Chapter Two: The (not quite so) calm before the storm.
"I
I remember
Standing
By the wall
The guns
They shot above our heads
And we kissed
As though nothing could fall
And the shame
Was on the other side
We can beat them
For ever and ever
We can be Heroes
Just for one day
We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
We can be Heroes
We can be
Heroes
Just for one day" Heroes, The Wallflowers.
@ Arilin, province of Arilin, Aryan School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, February 12th of 15528 A.R.
The head of House of Slytherin, Damon, walked hurriedly to the headmistress chambers.
There was no real problem with the students, renegades got along fairly well, and Aryan only accepted the very best applicants. This wasn't about school, it was about Antar.
"Mi ... " he started saying, absentmindedly, but stopped when he saw her arched eyebrow. "Arien. Queen Aimé requires a meeting with you as soon as possible. Elorie just handed me the message."
The headmistress furrowed her brows even more in concentration. There were other wizards, older and wiser. Why on Middle-Earth did Aimé kept calling her?
"Good recommendations from Valkyria, I suppose," Answered Damon to her unspoken question. Small wonder, as he was a Comyn as well. Only with way more practice at mind reading. "and you have more experience with magic." He continued.
"And my theories suit her better?" Arien mused, looking at the renegade before her. With burgundy hair, pale blue eyes and being six feet four tall, Damon didn't have the irresistible appeal of Pyrr, but he certainly had his charm. Hell, everybody had some kind of charm in that country.
"I guess so, Arien." He conceded with an iron-melting smile. "You better go by Floo, the note suggested a little urgency."
"Urgency?"
"Yes, hiril nîn."
"Gather the staff. Cancel the classes for the rest of the day. We'll go together."
You had to be very brave or very brazen to call others to a private meeting with the Royal Ruler of the Seven Provinces – and Arien was both. With a curt nod, Damon left her chambers to go to what she called 'radio station'.
"Sonorus. This is Professor Damon. All classes are cancelled for the day under orders from the headmistress. All teachers meet in the headmistress' office in ten minutes. Repeat, All teachers meet in the headmistress' office in ten minutes. Quietus."
There. He'd done it. A full day free of classes, it would be student's paradise.
The classrooms doors opened to a flow of students to leave for their common rooms, or to the Quidditch pitch, or to the library.
The library of Aryan was famous throughout Antar. They held over one hundred thousand titles from literature to science, from psychology to politics, from herbology to Arithmancy (even when Arien was far from good at that subject. They had had to figure out the subject from the books.).
Ten minutes later Aryan's staff was assembled in the office. Elorie from Gryffindor was happily chatting with Laetitia, the Head Girl of Slytherin of 15512, and current Arithmancy teacher. The former Arithmancy teacher, Darien, had been killed defending the borders on the province of Lake Country from an attack of the Easterlings. It had been the very first time they had suffered an attack in many millennia, and Darien foolishly forgot to place protective charms on himself before going to help. As a result, he died from a very ill fated arrow on his neck. When help arrived, there was hardly a thing to do - he was already gone.
Arien had her back turned to them as she was talking with some of her former students through the fireplace - most of the wizards had eagerly embraced the Floo network conception.
"Anything else, Selton? We're in the dark, here." She asked her former pupil, now Minister of Magic. They had decided to keep the Ministry of Magic a branch of the government, as to avoid creating an abyss among the renegades. Unity above all things. Selton, who had much more wisdom and skill to deal with the intricacies of the game, had volunteered to occupy that strategical place.
"The spies the Queen sent are to return in a few days. We convinced her to send a wizard with each searching party, and only with their return we'll be able to say something more accurate."
"Damn." She muttered. Selton's head chuckled in the green flames.
"Language, language, dear."
