in the last week or so, and I look forward to the comments that will continue to arise as the story progresses. until such a time, please, take your time, enjoy!
Chapter Five
North and South
Greenwood the Great, oft times called Mirkwood when the shadow of darkness fell over it, stretched long into the northern areas of eastern Europe. Harry had never been in a place quite like this, except for the few times he entered the Hogwart's forest before Bregalad began awakening the trees there.
He and Faykan were still able to make excellent time, bolstered by the ever fading light from Lórien behind them, and they boldly ventured into the darkening trees. Once, long ago the Wood elves make their homes in the northern parts of these forests, and even the elves of Lothlórien had ventured to this place after the destruction of the One Ring.
Now however, the wild forest had returned, and with it the darker creatures had multiplied. With the elves long gone and their light dwindled, it was an easy matter for them to take control, much as Aragog's brood had once commanded the forest nearest to Hogwarts.
As they progressed deeper, Harry began to feel the strange foreboding that loomed like a mist over the wood, the aura of menace that had given the forest its more sinister name. It was strange to think that any power of Mordor still existed in the world, the great and terrible Dark Lord having been forever defeated when the Rings of Power he commanded were destroyed.
Nothing tried to hinder them as they pressed on toward the ruins of the fortress that had served as Sauron's northern outpost outside of Mordor, which added to the air of caution that the pair of Istari were experiencing. There should have been at least some attempts at resistance by their enemies, as the spiders that attacked them back in Lórien were testament that not all had departed for Britain to answer Voldemort's summons.
'We should almost be there now,' Faykan said over their mental link, pointing up ahead to a vast and desolate clearing. They had been traveling for hours, but the demands of their travel had not as of yet wearied Harry, who ascribed this endurance to his newly unlocked and instructed magical abilities. The Istari of old were long renowned as travelers and able to turn up at the right time for any given event, and that had in part to do with the guidance of the Valar as well as their own skill and magic to sustain themselves.
Only Saruman had ever truly settled down in one location for an extended period of time, shortly before the pull of Sauron had corrupted the once White Wizard. Harry could understand much of Faykan's fears about his own negative traits, seeing the great chaos that the leader of the Order had nearly accomplished by following such a similar road.
Valar willing, he would do everything in his power to protect his friend from such a fall, and together with their allies they would see the end of Voldemort, and whatever else the Valar asked of them before their work was completed.
Finally, they arrived at the ruins of the Hill of Sorcery, where vegetation had ceased to grow for centuries prior, and started to weave their way through the massive stones that had once comprised of the Mordor built fortress.
Darkness truly gripped this place still, Harry could sense, and from what he had read and seen from the Palantír, the influence of Sauron had persisted throughout the Third Age and the War of the Ring, up until Galadriel herself had destroyed the fortress with the last of the magic of Nenya. It had been one of the great last acts of the elven rings before the passing of the elves into Valinor.
However, it seemed that it had not been enough, as even amid the ruin and destroyed metal and stone the vile presence of the Great Eye was still present, lingering like a noxious cloud over the place that had once been a bastion of his power.
'What does this mean?' Harry asked Faykan, and the other Istari looked deeply troubled as he considered the possibilities around them.
'I do not wish to consider it, but the possibility that Sauron has not been forever banished had occurred to me..' Faykan responded, and Harry felt himself shiver in muted terror at the thought. To think that the horror of the Third Age was still abroad in the land was not a pleasing thought in the least sense of the word.
'Could it just be Voldemort, acting through the evil left in this place?' he countered, hoping to steer their thoughts away from the enemy of all free creatures.
'It does not have his same magical signature that I can see,' Faykan replied slowly, 'but there is a familiar ring to it...' he paused, and Harry glanced across a pile of rubble at his friend. Something about the word 'ring' had struck them both instantly.
For Harry, it had thrown him back to a vision he had had of the Dark Lord nearly two years previously, when the orcs of Mordor had first approached Voldemort, offering a gift; a small ring they had claimed was a gift from their lord.
