A/N: School's out for me, so now I have more time to write. At least when the muse hits. This chapter contains a lot more action than the previous chapters, and is dedicated to LoZ: Skyward Sword's absolutely terrifying Farore Silent Realm theme music.
T.A. 2464, November
The party heading to Dol Guldur was rather diminished compared to expectations. At the head of the group was Gandalf, followed by Harry, Fleur, and Glorfindel. Four people - not exactly the best odds against the 'greatest evil of their time', even if it wasn't confirmed.
"Aux armes, citoyens!" Harry sang obnoxiously. "Formez, vos battalions! Marchons, marchons, Qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons."
"Your accent is terrible," Fleur commented. "After so many years, too. I'm disappointed."
"What is he singing?" Gandalf asked.
"The French national anthem," Fleur replied.
"Does this place always stink this badly?" Glorfindel asked, eyes darting left and right, always watching. He might not be a wizard, but he was still a famed warrior, and his tactical proficiency was unparalleled. He might even be useful as a human shield against the Nazgul.
"No. It's the smell of death," Harry responded. "I told you there's a necromancer here. Do try to keep up."
"Right, right." Glorfindel rolled his eyes. Then he gestured in front of them. "There it is. Amon Lanc."
Harry and Fleur squinted, seeing nothing. "Bloody elves," Harry muttered under his breath.
"I do wish Saruman had chosen to come," Gandalf sighed. "I do not understand why he'd let us go on our own, if this is as dangerous as it seemed."
"Because if you die, the Valar might finally send a lady Istar?" Harry wondered.
"...perhaps," Gandalf admitted grudgingly. "But I don't think that's it."
"It probably doesn't matter anyway," Harry said. "I don't think he can woo anyone until he shaves that beard."
"Surely shaving it will bare his double-chin to the world," Fleur argued. "Why do you think all the Istari wear beards?"
"Is there a point to this bullying?" Gandalf asked.
The four of them continued onward towards the Bald Hill - well, not bald anymore - as quietly as they could. Fleur clutched her war-staff, a pretty thing made of eucalyptus, the wood itself carrying a pinkish tinge and adorned with runes made of gold thread. She brushed at her throat; she was wearing her full collection of Arkenstone jewelry, including the upgraded Ravenclaw's Diadem, which would hopefully continue to give her wisdom, mental strength, and clarity in battle.
She was foregoing her usual style of dress for an outfit made out of treated and reinforced dragonhide; plates of dark steel covered everywhere except the joints. Harry also carried his war-staff and wore armor, though he preferred mobility over defense and usually didn't wear the plate-armor. This time was no different. He looked rather like a Ranger of the North, with his dark wardrobe.
Glorfindel was wearing Harry's spare dragonhide outfit, magically resized to fit him. Oddly enough, it was Gandalf who wore the same sized clothing as Harry did, proved by how he wore Harry's second spare outfit with ease. The stubborn fool refused to give up his pointy wizard's hat in favor of a helmet, though. Fleur could see the appeal of pointy wizard's hats; it would not do to face against a Dark Lord without style. But it probably wasn't very healthy.
"I see it, now," Fleur whispered, eyes on the circular fortress. Its history as a former elfin capital had been all but erased; it was now all steel and dark stone, with lingering shadows. Harry squinted. Her eyesight was better than his, even after he fixed his own eyesight with magic.
"We should be attacking during daytime," Harry said. "It's too dark for me to see anything."
"It is daytime," Gandalf replied. "A perpetual storm hangs over Dol Guldur, not unlike that over Mordor. All these - shadows - don't help either." He grunted, twisting his leg out from underneath him.
Fleur looked down. The road was covered in - shadow, as Gandalf put it. It wasn't exactly that; after all, the shadow didn't have an owner, it was more like a dark mist swirling at their feet. It was not pleasant. It was like a spiderweb made of darkness; it floated and fluttered with every breeze, but clung to everyone's boots and proved difficult to remove. Fleur assumed that her hereditary fire-affinity had something to do with the inch or so of space the shadow gave her, compared to everyone else, who struggled.