"Will I see you at the meeting?" she inquired, leaving very obvious she had no intention on minding her language. Selton was overly protective, if anyone asked her. Talk about a weird relationship. She had more experience with magic than they did, but they were more experienced in life than she was, and it was really difficult to build a hierarchy. In the end, they had unconsciously slipped to 'we respect everyone else' mode and went on with their complicated lives, laughing at the –often- awkward situations. But hell, it did eat at her sometimes.
"Of course. See you at Antares, Enn." He said affectionately.
"See you there, dad." She teased.
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@ Antares, the national capitol of Antar, Province of En Arris. February 14th of 15528 A.R.
Once again, the council of wizards of Aryan was brought before the Queen of Antar. They were an unofficial bureau of the Ministry of Magic – that was almost a government inside the government, but not quite so – and often called to help the Minister or the Queen when need came. Well, need definitely came now.
Thirty-seven wizards and witches walked through the door of the meeting room, where the non-magical (in that sense, because all of them were a bit magical) members of the council were already seated. Greetings were exchanged in worried tones as they all waited for the queen to join. Aimé was very much alike the former ruler – just a bit taller in appearance, and stronger and more down-to-earth in her beliefs. The whole council rose to greet their queen, but she quickly waved them to sit.
"Good evening, everyone." She said, and both her detached choice of words and her tired voice were signs of how serious the situation was.
The captain of the militia asked leave to report. Aimé merely nodded to him.
'She doesn't seem to have gotten any rest in these past days...' Arien thought. Damon, on her right, agreed silently. The Comyn were sitting together – Selton, Arien, Elorie, Damon and at the end of the line, the empathy expert of the group, Uliana. The others were mostly wizards from what they used to call 'the first harvest'.
"We have received reports of our watchers of disturbance on the south. Whatever it is, it's something below the line of the Rhûn. The goblins are appearing at the wastelands, attacking our people-" several faces grimaced around the table. Orcs and goblins nearly never knew the difference between a renegade and an elf, and thought Antar was only a huge elven kingdom. But since the walls had been constructed, thirteen and a half thousand years ago, they had lived in peace, happily isolated from the outside world. The army was kept only for tradition and precaution, and why on earth were the goblins defying them now? There's the fact they're not known for their wisdom, but anyway...
The marshal continued "our spies report it has been happening all over Middle earth. And it seems to have started quite a few years ago, in the woods of Mirkwood."
'Greenwood. What was it? I heard the name before...'
"South of Ered Mithrin." Elorie whispered.
'Oh, Greenwood."'
"Our reports say that it started as a commotion at Dol Guldur –"
**'At where?' Arien wordlessly asked the other Comyns. 'Far South of Greenwood.' Dalton replied.
"And for some time the … it was thought the one responsible was a group of wizards, leaded by a Witch King or something. They are the Nazgûl, or the Ringwraiths. It turned out it had been Sauron, again. Anyway, they had three meetings of this … White Council"
"Trust the elves to name a meeting." Spat Kalliath, the governor of Velda, and several heads nodded fervently.
The marshal tried to gather his audience's attention once more "On the third, they agreed on taking action, and that's when Sauron's identity was known as the person responsible by the attacks –"
"The short version, Anndra, if you don't mind." Arien interrupted.
The marshal had the grace of not looking overly chastised, while Aimé was merely amused. It was a common occurrence, after all, for Arien to lose her patience during the lectures.
"As I was saying, it started at Dol Guldur. Sauron moved away, and returned to his fortress of Barad-dûr in Mordor. All evidence points to him attacking Gondor and Rohan first, as they are vulnerable and hardly have people enough to defend themselves. "
"What are our chances against him?" asked Aimé, looking at the wizarding part of her bureau.
'How the hell will I know? I am not in charge of the Antarian army, dammit!' Arien thought, startling the other telepaths a bit. Selton, of course, jumped to the practical aspects of the problem.
"What is the condition of our army?"
"We only maintain an army for precaution. I think we can safely say we have eight hundred soldiers currently employed at the army, but the very nature of this nation allows me to say that, shall the needs come, we would count on almost the totality of the population to defend the borders."
