A/N: Over 20 reviews! I love you guys!
And it's decided: The story is now following the 5 Hunters, with maybe a few Frodo & Sam sections in other chapters.
Harry soared over the plains of Rohan, laughing joyously, the pain in his arm and leg rapidly receding. He had missed flying so much, he thought as the wind rushed past his ears. He looped the loop, barrel rolled and pulled off an amazing number of aerobatics. Spotting the running Fellowship below, he swooped down until he was level with Aragorn and Legolas, keeping pace easily.
"Turn right and follow me! The Uruks have changed direction and speeded up." Harry barked, then peeled away, following his wand which was pointing dead ahead due to a point me charm. Aragorn stopped to confirm by listening to the rock, adding that they had caught their scent.
"Hurry!" He called sharply, and Gimli stopped for breath.
Legolas turned and seeing the two slower runners said, "Come on Boromir, Gimli!" And then ran on with infuriating ease.
"3 days and nights of running, with no food, no rest or sign of our quarry but what bare rock and flying wizard can tell," The Dwarf muttered, resting on his axe, gaining only a sympathetic look from Boromir.
Without any further words, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir followed him, the latter two somewhat further behind due to lack of height and armour and injury respectively. Harry flew up high once more. Something was blocking him from just swooping and taking the Hobbits back, not just the inherent risks since they appeared to be tied to the backs of two large orcs, but a malevolent power that protected them and urged them on. Three guesses as to the source of the malevolent power, and the first two don't count.
When Boromir had suggested he swoop in and rescue them, he sworn a blue streak for not thinking of it himself, and flown towards the Orcs as first as the Firebolt could fly, and nearly fallen off his broom when he had hit an invisible barrier about 100 yards from the nearest giant orc. After trying to get in from all angles, even from the front with his invisibility cloak where he felt the unpleasant sensation of being pushed along by the invisible barrier. He managed to attach a note to some of the lembas, break it in two and carefully levitate it, with many false starts into Merry and Pippin's rather surprised mouths.
The note read simply: We are coming. I'm alive, so is Boromir. Frodo and Sam left, currently safe. Something is preventing me from getting you immediately, but we will come for you. Harry.
Regretfully he had flown back and explained. The idea of Harry ferrying the Fellowship over was vetoed after Harry took Gimli for a test flight and the dwarf's stomach had objected strenuously to such treatment. Legolas had not managed, with all his reflexes, to avoid being hit by the ensuing mess from above, causing Harry to roar with laughter and nearly fall off his broom, and Boromir and Aragorn, both in range of the homicidal looking elf covered their laughter with unconvincing coughs. Gimli had been too ill to do anything but belch slightly, until Harry, weeping with laughter put him down and used a cleaning charm on Legolas, who ran on ahead, throwing Harry a thoroughly dirty look as he ran past the hovering wizard who was still struggling to get over his amusement.
After that, Harry had flown along beside the Fellowship for the most part, using a point me spell to keep on track and occasionally fly up to check the upcoming, and usually very rocky and uneven, terrain, minimising the strain on his wounds and the likelihood of him being spotted.
Merry and Pippin
Pippin had not been having all that good a last few days. He had spent most of it strapped to a giant orc, alternately worrying about Merry, who seemed woozy at best, and trying to block out the horrendous smell. He had therefore been very surprised to have a packet of lembas with a note attached jammed into his open mouth. With difficulty he managed to read the note to Merry and eat the lembas.
"They're coming Merry! They're coming for us." Pippin had whispered, elated.
"Wonderful Pip." Merry said, still slightly out of it.
Pippin thought furiously. This proved that Harry could find them, but he'd been wounded in the battle, so who knew what ills could befall him? He made up his mind. He would leave a sign. With some effort he managed to detach his Lorien brooch and spit it to the ground, where it was promptly trampled into the mud.
At last, the Hobbit thought jubilantly. At last there was hope again.
Fellowship
In his heart Aragorn was worried, despite the fact he put on a façade of grim competence and determination. Harry had reported that the Hobbits were well, and due to a piece of impressive ingenuity, fed and given hope. But he worried that the Fellowship would not arrive in time. The Uruks of the White Hand were running even faster than before. Aragorn and Legolas could catch them eventually, and Harry could easily outrun him on that strange and terrifyingly fast flying broomstick of his, but Saruman seemed to have planned for that, preventing him getting near enough to rescue the hobbits.