"Stop," Glorfindel hissed, and everyone froze. Only their eyes darted every which way.
Fleur cast her gaze along the visible horizon. Nothing there. She focused and began to radiate magic; minuscule, undetectable amounts, several thousand pulses per second. However, her magic was quickly shut down, and her eyes widened before sensations of reassurance radiated from her soul-bond. Her eyes flickered to Harry, who had not moved. More emotions. More concepts. Discovery. Enemy, magic-user, proficient.
Right. Her enemy was a potent sorcerer. Best not to take chances.
"We've been spotted," Glorfindel breathed to the rest of them, voice only audible due to the eerie silence.
"Spotted by what?" Gandalf whispered back.
"Not certain. Very, very small. Barely had a presence, I wasn't even certain it was there at first. But it is, I know that now." Glorfindel's hand hovered above the hilt of his greatsword. "There's no point continuing to hide. We should strike hard and fast."
"Maybe a sprite, then," Harry murmured. "Little physical presence if you don't know what to look for. I should've been more careful."
"There is little any of us could've done," Gandalf reassured. "The Enemy and his lieutenants are often underestimated, since there are songs of warriors like Glorfindel defeating them in single combat. Those songs are nowhere near as glorious as they sound."
"'Tis true," Glorfindel said. "Nazgul are fearsome fighters, and one I would prefer to flee from than fight. Regardless, we must move, or we will be attacked."
Gandalf led the way, surprisingly fast and agile for a man who appeared to be in his seventies. Harry and Glorfindel ran right behind him, the latter making little sound as he did even over dead leaves and branches, and Fleur stayed in the rear. She asked Harry, over the soul-bond, if she was permitted to use magic now. He tentatively agreed, and Fleur began pulsing magic again, behind her, to detect anything out of the ordinary without having to turn her head.
There was a lot of things out of the ordinary. But they were not attacking, merely observing. She ignored them for now.
"Jesus!" Harry cursed, as a large orc lumbered into view; Glorfindel rushed forward and quickly beheaded it. It didn't fall, instead swinging its own crude weapon at the elf. Glorfindel only survived thanks to his honed instincts; he also cursed, in some elfin dialect, as he jumped back. Gandalf struck it with his staff; the orc was blasted backwards, hard enough that its bones were probably all shattered.
"It might still be functional. Be careful," Gandalf warned, as they rushed past. It was indeed functional, but it was sluggish, and the puppeteered orc corpse was left in the dust. They jumped over snaking tree roots and ducked under unnaturally sharp branches, charging in the direction of the forest.
"Fucking hell," Harry muttered. "Enemies incoming, Glorfindel's direction. I'm gonna do what Gandalf did on a bigger scale - Glorfindel, duck."
The elf ducked as Harry brandished his staff to his right and a massive kinetic pulse roared through the forest; the smaller trees snapped at their trunks from the sheer weight of force. As the trees flattened, Fleur saw a host of corpses charging in their direction, wielding too-large axes and hammers. Since they were dead and had no fear of self-sustained injury, they had apparently decided to carry too-large weapons that could probably hurt her even through her armor. Thankfully, they were blown off of their feet, though they didn't take long to recover.
She swallowed.
Gandalf raised his staff and the crystal embedded in the tip glowed like a second sun; the shadows retreated, flinching, but to the rest of the party, it was welcoming. It rejuvenated her, made her feel more awake, as she followed her friends into a clearing that once probably housed the Elves' infrastructure. She stopped before she ran into Harry's back.
"Bloody hell," Harry breathed.
The entire clearing was covered in walls, skeletal trees substituting dark stone occasionally. Buildings were occasionally littered around the area, but the majority of the place were simply walls. And rather tall ones; at least tall enough that she was uncertain if Glorfindel could jump over them. It was a labyrinth. She recalled that stupid hedge maze she'd seen during the Septawizard Showdown, and a sensation of mild amusement coming from Harry told her that he had apparently thought the same.
"We don't have time for this," Harry said, rolling his neck, his vertebrae popping. "I'm gonna blast down those walls. Make sure I don't get gutted in the process."