Renegades - Survivors. They took great pride on translating the word that way. All the leaders on the table understood that, if Sauron were to try an attack upon them, he would feel sorry for ever giving it a thought.
"I think the time has come, hiril Arien, in which you'll have to prove your claim of being able to defend this country with your magic." Aimé spoke softly. But of course everybody in the room heard.
"Will you give me carte blanche, Milady?" the redheaded witch inquired. Aimé merely blinked.
"Excuse me?" the Antarian were oblivious to the terranan expressions Arien used every now and then.
"If I'm doing this, then I want to have absolute freedom in my movements."
"And what would that … freedom … allow you to do, hiril nîn?" Aimé tested her waters.
"I would want…" Arien started saying something , but stopped and retreated deep within her mind to calculate her possibilities. "An experienced marshal" she winced at Anndra, "And as many strategists as I could gather. And I'd like too release some spies throughout Middle-earth as well. And I'd train a group of wizards in wizarding war. No offence against the traditional techniques, but I just hardly think we're defeating Sauron with a bow."
"Arien, love," Selton explained lovingly. "That's exactly what we are doing here."
"No." she chuckled. "I mean, really go inside the lion's den. That would require a large amount of Polyjuice, and that would take a month's time to get done." She clarified, and Selton finally saw the light of day. "And I'll probably try to handle the situation before the goblins reach our borders. Okay, they already have, but that's something we can deal quickly. My point is, if Sauron conquers all other lands around us, we might still have a chance, but it would take too much effort and, unfortunately, much more lives lost. I don't want to try that path."
"You mean … join forces with the other people of Middle-earth?" asked Verlat, a counselor, horrified.
"That's our best shot." Agreed Selton. "Even if it's not a pleasurable one."
"I can't assure the safety of any renegade outside our borders, Arien, this is folly!" Aimé cried, losing her buoyancy.
"Not if they are wizards. We can survive basically anything."
"Darien died at Lake Country's attack, Arien."
"He was careless. It may happen with anyone. But we'll be on our guards."
"We?" asked Selton, wondering who she would drag with her and, more importantly, why she was so interested on going herself.
"Myself, and someone else I will consider later." A brief glance around the table told her exactly what they were thinking- in spite of her extraordinary curriculum, she was too damn young.
"I have experience with wizarding wars, you don't. I have experience with spying, you don't. And I have traveled throughout Middle-Earth recently and you haven't. Questions?"
"And who do you plan to take with you, a gryffindor?" Elorie assumed immediately.
"I resent that." Damon said.
"We're the brave house, aren't we?" Elorie counter attacked.
"It's not about bravery, but about keeping guts and not blowing the cover. I was thinking in the lines of a Ravenclaw or a Slytherin." Arien explained.
"Now I resent that." Pouted Elorie.
"Would that be me?" Damon said in half-questioning, half-statement.
"If you want to take the job, I'd say it would be perfect. You're a fully-fledged wizard, you're cunning, you have some experience I may need, and we're both Comyn. It would certainly be good for us to go together."
"What about Aryan?" asked Elorie.
"We'll have to find replacements for us during the brewing of the potion. And you'll have to assume as headmistress for the time I'm away. Apart from that, we have no other problems."
After that part of the plan was settled, the committee went to planning the position of the actual army and their probably war strategies, like the strengthening of the walls, navy units to defend the coats and so on. The meeting lasted all day long.
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@ Hobyton, The Shire, April 12th of 15528 A.R.
Frodo hadn't seen Gandalf for almost nine years, and before that the wizard had visited him briefly throughout the years. He used to come after nightfall and leave before dawn. It was a shock for him to listen the trademark knock on his door.
'knock, knock, knock-knock'.
"Well, well…" said Gandalf, "You look the same as always, Frodo!"
"So do you." Frodo replied joyfully, but in his heart he thought that the wizard seemed old and tired. But he asked about the world outside, and they talked animatedly all night long.