Then up ahead he saw something small and green embedded in the dirt catch the light. He bent down and picked it up. One of the brooches given by the Lady Galadriel to hold up the cloaks.
"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall." He said quietly. Legolas who had been running past, doubled back.
"They could still be alive." Legolas said breathlessly then turned, beckoning. Right on cue Gimli fell down a small hill, eliciting a wince of sympathy from Harry and Boromir, who was making a more stately descent.
"Come on Gimli, Boromir, we are gaining on them!" He called, then ran to catch up with Aragorn.
"I'm wasted on crosscountry! We dwarves are natural sprinters! Very dangerous over short distances!" Gimli replied, getting up and running after them.
"Maybe one day Gimli, you and Legolas can have a race, and the rest of us can take bets." Boromir said dryly.
As they crested the ridge, Aragorn and Legolas stopped, Harry hovering beside them, while Boromir and Gimli caught up. Below were rolling hills and flat plains. Prime cavalry country.
"Rohan. Home of the Horselords. There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures. Sets it will against us."
"Something is rotten in the state of Rohan." Harry agreed grimly, flying on as the rest of the Fellowship made a quick descent.
Legolas had got to a vantage point and looked out. Aragorn called to him, "Legolas! What do your elf eyes see?"
"The Uruks have turned North-East. They are taking the hobbits to Isengard!" Legolas said, scanning the plain.
"Saruman." Aragorn whispered.
"Elvish eyesight. It never ceases to amaze me," Harry muttered, thinking that if Legolas had become a played Quidditch, every other Seeker would be out of the job very quickly.
Rohan
Eowyn raced into Meduseld. She had just heard the news: the enemy forces had been destroyed at the Fords of Isen, but Prince Theodred was gravely injured. She made a brief stop at her chambers, collecting a valuable bottle, before seeking out where the Prince was being kept.
As she entered the darkened chamber where Theodred was resting, Eomer looked up, face a mask of anger, a mask that dropped when he saw it was her.
"How is he?" She asked. Eomer merely motioned to a bandaged wound. She lifted the bandages then closed her eyes. The wound looked terrible.
"It is only thanks to one of our prisoners that he is still alive. A half Dunlending boy, called Emrys. Theodred captured him, and then for some reason he chose to save Theodred's life."
"Where is he now?" Eowyn asked, puzzled.
"In my chambers. He too is wounded, but it is a minor wound, despite the poison. He is our main source of information and I feel he wants to help us. For those reasons I'm keeping him away from Wormtongue. You must not breathe a word of this to anyone sister. Not to anyone at all." Eomer said, grasping her arm for emphasis.
Eowyn blinked then nodded. She would keep the secret. She then lifted the bottle she had collected from her chambers, and uncorked it carefully.
Eomer's brow furrowed, but he did not move to stop her. "What is that?"
"A cordial Harry gave me last year. He said that it was made by Elrond of Rivendell himself, and it was to be saved for the darkest hour. I think this qualifies." Eowyn said briskly, gently pouring much of it down Theodred's throat.
Eomer raised his eyebrows. Lord Elrond's skill as a healer was renowned throughout Arda, and if anything could help Theodred, it would be this. But now they had to tell their Uncle that his son was quite possibly on his deathbed.
"Your son is badly wounded, my lord." Eowyn said softly. This failed to raise so much as a murmur from Théoden, who appeared to be a more like a carven caricature with cataract covered eyes than a man, as he sat on his throne.
"He was ambushed by orcs. The force we faced had support that scouts from Councillor Wormtongue's men failed to tell us about. They all died in the battle." Again, no movement from Théoden. Eowyn reflected that Harry would probably have blasted the King with a stream of water by now, to see if he was still actually alive. She concealed a smile at the mental image of Harry curiously examining Theoden, then drawing his wand and blasting him with water, critically scrutinising the results. Her brother had meanwhile continued his speech. "If we don't defend our country, Saruman will take it by force."