Fleur erected a powerful ward around them, as Harry took a deep breath and thrust his staff like a fencer with his rapier. Fleur winced as the area lit up with a flash like lightning, and her ears were tortured by what sounded like a crack of thunder. The pain was amplified by the raw power that Harry was exhibiting; stronger than any magic he'd performed in recent memory. She opened her eyes, blinking away the light, and found that several walls had crumbled under his power. Harry was scowling.
"Either I'm weaker than I thought, or the walls are made of a single slab of solid steel," he growled. "Looks like we're taking the maze."
Fleur looked. Only three layers had been penetrated; technically the fourth had been as well, but the resulting crack was too small for any of them to fit through in their current state. Gandalf let out a string of curses that would surely prevent him from accessing the Forbidden Lands at the end of his lifetime. Glorfindel glanced at Harry.
"Can't you turn into a bird again?" He asked.
"Can't use magic too well in that state. Also, look up." Fleur followed Glorfindel's eyes upwards, and a chill ran down her spine. Fell-beasts. Black, leathery, and radiating a stench not unlike that of the corpses.
"You turned into a dragon, before," Glorfindel argued.
"And if Fleur or I get stabbed by one of the riders?" Glorfindel fell silent. "At least within the maze the fell-beasts can't attack effectively. The Nazgul will have to dismount and chase us on foot if they want us."
"Enough chatter," Gandalf snapped. "Let's run."
They did.
They leaped across the three ruined layers and then immediately turned right, under Gandalf's guidance; there was no room for hesitation. Thankfully, this was the right choice, and as they made more turns, Fleur began to see Gandalf's strategy. He was aiming for the various buildings dotted across the area, zig-zagging between buildings and getting ever closer to the fortress itself. Unfortunately, the buildings themselves doubled as barracks - or perhaps catacombs, were more accurate in this case. Zombies shambled out of the reinforced doors, carrying a mishmash of weapons and ineffective armor - not that they needed it, much.
Fleur flinched violently, losing her footing as one of the fell-beasts swooped overhead and the Nazgul rider screamed. Every bad encounter with dementors rose to the forefront of her mind; the dementors were bad, and the Nazgul were definitely on par with them, if not worse. Harry paused, then sprinted back to her to pick her up in his arms. Hopeless romantic, Fleur thought, but she still shivered violently.
"I'm fine," she said quickly. "We need your magic. How far ahead are the…?"
"Not that far, I can follow their trail," Harry reassured, quickly putting Fleur down. They ran. "I don't think I've ever felt more like prey since that time we were trapped in the Mirror Realm."
"Agreed," Fleur said, shivering at the mention of the accursed place. Harry had destroyed it with fire. Lots and lots of fire, in fact.
"Heads up!" Harry shouted, and Fleur ducked; Harry's staff glowed bright with power and the light shot at a swooping fell-beast. The creature screamed in pain as Harry's rocket struck at its hind, exploding violently enough that its rider was dislodged and it was set on fire. No traditional fire, either - it burned white like a magnesium flame, and just as bright.
"Harry!" Glorfindel's voice. "Get over here!"
"On my way!" Harry yelled back. "Follow me."
He leaped upwards, transforming into a raven at the blink of an eye; Fleur followed his example, morphing into a hawk. They skimmed over several walls before coming across the sight of Gandalf holding off twelve - no, thirteen - corpse-soldiers, Glorfindel's famed swordsmanship pitifully ineffective against them. Harry returned to a human form, rolled upon landing, coming up with his staff in his right hand and an elven sword in the other. A focused beam of fire, not unlike a laser, burst from his staff, piercing through three corpses and setting them alight from within. Those ones quickly dropped.
"Burn them, or freeze them in place," Harry advised Gandalf who nodded in thanks. Fleur put up wards in front of the two fighters as they methodically removed the corpses from their path. Once it was clear - save for a block of ice with three zombies inside - they charged forward once more. They came to a long stretch directly facing the fortress. They were close.
"I'm going to blow down those last few walls," Harry said quickly. "No sense wasting time here when we're so close. Cover your ears, yeah?"