'By the Valar,' Faykan said, shock evident in his thoughts, 'How had we not seen it before?'
'How could it be possible that the Dark Lord survived?' Harry conjectured, trying to solve this puzzle that they both equally recalled as undeniable fact.
'Three rings for the elven kings, under the sky, returned home to the lands from whence they came,' Faykan recited, and Harry brushed a thumb over Vilya as it rested on his own hand, 'Seven for the Dwarf-Lords, in their halls of stone, consumed by Dragons and lost of old...'
'And Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,' Harry finished, 'lost to fire and in shadow's lie.'
Except, Harry pondered, and he glanced at Faykan, who was returning the same realization, "The Witch-King of Angmar fell on the fields of Pelenor, not in the fires of the volcano that consumed the others in addition to the One." Faykan said aloud.
"And as they were all handled and subjected to the power of the One, they would have contained portions of Sauron's power..." Harry added, eyes widening in horror.
"So long as one ring that he had any influence over survived, the Dark Lord of the Earth would rise again to try and cover the land with Darkness..." Faykan finished, hanging his head in shock of the realization.
"So Voldemort is not nearly the greatest thing we have to fear any longer..." Harry surmised.
"So long as he possesses the ring of the Witch-King, Sauron is in position to return to power, through another puppet, much like Saruman."
Harry shook his head, astonished at the tenacity of the Lord of Mordor. Voldemort and his Horcruxes couldn't so much as hold a candle to this level of power; one that surpassed even their own as Istari.
"We must destroy Voldemort, and without him the Ring will be defenseless, we can take it and destroy it just as the One had been so long ago, in fire from whence it came." Faykan said slowly, with finality.
"And we shall," Harry agreed, "starting right here and now…"
Faykan nodded, and together they raised their staffs. "dae en' i' goth, naara ed' i' kalina en' i' valar!" Light exploded from the jewels that crowned each staff, battling the lingering shadows from the ruins of Dol Guldur.
Somewhere, out in the darkness of the old ruin, Harry thought he heard the whispers of the Black Speech, perhaps the lingering shade of the famed Necromancer, but it was quickly silenced by the powers of the Light.
As the last of the darkness dissipated, Harry felt the tension around the forest lift. "The taint is dissipating, and with time Greenwood will heal at last." Faykan said.
Harry nodded, preparing to return to Orthanc, when a surge of magic from the direction of London directed his thoughts to Grimmauld Place. 'Kreacher has found Mundungus…' he communicated to Faykan as the other Istari joined him with a Portkey in hand.
'Excellent,' came the return thought. 'We'll need to collect the others, as I doubt they'd like being left out of something this important, especially right after we sent them back for this venture.'
Harry knew that Faykan was recalling the handful of times that he himself had excluded Harry, along with the others, for events and battles that had taken place over the past two years, but now that he stood in the same shoes that his fellow Istari wore, he understood the need to protect those he cared about more than ever.
Instead of responding, he let the jibe slide, focusing on activating the Portkey and taking them back to Isengard, wondering for a moment what the thief that Kreacher had captured would reveal to them regarding Slytherin's locket.
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Draco turned at the flash of color that deposited Harry and Faykan back safely within the borders of Orthanc's wards. From nearby, he heard Hermione breathe a sigh of relief. They had all been somewhat worried with how long the pair had been gone, regardless of how magically powerful they were.
"So, what was it?" Ron asked, striding up and putting an arm around Hermione.
"Not good news, I'm afraid," Harry responded, "but Kreacher also reported in, he has Mundungus at Grimmauld Place."
Draco opened his mouth to respond, but a loud cawing drove what he was planning on asking from his mind. They all looked up to see the large Iron Hill raven soaring down to them. "Well," Faykan said, "I had actually wondered if Náin would call on us when the time for their battle came through… however this does add a bit of complication to our plans."
"How so?" Hermione asked.
"It's obvious isn't it," Draco responded, momentarily feeling out of place in explaining the situation to Hermione, but with the state she was now recovering from, anything was possible. "We can't go to the battle and interrogate Mundungus at the same time, at least not as a full group."