But when daylight came, Gandalf talked with Frodo about the Rings of Power, and about that one particular ring Frodo had received as an heirloom from his dear Uncle Bilbo, and about the story of the war of the ring, about Isildur and about the creature Gollum.
And in the Baggins' living room, they talked and talked, and Frodo learned of the danger lurking after him and all free people of Middle-earth. And they arranged to meet again at the Pouncing Pony, in the village of Bree. But Frodo would have to be very careful, and till the last minute all other hobbits would have to think he was just moving to another part of the Shire.
Or almost all other hobbits, because Samwise Gamgee was spying on him, at request of Meriadoc Brandebuque and Peregrin Tuck, his cousins, who were all concerned about the odd behavior of Frodo the past years. They knew him enough to know Frodo Baggins was up to something.
And so Frodo started making the arrangements to his leaving – but he lingered too long. When he finally left his house, the Nazgul were already on his tracks.
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@Mirkwood, Palace of the King Thranduil, June 20th of 3018 of the Third Age.
Legolas was thoroughly distressed.
They had had more problems than their usual share since Aragorn and Mithrandir had stopped by and asked them to keep that particular prisoner last year . They said the name of the creature was Gollum. And what a disgusting creature that was. He refused to bath, plaguing the elven keener senses with his foul smell, cursed most of the time with a hissing voice, and kept calling all beautiful things they had in Mirkwood foul.
Gollum was so corrupted by evil all beauty was foul for him.
Legolas would normally do his best to keep distance from the creature, but he was one of the greatest warriors of the realm, and Mithrandir had told his father in no uncertain terms to keep the creature in safe hold.
Gollum had been behaving strangely lately, climbing on trees. The creature loathed the light of day, so they were forced to set him to walk on the moonlight.
One could say anything about the elves of Mirkwood. That they were strange, for one – dealing with the mortal men of the village of Valle, being at once frolicking and a bit childish, being very powerful, very fierce and unpredictable and not as wise and serene as the Noldor. And that they had kept distance from some groups of elves, though the prince couldn't tell the reason why for his immortal life. But they were good hosts, hospitable and caring, even with prisoners. The only true exception he remembered to that rule had been a group of dwarves –but they had invaded their territory, refused to say a word about anything and, for all that it means, they were dwarves.
So Legolas went out of his stone palace- for the sylvan elves of Mirkwood lived in a palace built inside the mountain since the shadow had come to their forest. His father, the king, had told him their forest was once called Greenwood. But then the shadow came, and the spiders, and some other nameless dark creatures, and the wood became dark, and they changed its name to Mirkwood. But it was still a beautiful forest, full of life and mystery, and Legolas loved it with all his heart. He would sometimes go out in parties to Rivendell or to the northern wastelands, to the village of Valle, to the Lonely Mountain, and some very, very rare times downwards to the south with a group of hunters like himself, to keep the dark creatures from multiplying too much and taking over their woods.
Their woods.
Too bad he had to go out to their woods with that poor excuse of a – a being.
Gollum climbed a tree, again, and made his strange gollums. Something that tried, yet failed, to pass as the sound of a wild bird was heard as if responding. The guards that accompanied him stood immediately alert.
"Feriel! On guard." Legolas whispered, and they soon heard the sound of thousands of foul creatures coming towards them. Four guards against thousands – it was indeed one of the worst situations he'd ever been.
They shot and shot until their quivers were empty. Even in the pale light of the moon their sight didn't fail their aim. But as the foul creatures –orcs – quickly approached and with empty quivers, they were forced to take their daggers and swords. But not even their speed and dexterity would hold them for much longer, and Legolas looked up to the trees after slicing the chest of an orc, just to see a dark-gray figure running away.
Of course he would run away.
And of course the orcs had come to give him the opportunity to.