Nods of assent from the rest of the group, and Harry's staff glowed. He hurled the light at the wall at the end of the passage. The light blossomed fiercely, and a superheated wind blew over them even at this distance. Fleur cast a thermic ward to keep them from being roasted alive, even as a brilliant white light glowed directly in front of them. Gandalf stared in amazement, while Glorfindel was shielding his eyes.
"Oh, fuck me."
Harry uttered those words as the smoke cleared. The walls were somewhat damaged, but not broken, thanks to two Ringwraiths standing in front of it. One of them, judging by the crown, was obviously the Witch-King of Angmar. Considering how Glorfindel flinched at the sight of one but not the other, Fleur's guess was correct.
"I suppose you gentlemen wouldn't just consider surrendering?" Harry asked cautiously, removing his wand from his staff and dispelling the latter back into the Wardrobe.
The Ringwraiths simply raised their swords and began moving forward. In the tight corridors of the maze, there was no possibility of simply pushing past them. Harry sheathed his sword, and his unarmed left hand came up with a shimmering golden shield, and he crouched into a dueling stance.
"Glorfindel, with me," Harry said. "Gandalf, Fleur, two of you take a different route, try to find another way to the fortress. Remove any obstacles you see. If you meet the Enemy, run like hell."
Fleur nodded quickly, and she turned back the way she came. Gandalf, the old coot, was already in front of her. Shockingly fast, that man. She followed hot on his heels and spared one glance back; the duel had already begun, with Harry facing off against the Witch-King and Glorfindel against the lesser Ringwraith. She could feel the violent pulses of magic, one of them the fierce and comforting flame that was Harry, and the other a damp and crawling presence that was definitely the Witch-King.
She'd definitely underestimated the leader of the Nine. While not as strong as Harry, it definitely had a few tricks up its sleeve, and Harry was no longer feeling carefree and joking as he often did in the face of weaker enemies.
Gandalf rounded the corner, going in the other direction to the one they came from. Fleur followed. Gandalf created a powerful gust of wind to push back two zombies coming their way; this gave them enough time to leap out of their grasp into a different route. Fleur wondered if they'd encounter another Ringwraith, considering Harry had blown one off its mount earlier. She pulsed her magic outwards; she immediately pinged Harry and the Witch-King, their presences almost overshadowing Glorfindel and the second Nazgul. The final Nazgul was located far from here, and its emotions were in turmoil; pain under a layer of rage and hatred. The sheer unholiness of the presence almost made Fleur faint, but it was good to know that it wasn't an immediate threat.
"Three more zombies, on the second left," Fleur told Gandalf. Gandalf understood what 'zombies' were in the context, and he was prepared to scorch them to, well, proper death once they came into view. Fleur dodged the flaming, flailing corpses and followed Gandalf out of the maze. Fucking finally.
"Which way?" Gandalf asked. Damn it, Fleur wasn't paying attention - spending so long without a decent opponent to fight had eroded her sense of strategy and probably self-preservation, too. She pulsed her magic again. "Go left. The fortress is symmetrical, and there are fewer enemies that way. Also, our movements are constantly being watched. Expect hard encounters."
She was also relieved to notice that Glorfindel had disabled his opponent and now the two of them were gaining an advantage over the Witch-King. Hopefully their victory wouldn't drive the Witch-King back towards the fortress and trapping Fleur and Gandalf in the process. Fleur stumbled as she struggled to dodge a skeletal hand that had burst from the rotting floor tiles. What the hell was this place? A Dark Lord's fortress or an Indiana Jones adventure?
"Are you alright?" Gandalf asked, noticing her struggle.
"Fine," Fleur grunted. "Stronger enemies up ahead. Remember Harry's categories of necromancy? Type two enemies incoming."
"Tortured souls," confirmed Gandalf, charging up the stairs, staff in a two-handed grip.
They leaped over the last flight of stairs to burst into a large, circular room; it was empty. Fleur stumbled to a stop behind him, glancing around. Dark, spiky pillars, twelve suits of armor standing on pedestals, the armor itself designed like Crusaders but significantly larger - eight feet tall - with spiked gauntlets and pauldrons. A single door to their left. Large, ten feet high, and closed. They'd wandered right into a trap. Great. Fleur had been expecting mobs, maybe, in a somewhat disadvantageous room; she had not been counting on a trap room.