Theoden did not respond to this, but Wormtongue, creeping from out of the shadows like a slug from under a rock. "That is a lie. Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally," Wormtongue said in a slimily assertive voice. Then he bent down to listen to the King, who had leant over to him and mumbled something.
"Orc's are roaming freely across our lands. Unchecked, unchallenged, killing at will. Orc's bearing the White Hand of Saruman." Eomer said, emotion full in his voice, as he dropped an Orc helmet with said white hand upon it.
Grima stood and looked down at it, calculating his next move, then at Eowyn, who met his gaze. Then he leaned down by the King again.
"Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind? Can you not see that your uncle is wearied by your malcontent, your warmongering?" He said, greasy voice full of false concern and malice.
"Warmongering?" Eomer said quietly, fury in his voice. He moved in a blur and a jingle of armour, slamming Grima against one of the wooden columns, and glared into the treacherous advisers watery blue eyes.
"How long has it been since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price Grima? When all the men are dead you will take your share of the treasure?" Eomer said, mockingly using Wormtongue's first name, anger permeating his tone. Grima said nothing but his darting eyes betrayed his target. Eomer followed his gaze, and saw it lead to Eowyn, who looked briefly at the two of them before she left the hall. Grima's eyes showed his longing and lust. Eomer, even more wrathful, thrust him against the column again, grasping Grima's jaw.
"Too long have you watched my sister. Too long have you haunted her steps." Eomer whispered harshly. Grima flicked his eyes left and right, then back to Eomer, triumph in them now. Two men stepped up and grasped Eomer by the shoulders, pulling him off Grima.
"You see much, Eomer son of Eomund, too much." Grima said, stepping away from the carved wooden column and stepping forward. More men grabbed Eomer, hitting him in the stomach and eliciting an involuntary cry from him. "You are banished forthwith from the Kingdom of Rohan and all its domains. Under pain of death." Grima pronounced harshly as Eomer struggled and yelled.
"You have no authority here, your orders mean nothing!" Eomer snarled, still struggling, then made another yell as he was hit in the stomach.
"The order does not come from me," Wormtongue said, savouring the moment, "It comes from the King." He held up an official looking piece of paper with the royal seal and a parody of a signature, a scrawl that any child could forge upon it. "Signed this morning." He finished. Eomer looked as if he had passed into despair as he was dragged out of the hall. Wormtongue's domination was complete. All he needed to do now was to ensure the death of Theodred, then Rohan was for the taking. He fingered a bottle of poison from Saruman's store cupboard. The Prince was dying anyway, but it would not hurt to help things along.
Fellowship
The Uruk's ran on, the Fellowship gaining slowly as they followed implacably behind.
"Keep breathing, that's the key. Breathe." Gimli muttered, wheezing slightly.
"Breathe in, breathe out…" Boromir wheezed more significantly, showing signs of stumbling as the pain in his chest increased, then yelped as Harry took advantage of a momentary dip to swing him on the back of the broom.
As he began to sputter protests, Harry cut him off. "You're pale as the full moon and wheezing, as well having cheated death only a few days ago, having run without ceasing ever since. You need a rest before you collapse."
Boromir opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. The pragmatic commander in him said that Harry was right, and furthermore, he would be worse than useless if he collapsed mid run. The impetuous warrior in him chafed at this, saying rest was for weaklings. The pragmatic commander won out, and he placed his arms sulkily around Harry's waist at the wizard's curt order.
"They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them," Legolas observed incredulously.
"For all we know, that's true. No telling with Saruman." Harry said conversationally. The Fellowship ran on, as darkness fell, across hill and plain, never slowing, never flagging. Boromir eventually persuaded Harry to let him off, albeit somewhat reluctantly, around dusk, pointing out that he was much recovered from the rest.
Merry & Pippin
The Uruk's had stopped at the edge of a forest, throwing down the hobbits like stones.
One Uruk complained loudly, "I ain't running no further till we've had a breather!"
The chief Uruk looked around, then roared, "Get a fire going." Various Uruk's peeled off, hunting for wood to burn.
Pippin shuffled over to Merry, hands still bound. "Merry!"
"I think… we might have made a mistake leaving the Shire, Pippin." Merry said, smiling weakly the wound he had taken in his capture having formed a large scab.