"Exactly," Faykan agreed, "We'll need to split up for this, half of us taking an army to reinforce the Dwarven invasion of Gundabad, while the others go to Grimmauld Place and get the vital information about the locket from that thief…"
"I'll go to Grimmauld Place," Harry volunteered, "You're needed in the battle Fay, out of all of us."
The pair exchanged something unspoken, if Draco could guess anything from the look that they shared. It was rather odd to think that of the five of them, Harry and Faykan were something more than human, but slowly Draco was coming to terms with the concept.
"I'll go with Harry," Hermione said, stepping across to stand next to the black haired boy. "Ron, you and Draco should go to the battle, you're both far more qualified for the needs of the Rohirrim warriors than I could ever be."
Ron looked like he was about to protest, when Draco put a hand on his shoulder, "She's right mate," he said, smirking, "We need your big strategic brain for this, and besides, Harry will keep her safe if anything was to happen, which I highly doubt… Mundungus is a coward isn't he? What's to fear?"
Ron sagged slightly, "Yeah," he said, "you're right."
Harry and Hermione were already preparing to leave, and Draco steered Ron toward where Faykan was signaling for the army of Rohan to assemble.
"What news my lord?" King Ceolwulf said as he approached upon horseback.
"The King of the Dwarves has called for our aid in a battle to retake the ancient sacred place of his people, currently known as Mount Gundabad…"
The men all around hushed at the name. Draco understood their hesitation to go near the legendary orcish stronghold, "I do not doubt your word, lord Alatar," Ceolwulf replied, himself looking disturbed, "but that place has long been stained with the evils of Mordor's filth. I would not feel remotely secure in leading my people to their deaths in that wretched place…"
"I understand," Faykan said, bowing slightly in respect for the King's decision, "and I do not shun you for your fear of a greater foe on their soil and in their own lands. Nor would I ever lead you blindly to your deaths. No, this battle is not for the cavalry of Rohan, but we will need ever spare wand, able to cast bombardment spells from afar. If we can pummel the enemy fortress with strong enough magic, the Dwarves would do the work of sacking the fortress well enough on their own I believe."
The King of Rohan seemed to consider the thought, "I… believe this is an acceptable risk," he agreed, "but I want several battalions of soldier to guard our wizards, and at the first sign of their position being overrun I want them to retreat back here with all possible speed. I will not risk our people blindly in an offensive attack on so strong a foe. If the Dwarves wish to destroy themselves upon their ancient nemesis, then so be it, but I will not follow them down the road of destruction."
"Nor would I," Faykan said, inspiring courage with every word, "But I would do what I could to see that they are spared that outcome."
"So be it…" Ceolwulf said, beckoning a runner with one hand, and commanding the young lad to summon every available wizard and foot soldier of Rohan to the main courtyard.
Draco watched with fascination as Faykan wove pure magical in the air, tearing open the fabric of space and time, creating a pure vortex between them under their protections and the field of the nearing battle. Wide crags and bare mountains stretched out in the forbidding landscape on the other side of the portal.
Looking to his side, Draco saw Ron also staring fixedly into the portal, but the calculation in the redhead's mind was more obvious. With all his skill at chess, Draco had still been thoroughly amazed at Ron's even greater eye for the more complex and varied strategy of fully fledged battle. Advantages and terrain were ever as important to the same boy that loved good food and the warmth of his family's humble home. It just added to the wellspring of respect that Draco had for Ron all the more.
A Rohirric horn blew, and Draco tore his eyes to see as the wizards of Rohan, dressed in a rush of colors and furs for their colder climate assembled, speaking nervously as to why they alone had been called, and not the famed Horse Lords of their people.
Seeing a moment where he may be needed, Draco stepped forward, instantly attracting the attention of the assembled force of fifty or so wizards and twice that of foot soldiers. "Men and brethren of Rohan," Draco said, feeling the comforting presence of Eldarion as the Mage-King's spirit calmed his nerve of speaking to a gathering so large. "We move out to strike at a fortress of Voldemort in the north. A bastion that if left unchecked could wash through our dwarven allies, and threaten your own homes long after this war is won. As we speak, the Dwarves march on their ancient foe's bastion, and they call upon us for aid, and we will not leave them friendless. The men of old, the Númenóreans from across the sea, held great respect for the Sons of Durin, especially the great King Elessar Telcontar."