"Fuck!" Fleur shouted, just as the twelve suits of armor crashed down from their pedestals onto the stone floor. Gandalf and Fleur immediately stood back-to-back, warding each other, holding their weapons out in front of them. This was not good; not good at all. Unfeeling corpses could have their bones pulverized; it would be significantly more difficult to do so with literal suits of armor. Controlled by the aforementioned souls, it seemed. Sentient warriors that were even more difficult to hurt than literal zombies.
Gandalf slammed his staff on the ground; Fleur ground her teeth and weathered the blow, which rippled the stone floor like the surface of the pond, by leaning on Gandalf. The heavy, unbalanced suits of armor stumbled; Fleur unleashed a blast of cold, aiming at the three suits on her right side. She poured more magic into it, feeling the beginning of magical strain, and the ice grew faster, creeping up the suits' legs and freezing their torsos. They swung their morningstars at themselves with no hesitation; the ice shattered and the tore their legs from their spots. Ice was useless, then. Just as useless as flame, most likely - magic could produce quite a lot of heat, but it was difficult to melt steel maces as they flew at one's head.
Fleur dodged under a swing of a mace; strong, but slow. Made them slightly more manageable. She pushed her will into a concussive spell, aiming carefully at the knee joint; the suit of armor was blasted back, hard enough to chip the stone wall, and like she'd thought, strong enough to mangle one knee and keep it off its feet for the foreseeable future. She turned to the next, and she quickly dodged the second mace; one of the spikes brushed against her plate armor, creating a godawful screeching noise. She ignored it and swung her staff - none of that fancy twirling bullshit, no time for that - into its knee. Like the one before it, its leg was torn apart.
Gandalf caught on to what she was doing and began copying the process. After a minute, they'd taken down five suits; four missing a leg or both legs, one missing an upper body after Gandalf struck it especially enthusiastically. Seven more suits; still difficult, with a possibility of death (well, resurrection in Gandalf's case, and Fleur might escape as a ghost as long as Harry remained alive) but much better odds than before. Fleur grunted as a morningstar struck her hastily conjured shield; the force behind it was inhuman. Perhaps, then again, that was the point. Fleur returned the blow ten times harder and with a ribbon on top, sending yet another suit of armor out of commission.
She heard Gandalf grunt in pain. That was not good. Dragonhide was tough, but the same could be said of silk; it stopped cutting damage, not blunt damage. With all the force behind those maces, even the magical reinforcement could do so much. Fleur triple-layered a powerful domed shield into existence around the two of them, then jabbed her staff at Gandalf, casting a silent Episkey. She winced as she heard Gandalf's bones reknitting themselves, probably not a pleasant experience to go through.
"My thanks," Gandalf gasped, as the second layer of the shield shattered like glass.
As soon as the final layer fell, Fleur struck out with a wave of concussive power, blowing the enemy back several steps; she gripped her staff in two hands and swung it like a baseball bat, channeling and amplifying her magical power through the focus. The point of contact with the suit of armor was the shoulder; the force shattered the entire arm, as well as sending wide cracks through the chestplate. It fell, no longer balanced nor able to support the weight of its weapon. She quickly spun, gathering a little less magical power than before (but no less lethal) at the tip of her staff, sending it crashing into the next one. Gandalf got one more. Odds were three-on-two.
It was Gandalf who saved her this time; she was blindsided by one suit of armor shoulder-charging her as the other swung, leading to her stumbling and falling on the floor. Gandalf made the floor ripple again, sending the enemy off-balance, and helped pull her up. Fleur grunted her thanks, before gathering more magical energy; the next strike was a mixture of a bludgeoning spell and a cutting spell, the effect similar to being cleaved with a battleaxe. Thankfully, it was strong enough that, upon striking her staff upon the helm of one suit of armor, it was bisected all the way down to the navel - enough to send it to time out.
"When will Harry and Glorfindel come?" Gandalf panted as he and Fleur took on the last of the suits of armor.