The Uruk's hacked at the trees, cutting off branches, and a loud moaning sound caused by wood moving in ways it was not meant came from within the forest.
"What's making that noise?" Pippin wondered, just a little frightened.
Merry shuffled up onto his elbows for a better look. "It's the trees," he said in wonder.
"What?" Pippin said, puzzled.
"You remember the Old Forest, on the borders of Buckland?" Merry said, his face animated with intensity.
"Folk used to say there was something in the woods that made the trees grow talk, and come alive!"
"Alive?" Pippin said, just as another, rather louder and angrier sounding, emanated from within the forest.
"Trees that could whisper, talk to each other, even move." Merry said, as if he was planning something.
The Uruk's had moved on to complaining about a lack of food. One thin, nasal and gangly orc looked over at the hobbits and licked its teeth.
"What about them? They're fresh."
"They are not for eating." The chief Uruk said harshly. Pippin decided this was Uruk he liked, or at least, hated less than the rest.
One Uruk lifted both Hobbits up, and an orc gnashed its teeth. "What about their legs? They don't need those. They look tasty." It said, advancing on them, before being body checked by the chief Uruk.
"Get back, scum!" It said, shoving the orc that had been about to take a chunk out of the Hobbits into its fellow orcs, which squared off against the Uruk's.
"The prisoners go to Saruman, alive and unspoiled." It snarled with an air of finality.
The Uruk and the Orc argued, the Uruk clearly thinking that the hobbits had the ring. Pippin pointed this out and Merry elbowed and told him to shut up. Meanwhile a particularly small orc was sneaking up behind them, and said, "Just a mouthful, just a bit off the flank."
It raised its knife and was summarily beheaded by the Uruk chief. "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" It roared, and with primal bellows the Uruks and Orcs fought to be the first to cannibalize their fallen fellow, the hobbits temporarily forgotten. Entrails and other unspeakable things flew up into the air as the unfortunate orc was devoured. The hobbits crawled away, but were intercepted by the Orc that had been so eager to eat them.
"Go on. Call for help. Squeal. No one's going to save you now." It said, raising the knife. Then, in an amazing piece of irony, it was hit in the back by a hurled spear.
Riders of Rohan exploded onto the scene, led by the recently exiled Eomer, shooting, spearing, stabbing and generally slaughtering the orcs and Uruks.
Pippin looked up to see a horse rearing above him and screamed.
Fellowship
They had run on through the night, Harry eyeing Boromir like an oversized mother hen would one of her more stubborn chicks. As the sun rose, a red dawn shone across the world.
"A red sun rises, blood has been spilled this night." Legolas said quietly.
None of the Fellowship replied, but they grimly ran and flew on, increasing their pace. Around mid-morning Harry noticed a collective blur coming towards them on horseback. He flew down and dismounted from his broom stretching out his now mostly healed leg.
"Rohirric cavalry, coming this way." He said, causing the rest of the Fellowship to jump behind a large rock, trusting in their Lothlorien cloaks to conceal them.
As the riders thundered past, Aragorn stepped out from behind the rock and said, "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"
Harry opted for a Sonorus spell, and bellowed, recognising some of the riders, "EOMER! OVER HERE YOU DOZY BASTARD!"
The riders turned in perfect synchrony, and then split, surrounding the Fellowship in a ring of spears.
"Well that's not very nice is it?" Harry said, having cancelled the spell, exasperatedly glaring at a spear near his nose. He glared up at its owner and said, "You might want to move that before it starts a new life as a rabbit." To his credit, the horseman barely twitched.
"What business does an elf, three men and a dwarf have in the Riddermark." The leader said.
"Morning Eomer. Make that two men and a wizard." Harry said casually.
"Hello, Harry. I thought that was you. No one else has your unusual taste in diplomacy." Eomer said dryly.
"The magically enhanced voice wasn't a clue at all then." Harry replied, deadpan, then turned to the Fellowship. "May I introduce, Gimli son of Gloin, Legolas Thranduilion, Boromir son of Denethor who I'm frankly surprised you haven't recognised yet and-"
"My name is Aragorn." Aragorn said, cutting off Harry and giving him a meaningful look. Clearly Aragorn wished to introduce himself from now on.