The men before him were fixated on his every word, and Draco knew that in this moment, he was no mere boy in their eyes, but more clearly than ever he could see himself as a great leader, wise and prudent in his dealings, worthy of the name by which Faykan had gifted him. He could indeed be Sgiathatch Telcontar, the Dragon Strider as the name literally translated from elvish.
"Men and brethren!" Draco continued, throwing an arm wide to reveal the sword of kings on his belt, beneath the thick cloak he wore. "We will uphold the great king's honor and wisdom, and fight to protect our allies from this evil one again. We face numbers that are staggering, but our objective is clear. Destroy the enemy's outlying fortifications, and pave the way for the Dwarves to retake their long-lost sanctuary!"
A roar from the crowd met his words, and the wizards before him turned to face the portal, steel in their eyes and hands fingering their wands in a state ready for battle. Draco wasn't sure how or why his words were so powerful, but each man and woman before him seemed to have heard something they needed to calm their nerves and set their resolve.
Turning back to the portal, Draco started walking dutifully toward it, and the wizards and witched behind him followed, even as their King declared the time for them to move out. Faykan gave a nod of thanks to Draco as the blond passed, and Ron fell into step beside Draco.
Passing through the portal, they found themselves buffeted by the strong northern winds, and squinted their eyes against the loose dust that was thrown up be the swirling vortex they had passed through.
Looming ahead of them, its many cragged spires jutting upward, was a massive structure carved out of the very mountains around it. "Mount Gundabad," Draco identified.
"You are correct, Lord Telcontar," said a gravelly voice behind them. Draco and Ron turned to find the three Dwarf Lords approaching upon rams, "King Náin," Draco said with a small bow to the mounted Dwarf, "We are yours to command this battle."
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Hermione landed shakily in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Harry had quickly created a portkey for their use while Ron, Draco and Faykan prepared their group to transport up northward where the Dwarves were to fight their orcish enemies.
"Kreacher!" Harry announced as they arrived, and the elf apparated to them, dragging a mass of limbs and rags with him. "Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master." The little elf said with a low respectful bow.
Mundungus scrambled up from the floor and pulled out his wand, but Harry stamped his staff on the floor and the room quaked, "MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER!" he bellowed, frightening the man into dropping his wand of his own accord. Hermione gasped, watching as every light in the room dimmed and Harry seemed to swell with power.
"What?" Mundungus tried to plead, "Wha've I done? Lemme go, or I'll…"
"YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO MAKE THREATS HERE, MUNDUNGUS!" Harry continued, cowing the man into submission. Even Kreacher seemed in awe of Harry's sheer magical strength and presence.
"You will answer our questions Fletcher," Harry commanded, his voice softer now as lights slowly brightened once again in the room. "When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable," Harry started, but Mundungus had clearly not learned his lesson, as the man interrupted immediately.
"Sirius never cared about any of the junk…"
But he too was interrupted by the sound of pattering feet, and an echoing clang as Kreacher ran at the thief and hit him squarely in the head with a saucepan. "Argh! Call 'im off, call 'im off, 'e should be locked up!" Mundungus yelled, cowering as Kreacher raised the pan again.
"Kreacher, no," Harry said calmly. The elf froze, looking longingly at Fletcher, and asked, "Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?"
Hermione tried, but couldn't stifle the giggle at the elf's joke. "We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading, you may do the honors," Harry replied.
"Thank you very much, Master," Kreacher replied with another bow, and he back away several steps, keeping his eyes on Fletcher with loathing burning in them.
"When you stripped this house of all the valuables," Harry continued, readdressing Mundungus, "you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a golden locket hidden there. What did you do with it?"
"Why?" Fletcher asked immediately. "Is it valuable?"