Fleur sent out a wave again. "Soon," she promised, sensing their presences practically flying towards the fortress, homing in on their position. The third Nazgul, the one Harry had struck down, seemed to by laying in smoking ruins where Harry had passed; that was likely why they were delayed. The Witch-King was furious, but apparently its vessel had been destroyed and likely would not be able to interfere unless Sauron revived it. Which Sauron totally could, since he was in this very fortress.
Fuck.
Gandalf managed to destroy his opponent and Fleur's, with Gandalf's help, followed soonafter. They took a moment to recover their breaths; Fleur dropped to the floor, folding her knees underneath herself. Fuck, she was tired. She hadn't fought at full-power, so to speak, but it wasn't as if she could, considering they were indoors and Gandalf would not be able to escape the blast. But it had been a fairly long struggle and a draining one at that; she'd used maybe a quarter of her magical reserves, and physically she was even more tired. Meanwhile, Gandalf was burning even more magic to make sure the souls didn't return and harm them in other ways.
Fleur sent another pulse; thankfully, Harry and Glorfindel were now in range. Now that she looked more carefully, Glorfindel and Harry were diminished, especially the former. Injured, perhaps? After another minute, Harry and Glorfindel burst into the room, and she got a good look. Harry looked a little charred and frazzled, but was not weakened beyond the significant use of magic during the fight against the Witch-King, and the other Nazgul on the way here. Glorfindel, however, looked deathly pale and Fleur's eyes widened as she saw the wound on his arm.
"Lord Glorfindel!" Gandalf quickly approached. "You're injured. From a Nazgul-blade, no less."
Glorfindel gave a grim smile. "I shall worry about it once we drive the Dark Lord from this cursed place."
"I don't have any healing supplies," Harry said. "I reversed the physical damage and stopped the spread of the venom as best I could, but I haven't been able to eliminate it. Because of that, the wound will likely reopen in about thirty minutes, and we'll be back to square one. Let's decide on a course of action soon-ish, or we could be in serious trouble."
"Let us return to Lothlorien," Gandalf spoke, at the same time, Glorfindel said through ground teeth, "let us continue." They glared at each other.
"I am the least useful fighter on this team, against the Enemy," Glorfindel argued. "The three of you, who are the only ones who can likely put up a fight against him, are still combat-ready. Let us continue - if we retreat now, the Enemy will reinforce this hill, entrench himself deeper. We will not have another chance."
Gandalf looked troubled, but he nodded. "Very well," he said, looking at the two warlocks in turn. "And the two of you?"
"I can keep going," Harry nodded. Fleur hesitated for a moment before nodding as well.
"Mayhaps you can stay here with Lord Glorfindel, Lady Fleur?" Gandalf asked.
"If they're left alone, they'll be vulnerable to reinforcements," Harry said. "They'll come with us, at least close enough that we can aid them in escaping if we need to do that."
Gandalf nodded, before turning towards the tall doors. He pushed them open with magic-amplified strength; they slowly shifted, utterly silent. More stairs. Harry muttered something unkind about dark towers under his breath, before following the Istar upwards. Fleur and Glorfindel followed. Fleur turned to the elf.
"How bad is it?" She asked softly.
"Not… as bad as it could be," he said with a slight smile. "I fought a Balrog once, remember?"
"You also died, remember?" Fleur asked dryly, and he chuckled.
"What about you, my lady?" He asked. "Are you still capable of fighting?"
"Definitely," Fleur said. "My magic is still strong. My body is rather tired, though."
"Ah, the black knights," Glorfindel acknowledged. "I'm pleased you are unhurt, my lady."
"Thank you, Glorfindel," Fleur said sincerely. "I'm pleased too. Oh, look, there's the boss chamber."
"Boss chamber?"
"Back where we come from, there were a lot of stories based around teams of four adventurers going into dungeons or castles and of course, the boss resides in the lowest level or the highest level," Fleur grinned. Then the grin faded away as she approached Harry and Gandalf, to be struck with terror of the highest kind; she didn't realize she was falling until Harry caught her. It took her a minute to stop hyperventilating.