"Cirion! Legolas! Gilhan! We must go back!" cried Feriel, his fathers' first marshal. The elf was right, of course. They couldn't face that many orcs alone. Not with blades.
His father would not be content with the news.
~*~
Far, far away from Mirkwood, Sauron ordered his troops to attack Osgiliath.
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@ Minas Tirith, Gondor, July 4th of 3018 of the Third Age.
"May your path be smooth, my brother." Said Faramir, holding Boromir, at the gate of the first Circle of the city of the King. Not that the king lived there- Gondor hadn't had a king for many, many years. Since the beginning of the Third Age, to be precise. But the stewards had managed the city and the kingdom, and they waited for the king to return.
"And you, my brother, be at peace. I will stop at nothing to get the explanation for this omen. Help father in all you can in this time of struggle, and worry not – I shall return." Said Boromir, his face buried in his brother's hair.
They had always been so close – the two sons of the steward, their mother gone so early, and even in the innocence of youth, children saw them for their title, not their hearts. It had changed a little when they had grown enough to become worthy warriors, and were respected by their courage and character, having true and faithful friends among their soldiers. But the true deep bond formed in those young years of isolation was never weakened.
They loved each other.
Even more when they both knew that Denethor didn't love Faramir as he loved his older son. That was odd, because Faramir was much more alike Denethor in character – wise beyond his years, fond of meditation and able to look into a person's soul. Boromir was every inch a warrior – and secretly trembled before the prospect of becoming the leader of a nation who loses faith day after day, as the darkness crept closer. He was brave, selfless, and loyal –but also a bit stubborn. Denethor seemed to love those characteristics so unlike his own. And he didn't love his younger offspring with the same ardor.
The brothers knew that, even when they never spoke of it. And Boromir took upon himself to cover any hole Denethor had left in Faramir's heart – love, guidance, anything.
But the charade, or prophecy, or enigma, or whatever else, was taking away the little serenity they had. It was a light in those days of darkness, a sign that something, somewhere, was happening and Minas Tirith could still be saved.
So Boromir would travel. He would find the house of Lord Elrond half-elven and seek his counsel, in the hope it might be helpful to his people.
And with a final hug on his brother, he took his horse and rode away – he would find the house of Elrond.
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@ Orthanc, Isengard. July 10th of 3018 of the Third Age.
Gandalf was terrified.
For the very first time in many, many years, he was trapped in a situation he didn't know how to deal with. They had been betrayed! Betrayed! By Saruman!
His commandant, his head of house, his source of counsel whenever he couldn't solve a problem, whenever it was too much for him. Saruman, his old mentor. A traitor.
Gandalf had come to him for advice. Frodo had the One ring, and they desperately needed all the help they could get to destroy it. But Saruman's allegiance was no longer with the Order in Valinor. He had sold his soul to the deceiver of Barad-dûr. After all, a traitor deserves another traitor – hadn't Sauron done the same to his own kind?
He wished so badly he could just disclose it and take the weight off his shoulders. But it was too late now – that kind of information, if released, would break havoc in all the continent. People would suicide. Elves would grieve to death. One nation would turn against the other. Panic everywhere –and what for? Could he be so selfish as to burden them with such a knowledge only for his own peace of mind?
The Order had no way of knowing just how bad things had turned in Middle-earth, they lived in blissful ignorance of everything outside his island. The five of them had decided to go back because they knew no force in Middle-earth could compete with a wizard. There was no army against magic.
Radagast had lost his illusions and turned his mind to experiments and magical animals. Orodrin had perished in the mines of Moria many years ago. Akhmed was wandering on the lands far, far south. Saruman was a traitor, and he was trapped.
If Radagast was still true – and he had had, so far, no reason to doubt that – the Eagles would know of that soon and he would be able to attempt an escape.
Gandalf hoped fervently Frodo didn't wait for him too much, that he would go off to the house of Elrond on his own, and that no evil would befall him. It wasn't fair, that such a lovely, joyful creature should suffer for the mistakes of others.