"You still have it then?" Hermione asked.
"No he doesn't, "Harry surmised, seeing something in the filthy man's eyes that Hermione didn't, "He's wondering whether he should have asked for more than he got for it…"
"More?" Mundungus replied, shaking his head, annoyed. "That wouldn't have been effing difficult… bleedin' gave it away, di'n' I? No choice."
"Explain," Harry commanded, light from his staff flashing for a moment.
Hermione listened with growing dread as the disgusting man told the story of how a Ministry official had confiscated the locket in exchange for not turning him in for illegally selling his stolen goods. She had a sinking suspicion as to the identity of that particular female Ministry worker.
"Who was this woman?" Harry demanded.
"I dunno, some Ministry hag." Mundungus considered for a moment, eying the glowing jewel atop the golden staff before continuing, "Little woman. Bow on top of 'er head." He frowned and added, "Looked like a toad."
"Umbridge," Harry said, anger evident in his voice. "Naturally she would still be working for the Ministry, after all the problems she's caused…" turning back to Mundungus he continued, "Go, get out of here, and never let us see you again. You're help may have saved the world, not that you'd care…"
"I…what?" the man stuttered, but Harry cracked his staff on the ground again, and the man scampered for the door, causing the portraits in the hall to awaken and start spewing the vile hatred at the man as he fled out the door.
Hermione took the strange moment to actually study Harry. the young innocent boy had grown up a lot over the seven years that she had known him, sprouting from the shortest boy in their year to, while not the tallest by far, still a very decent height. His face had a more angular sharpness to it, which accented his emerald eyes that seemed to burn when he was angry. The years of Quidditch and training with swords and magic had toned him well, and he filled out his robes nicely. Even his hair, which used to be a medium rat nest was fuller and more manageable with how he had let it grow out to near shoulder length.
It was easy to see why so many of the girls in Hogwarts had been crawling over themselves to try and get dates with the boy, not that he had had any time or care to pay attention to their advances. Harry was focused almost solely on the war now, and since Dumbledore's funeral, he'd become a lot more like Faykan is his aloofness, but not so much in an unapproachable way. The same gentle and kind personality was there, just steeped with stern experience and, for lack of a better word, wisdom that Hermione had never noticed before.
Harry had focused on something that had fluttered to the ground as Mundungus had fled. Summoning it wordlessly, he fanned out a copy of the Daily Prophet. Hermione wondered why the man had had a back issue on him when Kreacher had caught up to the thief, but there it was. the front page was devoted to a picture of Harry, with the caption 'Wanted for Questioning about the death of Albus Dumbledore.'
"Well, I guess the Death Eaters have created a false reason as to why I ought to be brought into their Ministry…" Harry said, eyes glazing over the front page and scanning the rest of the paper in quick order.
"Surely people are realizing what's happening though?" Hermione said as she too read the short article demanding the capture of Harry and anyone who was traveling with him. she herself was fuming over the lies she was reading. Scrimgeour had reportedly resigned, to be replaced with Pius Thickness, whom they had learned previously from Broderick Bode was under the Imperius Curse.
The about of doubt and fear that was being sown into the Wizarding World was palpable, and even more so was being created with the Ministries newest legislation against Muggleborns. The claim that had supposedly been made by the Department of Mysteries was obviously a lie, as Bode had strongly declared that they were against Voldemort and his current power play for the Ministry.
"Some, perhaps," Harry replied. "But I would guess from the lack of revolt or any sort of news that we've received, that the Death Eater's coup had been virtually silent as to the rest of the wizarding world. With us all but vanished in the blink of an eye, they've had very little to compete with on a political front. But it's of little consequence…" Harry said, handing Hermione the paper and stepping away, "our next step will take us into the heart of the Ministry itself anyway, and we may have opportunity to do something about the lies they are spreading for Voldemort, as well as capturing the locket from Umbridge."
Hermione nodded, agreeing implicitly. She chose to still hang onto the paper, if only to show to the others as Harry prepared a portkey to return them to Orthanc, after thanking Kreacher profusely.