"Mental shields," he advised, and Fleur raised them; in her exhaustion from the previous fight, they'd apparently been lowered. Idiot, Fleur! She needed to focus. Merde, it had been too long since a proper fight, she'd forgotten all the things that might let her survive. The pressure eased a little as she raised the appropriate shields, but the terror aura was powerful enough that it still bled into her mind, casting doubt on her thoughts.
"Ready?" Gandalf asked gravely, and the party nodded. He pushed open the doors.
They were in a throne room. A single throne made of an obsidian-like throne sat on the far end; a shadow, too dark and dense to be a mere shade, sat on it. On either side of the room were corpses, often of elves; Fleur felt a quickly growing sensation of dread as they, as one, turned their unblinking, lifeless eyes to them. Harry pursed his lips as Gandalf clutched tightly at his staff. Glorfindel saw the corpses of his people and released a guttural snarl, one Fleur had never imagined hearing from the graceful elf.
"Sauron," Gandalf spat, disgusted.
Sauron could not speak, but the sensation of amusement radiating from his being was clear enough. The smug shit - the elves, as one, drew their blades with their elfin grace and began to surround the four of them. Fleur noticed that the doors had been sealed shut. She bared her teeth; she could feel her pale hair broadening into long, metallic feathers, and her fingers curling into claws. She felt the power rising up inside her like a bonfire; she received a mostly concealed feeling of mild surprise from the Dark Lord, before he returned to his metaphorical poker face.
The horde attacked.
Glorfindel hung back at the rear, barely useful against his own kinsmen while injured, especially those that did not fear pain or death. Gandalf sent massive tongues of flame at the enemy, and Fleur roared, somewhat self-aware of her demonic voice and feathered arms, as she slashed with talons made of flame. Harry had summoned his war-staff again; he twisted and twirled his weapon, simultaneously shielding himself and sending great flashes of white flame. He alone struck down more of the corpses than Fleur, in her enhanced state, and Gandalf could, combined. Moments like these allowed Fleur to appreciate that her husband was as powerful as he was.
"Always hiding behind your little puppets, aren't you?" Harry taunted. Fleur could see how unnecessarily dangerous that was, but having been consumed by her fire and rage, she merely grinned to reveal a row of needle-like teeth, eyes blazing. "Even now - having hidden behind an alias because you're too terrified to fight. Too weak. Isn't that right, Sauron?"
The Necromancer had not moved the entire time, remaining seated on his throne. As Gandalf cried out with pain, Harry swept his staff horizontally; a powerful flash of white light, and several elves in the front fell, sliced cleanly in half along the stomach. To this day, it seemed Sectumsempra was one of Harry's favorite spells, especially after becoming friends with the dour Severus Snape on his second timeline. Fleur took advantage of the momentary respite to charge into the fray, her flames whirling around her like a violent halo, and she began to tear apart limbs from bodies.
Soon enough, the host of dead elves were well and truly dead. Fleur took two long steps back to Harry's side; lost in her battle-lust, she'd forgotten how close to the Necromancer she'd been. The thing had not moved an inch. She glanced to Gandalf, not wanting to look at the quiet shadow. Gandalf was clutching at a wound in his stomach, the worst of it healed by Harry while she wasn't looking. His face was pale, lips drawn taut into a grim expression.
"You're not an illusion, I can tell," Harry said, speaking to the shade. "You're the real Sauron, trapped in here with the four of us. Are you trying to buy time with your mysterious act? Are you really as powerful as you seem?" He raised a palm, full of flickering violet flame. "What if I set you on fire as you are? Would that do anything?"
The Necromancer slowly stood. Fleur blinked; it was difficult to tell due to the lack of features on the body whether he was moving or not. However, as he stood, he drew up to an impressive height, towering over even Glorfindel. Then, she was struck by a wave of terror so powerful she was driven to her knees.
Fleur was fairly certain she was screaming, but couldn't tell with the sensation of PAIN in her mind; the tower shook underneath her hands and knees, and her flames, her rage, were snuffed out, replaced with overwhelming terror, replaced with memories of everything she'd feared then multiplied with each other and amplified hundredfold. Her mental shields crumbled under the onslaught and she was about to kill herself to escape the pain before it suddenly stopped. Like a light being turned on. Just like that.