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@ Proucing Pony, Bree. September 30th of 3018 of the Third Age.
If the song –or riddle –was true, then that man before them was someone Gandalf knew.
If it was indeed true, it was someone Gandalf trusted. And that would be good enough for Frodo, as long as he was sure of it.
There was so many things chasing them. And those ... those Nazgûl ... they definitely were nothing good. They were the very things nightmares were made of.
But that Ranger, Strider, was indeed someone Gandalf trusted. The letter that the bartender delivered him matched everything Strider said. 'Those words follow my name.' So the four little hobbits would follow Strider. And it was obvious they needed to make the Nazgûl loose their tracks –they had to go to the wild. So be it.
Gandalf was late, and something ought to have happened to delay the wizard; but if Gandalf recommended Strider, he was good enough for Frodo.
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@ Arilin, province of Arilin, Aryan School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, December 1st of 15528 A.R. or 3018 of the Third Age.
"Backpacks, winter robes, personal stuff."
"Check."
"Invisibility cloak."
"Check."
"First-aid mediwizard case."
"Check."
"Hmmm … wands?"
"Oh, for pity sake, Arien."
"Okay. Belt with potions?"
"Do you really think we have to take those vials with us?"
"One can't be too careful. Brooms."
"I thought we had agreed on 'nothing too obvious.'"
"We may need to make a hasty departure, and I don't want to take any chances against the horses of Rohan. We just reduce the size of the brooms and take them with us on our pockets."
"Good god. Okay, I'll ask Laetitia to fetch the brooms for us."
"Correction, you'll fetch the brooms, as soon as we finish this. Polyjuice?"
"Loads, check."
"Right. Hmmm … weapons?"
"We finally got to the non-magical list. Check."
"Food? And don't forget the coffee."
"Food check, and coffee too. We also have some wine and water."
"Good. I think that's it. No, wait! Floo powder."
"You are not honestly expecting to find a fireplace connected to the Floo network, are you?"
"No, but it might do us some good to be able to call people. Transfigure the horses and we'll cover most of the distance riding our broomsticks at night. When daylight comes, we'll ride the horses. What?"
"You're going to fly at night with a transfigurated horse on your pocket???"
"That way we can cover more ground. What's the matter?"
"You just have no heart. And people complain about Slytherin…"
"People don't complain about Slytherin. Slytherins are nice, mind you. The whole problem was that Salazar was a jerk. A real son of a bitch."
** sigh**
"Where do we start?"
"I think the logical thing would be to investigate the ruins of Dol Guldur. But we can't get too close to Lothlórien, she'd feel our presence."
"Let's go then."
Damon hurried to the Quidditch pitch to get their brooms, and met her in the front doors. A few students and teachers were gathered to bid them fair well – this was the first time a wizard had been called to defend their country, and they were all a bit expectant.
"Elorie, take care of yourself, will you? And don't worry too much, this castle works almost on its own." Said Arien hugging her former pupil. She couldn't help but notice that Elorie had tears in her eyes.
"And don't forget to get the Aurors ready for any eventuality. We may need some back up." Said Damon.
"All right, I'll keep them alert. And don't worry, the castle will still be standing when you come back." The deputy headmistress said. After some more speech and hugging, the two wizards flew to the east as the last ray of sunlight died in the sky.
And twenty-four days after their departure, the Fellowship of the Ring left Rivendell to destroy the ring in the fires of Mount Doom.
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A.N.: Wow. That was hard. I decided to follow the book as long as I could – but had to make a little jump there. Or else I would never end this stuff. And you'd probably be bored to death.
Terranan is an expression from the Darkover series I'm borrowing here. It refers to Terra, or Earth, and means 'from earth'. When I say Aimé wasn't used with terranan expressions, it means she wasn't used with manners of speech from earth. (quite obvious, Arien was the one on earth, not Aimé.)