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Draco stood in awe as the sheer number of Dwarves that the King of Khazad-dûm had summoned to battle. Scantly a few months ago when they scrambled to the defense of Erebor, Draco would have guessed there being as few as several thousand warriors among them remaining, but here was living proof that the sons of Durin were still a force to be reckoned with.
"How many are there?" Draco heard Ron ask Faykan.
"I haven't a clue, Ron," the Istari replied, "I have never taken the time to study the complicated and quite wild routes that the genealogies of Durin's sons takes, but you can count that every last one of those warriors can claim relation to each other, meaning so long as one lives, a leader can be found for the greatest of the Dwarven Kingdoms."
Náin, who was ahead of their group of wizards along with his bodyguards and elite warriors, huffed at Faykan's words, but did not comment further. The dwarven army, numbering easily in the tens of thousands, was camped out in the highlands that surrounded the desolate mountains and the fortress that sat on in the pass northward.
Light was just starting to dawn in the east, and the camp awakening, when the king made his way, along with his advisors, and Draco, Ron and Faykan representing of the wizarding force, to his own pavilion, where a mock battle map was spread across a low table, stone figuring indicated the future positions of each dwarven battalion, and the likely places where their enemies were to entrench themselves in the coming battle.
"We come with strict orders from the Lord of the Mark, for the usage of his magical subjects," Faykan said, which was ignored by the dwarven king.
"I will speak, Lord Alatar, with those whose aid I had called for." He retorted brashly, turning to look directly at Draco.
Widening his eyes in realization, Draco sought for the guidance from the spirit of Andúril, but only found a brief flash of confidence from the ancient king who had enchanted the weapon.
"I…" he started, looking between Faykan and Ron, seeking any assistance. Ron nodded, indicating that he would be more than willing to speak strategy on Draco's behalf.
"I have with me my trusted strategist and general, Ronald Weasley," Draco said, introducing the red haired wizard to the Dwarf Lord, "He will be more than capably of conveying the needs of Ceolwulf, King of Rohan, while still supporting your forces to the uttermost."
The grim dwarf nodded, before turning to Ron, who swallowed once after a brief bow of respect, and approached the war plans upon the table before the seat which the King had taken.
"Sire," he began, and Draco was further impressed to learn that the Weasley family had indeed taught all their children the proper codes of conduct that pureblood wizards had been renowned for generations of possessing. Their honor to their blood was far greater than any wished to give them credit, merely because of their lack of wealth.
"From what I can gather your strategy in placing your warriors is sound. Our force will do nothing but compliment you existing army, nearly regardless where you place us. I feel, and from what I've seen of the terrain, that we would be most effective therefore, if our wizarding force stays toward the rear, on this elevated ridge here." Ron indicated a portion that was behind the main dwarven force, yet still dead center and facing the mountain.
"From that vantage point we can cast our spells freely down into the gulf as your warrior charge from all sides, letting us pick off stranglers and blast the walls of their fortress. We can open a path so that you may storm Gundabad and take what was once rightfully your back once and for all."
Náin stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment, considering, "A sound, yet simply strategy Lord Telcontar," he said, glancing around at his other advisors and fellow Dwarf Lords, who were all nodding their agreement. "We should strike as soon as your army is assembled," Ron continued, looking between the Dwarf King and Draco for permission to voice his opinion, "the longer we give the orcs time to prepare is more that we must contend with before the day is won."
"This is true, however," Náin said, rising and striding to the table and battle map, "Orcs bear no love of sunlight, and my men are tired from their long march from Erebor. A few hours will do little to harm us compared to the advantage in daylight that we will have."
Draco glanced at Faykan, who was somberly standing still, neither agreeing with Náin nor disagreeing. Why wasn't he helping them? "Would it do more harm if we at least get into position before waiting out the sun?" Draco asked, turning back to the Lord of Moria."Or are your warriors simply too tired to be fighting at all this day?"