She still felt dizzy, but she could make out Harry, bewildered and shocked but still standing on his two feet, bracing against the wave of terror. Gandalf and Glorfindel lay beside her, dazed. Harry roared and blasted at the wall; a section of the room, reinforced or not, was blown apart under Harry's turbulent magic. It led to the dark sky, full of shadow and the occasional fell-beast. Reinforcements.
"Fleur," Harry said quickly. "You are going out with Glorfindel and Gandalf. Fly back to Lothlorien and don't stop until you do."
Fleur scrambled to her feet and began dragging Glorfindel and Gandalf to their feet; both thankfully were inherently magical in nature, accompanied by mental shields, and were not as badly affected by the terror aura as most would be. They managed to stumble over to the hole in the wall, whereupon Fleur took one last glance.
"And you." Harry turned back to Sauron as his full war-gear - plate armor made from carved basilisk scales reinforced with runes written in gold thread, on top of the dragonhide armor - flashed into existence onto his body. "I've changed my mind. No more playing around with you. I'm gonna kill you, right here, right now."
Fleur leaped off the tower in time; a great storm of flame burst from the hole like steam from a kettle on boil. Her body morphed into one of a great hawk, as large as any of the great eagles, and she dived underneath Gandalf and Glorfindel. She could feel the two of them grip at the feathers on her back. She dived and swooped as best she could without dislodging her passengers to avoid the fell-beasts; Gandalf's magic helped a little in that regard, the bright light repelling the creatures of darkness. As she flew, she was made dizzy several times by the raw magic pouring from the now half-destroyed tower, as Harry and Sauron did battle for their lives. This… this was approaching unknown territory. Fleur knew that at that moment, Harry was channeling untold power, more magic than he had ever before, against a foe, while weakened, was still greater than anything he'd fought. A battle of titans.
The fell-beasts abandoned their pursuit as she left the southern borders of Mirkwood. It was at around this point that Dol Guldur exploded behind her - a blinding flash, and a massive fireball rolling into the sky, the sight of trees being flattened and incinerated, followed several minutes later by an earsplitting crack and a blast of warmth, even at this distance. An ominous rumble. In the storm of magic that was Dol Guldur, Fleur could not make any contact with Harry. The fact that the soul-bond still existed was no comfort, since it would exist even if his body was destroyed. And there was no way her own scrying could see anything inside - it would be like looking at static.
"By the Valar," Fleur heard Glorfindel say, his voice wavering.
She continued to fly to Lothlorien. She had utmost faith in Harry. He would come back.
Galadriel froze for a single moment, before she dropped her crystal goblet and it shattered upon the stone tiles. Her handmaidens panicked as she simply fainted; her husband was not faring much better, clutching at his head in agony. The soldiers approached the two of them, intent on finding the culprit, but of course there were none. Or at least, none in Lothlorien. The culprits were miles upon miles away, and were not looking at either of them in particular.
Far north, to beyond the Grey Mountains and well into the Northern Wastes, a tribe of Northern hunter-gatherers cowered in terror as their shaman collapsed, spasming, and began to hallucinate, of two gods fighting with a terrible vengeance. One, an unnamed shadow that cast its gaze wide for something that was stolen from him; the other, the Green-Eyed Raven that had visited this village so long ago, who sought to prevent the shadow from finding it.
In Niflheim, Queen Juliette and her court wizards experienced severe migraines, if not falling unconscious entirely. Further west in Mount Gundabad, a castle and its many-layered magical defenses warped dangerously due to stress; the students of magic inside were thankfully spared. In Mordor and further east, many cowered in terror of their master's unrestrained fury.
Far, far south, in a different continent entirely, Ron and Katie felt it as well. And something else. It had been strong enough to wake a primordial evil, long since gone into hiding. The earth before the two warlocks split, magma bled from the earth, and a monstrous being of colossal proportions rose out of the Earth, wreathed in coronas of dark flame and wings of black shadow - and it raised its sword and whip in the direction of the horrified warlocks, and let loose a hellish roar in challenge.