"-and that is Aragorn. My friends, this Eomer, 3rd marshal of Rohan, Prince of the Mark and eligible bachelor extraordinaire." Harry said, giving Aragorn a funny look.
"I take it you two know one another well. Harry is only this impudent with people he has the advantage of a long acquaintance with." Legolas said.
"He is at that." Eomer muttered as he dismounted, then cleared his throat. "What is your business in the Riddermark?"
Harry opened his mouth, but Boromir clamped a hand over it. "Now is not the time for smart comments. Let Aragorn handle this," the Gondorian said sharply. Eomer concealed a smile at Harry's outraged and shocked expression.
"Your wisdom is even greater than I thought, son of Denethor." Eomer said amusedly. "But I must repeat my question."
"We are friends of Rohan, and of Théoden your king." Aragorn said.
"Theoden no longer recognises friend from foe. Not even his own kin." Eomer said heavily, removing his ornate helmet, something the Rohirrim took as a signal to lift their spears. Harry, who had been noticeably sulking, looked up sharply at that. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the King and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan. For that, we are banished. The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked. Everywhere his spies slip past our nets." Eomer said, pacing.
"If we see any, we'll be sure to tell you. I had suspected Saruman was meddling in Rohan, this has confirmed it." Harry said, rubbing his chest.
"We track a party of Uruk-Hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends' captive.
"The Uruks were destroyed. We slaughtered them in the night." Harry's heart fell.
"There were hobbits, did you see two hobbits with them?" Gimli asked, frightened for his friends.
"They would have been small, only children to your eyes." Aragorn said quietly.
Eomer said nothing for a long moment, and looked down, then said, "We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them." He indicated a rising tower of smoke about 10 miles away.
"They're dead?" Gimli asked disbelievingly, voicing the thoughts on everyone's mind.
"I'm sorry." Eomer said sincerely, then whistled. "Hasufel, Arod, Eorl." Three horses trotted up. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters." Eomer nodded at them, bade them farewell, then mounted up once again.
"Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope, for it has forsaken these lands." Eomer said, then called to his eored, "We ride North!"
"Eomer! Do not go too far. Hope and loyalty may yet be rewarded." Harry called after him. Eomer raised his spear in acknowledgement as the horses moved off.
Harry mounted his broom and said curtly, "Catch me up. I'm going to have a look." With that he shot off, a black blur in the sky.
Harry landed by the large and evil smelling pile of burnt Uruk corpses and began to search. When the rest of the Fellowship arrived, Boromir and Aragorn on their own horses, Legolas and Gimli sharing, a site which at another time might have amused Harry, he was sitting down despondently and mutely raised a blackened charred belt in his left hand.
"It's one of their wee belts." Gimli whispered. Harry nodded. Legolas whispered a prayer in Sindarin, while Boromir collapsed, crying silently. He felt that he was to blame. Harry had been distracted protecting him and had got injured, allowing the Uruk's to get the hobbits. And now they were dead. Burned by night-blind Rohirrim in the middle of the night in an uncaring landscape, far from family and friends.
"NO!" Boromir bellowed, just as Aragorn lashed out a Uruk helmet and screamed his rage, kicking the thing, and fell to his knees.
"We failed." Gimli whispered.
"I've failed. Every time I tried to save someone, I failed. Even Boromir got shot." Harry said in a depressed monotone.
Aragorn was examining the ground. "A hobbit lay here."
Not much good now, is it? Harry thought angrily.
"And the other." Aragorn continued, with the air of a coroner tracking someone's last movements.
"They crawled. Their hands were bound."
Aragorn picked up a neatly cut piece of rope and said puzzled, "their bonds were cut," he moved on, "they were followed."
He ran on, saying, "the tracks lead away from the battle!"
Harry smiled, hope growing within him once more.
"…into Fangorn Forest." Aragorn said, hope dropping out of his voice.
"From frying pan to fire." Harry said grimly.
"Fangorn… what madness drove them in there?" Gimli whispered.
"You mean apart from the ferocious battle and certain death behind them?"
A/N: I figured that was a good place to cut it off. Please read and review.