"Bah!" the Dwarf king said hotly, "The warriors of Durin never tire from fighting their orcish foes, we will be more than ready when the day comes full. But if your men and wizards are so shaky that they need to be ready then by all means take up your position Lord Telcontar."
Draco knew that they were being dismissed, and bowed, departing with Faykan and Ron in tow. Once they were outside the tent Draco rounded on Faykan, "Why didn't you help us in there?" he asked as they moved back toward the Rohirrim wizards.
"Whatever I could have said in advice or counsel would have been no more than a hindrance when it came to Náin. He has no love left in his heart for those other than his own kin, and I and those like me have been, to him, traitors and deserters for ages upon ages. He would no sooner listen to me than allowed you to sit upon his own throne." Faykan said soberly. Frowning somewhat he continued, "The alliances of the dwarves have become somewhat stressed as of late, and Ceolwulf's lack of desire to commit warriors to this fight was proof of that."
Ron nodded, "The King is most assured of his own tactics. I could see some in there stiffen as I approached their battle plans, as if they were angered that I might even attempt to alter them. Granted, there is little that I found flawed there regardless, but I do fear for their race if they cannot curb their stubborn necks."
"Long and proud have been the stubborn race of the dwarves," Faykan agreed, "and longer still have been their need to stand alone against their foes. Very few times has the hand of fellowship been truly extended to the line of Durin, and fewer still has it been accepted, but as you can see, they are not without honor, and will accept aid when they feel the need for it. Patience I urge, when it comes to King Náin, in time he will see the strength that will come with alliance with the free men of the West, or at the worst his folly will place a new King on the throne, and we may have better chances with him, regardless of which of his nephews is chosen."
It took scantly a few hours for their band of wizards and their guards to mount the ridge where they had a clear sight all the way down to the very crags that formed the gates of Gundabad. The men and women milled about, waiting for the sun to rise fully and the armies of the dwarves to ascend from their camps to march on the mountain.
Draco shifted anxiously. They were well in view of the mountain fortress, and no doubt the orcs within had seen their small company. Only the knowledge that there were legions of dwarves just beyond them seemed to keep the hordes from surging forth to destroy them, and that was not the best of feelings.
Once the sun was high in the sky, Draco turned about to face the east, where the dwarven camp was located. There was a great dust storm being kicked up as the tens of thousands of warrior surged to gather their arms and armor, and the blasting of ram's horns soon filled the air as the sons of Durin marshaled for battle at last.
"So it begins," Draco breathed, as the first of a long line of grim dwarvish warriors started to ascend the ridge around them, clad in iron and gripping broad axes in their hands. Tightening his grip on his wand, Draco turned to see the first of the Gundabad orcs emerge from their lair, screaming challenges and oaths of death as they swarmed out to create a defensive perimeter around their fortress.
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Voldemort watched the ensuing battle of Gundabad from his enchanted mirror. He was pleased that the vanguard of Potter's band of rebels was present, as that meant that the boy was abroad, unable to answer any other calls for aid when the Dark Lord of the earth struck out at his other allies here in Britain.
Let the fools fight; they had no idea the scope of the Dark Lord's power, nor the reach of his arm. Even as they fought upon the mountains of the north, he would move more of his forces in the south to plunder and destroy, and enslave those peoples that once answered to the call of Shadow.
'Sweep over the East, and return to the fold the peoples of Rhûn, the seafarers of Umbar, and the roving bands of Harad. These had tasted of the power of Mordor once before, they shall gladly take to it once again…' hissed the presence of the ring upon his finger, guiding him in paths that he had already considered.
The men of the east and south had long believed themselves free from the greater powers that ruled them, but soon they would learn the truth. Once enlisted in the armies of darkness, one was never free. You were to serve until the dying breath, and then your sons and daughters would pick up the sword when you fell and continue. Such was the fate of those lesser beings.
Smirking to himself, Voldemort sent the command out to his forces in the south, before returning to watch the fools in their battle. They may triumph on this field for a day, but against his power that was arising, there was no victory.
dae en' i' goth naara ed' i' kalina en' i' valar : shadow of the enemy burn by the light of the archangels
