A/N: Biggest. Chapter. Ever.
In which Helm's Deep is won, Sirius makes his appearance, Emrys has a nice surprise, Wormtongue is frequently terrified and Harry completely curbstomps Saruman, among other awesome and dark moments, and a crap load of action and violence.
Despite the bravery and ferocity of the defenders, they were forced back by sheer numbers, and soon the banner of the White hand was being raised everywhere but the inner keep, where the last forces of Rohan huddled and waited for the end.
And below in the caves of Aglarond, a pair of bright green eyes snapped open. Eowyn jumped slightly as Harry went from comatose and deathly cold to awake, healthy and raring to go in 2 seconds flat.
"Harry, be careful! You've been out cold and near death for 3 hours!" Eowyn admonished, steadying him as he stumbled slightly. His eyes snapped up to her, and the intensity in them both scared her slightly and, as her breath caught, reminded her why she had once been deeply infatuated with him. Eowyn, Shieldmaiden of Rohan, against her better judgement, had a thing for the mysterious, and was drawn to danger like a moth to a flame. Danger of all kinds.
So when Harry said, "I'm going up. They need me," she only nodded and said, "I'm coming with you."
He nodded curtly, then looked around at the wide audience of scared women and children. "Any women who want to fight are welcome to join me. I will not demand that any of you come, nor will I lie about battle. It is many things, but what is above all is unforgiving. One mistake and your guts will be strewn on the floor. But your country is on the line. Your grandfathers, fathers, uncles, husbands, brothers, cousins, sons and grandsons are all out there fighting for their country, but because of some damn stupid thinking, they seem to believe that women cannot fight. I know better. Many of the most dangerous people I ever fought against or alongside were women. I do not believe that women are like glass, to be put away on sign of danger and extremely fragile. Now, if you wish to show your menfolk and the enemy what the women of Rohan can do, you are welcome to come with me. What say you?"
There was a long silence, then first one woman stood, then the next, then the next. Soon, 150 women stood before him. Harry detailed 25 to cover the retreat if necessary and protect the children. The rest collected weapons from a small cache by the entrance to the inner keep.
Harry rolled his shoulders and led his impromptu army into the inner keep, intercepting a messenger sent to send the women and children on their way, and telling him to pass the message on.
"If any of you want to turn back, do so now. It is your last chance." Harry said. None stepped out of line. He smiled slightly, and continued walking.
Theodred turned as he heard the sound of feet behind him and half had his hand on his sword before he saw Harry.
"Ah, Harry you've recovered. Just in time, the party's really getting started." He said, more than a little black humour in his voice.
Harry flashed a quick smile back at him. "And I brought reinforcements." He paused to beckon down the passage from the caves.
Eowyn came first, then the other women followed all slightly awkwardly. Theodred's jaw dropped.
"Eowyn…"
"Say nothing, cousin. This is my country too, and I am going to fight for it." She said calmly, in a tone that brooked no argument.
Théoden, Theodred, Aragorn and Boromir who had been conferring, while Legolas fired the occasional arrow through the holes in the door, all turned.
"Before you lot say anything, I told these ladies about the dangers of battle, and chose volunteers only. You drafted boys and old men, why not let the women fight?"
"The rest, maybe, we could do with every ablebodied soldier. Not Eowyn. It's too dangerous." Theodred said stubbornly.
"Cousin, I can best you in every 2 of every 4 bouts we ever fought. On that logic, you would not fight yourself." Eowyn said exasperatedly.
Theodred glared, and Théoden said, "Your cousin is right Eowyn. If we all die, nothing will be left of the royal line of Rohan. I will not allow it."
"If we all die, nothing will be left of Rohan. Nothing will be left of Middle Earth either. Saruman will raze the land and march on Gondor." Harry observed. Théoden opened his mouth to cut across him, but Harry overrode him ruthlessly. "Gondor will be caught between the unchecked might of the two towers and be destroyed. Then Sauron and Saruman will turn on the Elven realms, which will eventually fall under the relentless onslaught. Then the Shire. Then my world will be next. It will take longer, for it is far larger and in many ways more advanced in weapons of war, but it will fall nonetheless and both worlds will be covered in an endless shadow. This is where history is written, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is where the fate of two worlds will be decided. And I am damned if I am going to let you indulge your overprotectiveness, Lord King, not when the fate of this world, let alone my world, is on the line."
Théoden opened his mouth once or twice, then sighed.
Aragorn meanwhile was looking at the ray of sunlight streaming through one of the arrow slits. He turned and said, every inch the inspiring Warrior-King, "Ride out." Théoden turned to him.
"Ride out and meet them." Aragorn said persuasively.
"For Death and Glory." Theoden said.
"Finally we do what we suggested in the first place. And I'd prefer to avoid Death, if that's all the same with you." Harry whispered to Eowyn, who concealed snorts.
"For Rohan." Aragorn said, the King he would become shining through. "For your people."
"The Sun is rising." Gimli noted.
"Yes. Yes." Theoden said, coming to a decision, pacing, his voice rising to majestic clarion call of command. "The Horn of Helm Hammerhand shall sound in the Deep…" Theoden turned back to Aragorn. This, Harry thought, not any amount of pomp and ceremony, was what made Royalty who they were. The sort of people you would follow into a breach, on a suicidal charge with nary a qualm. "…one last time."
"YES!" Gimli said, shaking his axe and running off to find the aforesaid Horn. Others were sent to find the large amount of horses stabled below.
Theoden clapped his hand on Aragorn's shoulder and said quietly, "Let this be the hour, when we draw swords together again, Captain Thorongil." Three jaws promptly hit the floor.
"Captain Thorongil? The Legendary Captain Thorongil? The one who served Steward Ecthelion and King Thengel with distinction?" Eowyn asked, shocked. The one she loved was now about twice as old as she had thought he was, though funnily enough, it added a certain charm.
"The one who burnt the Black Numenorean fleet at Umbar? The one who pioneered the Ithilien Ranger companies?" Theodred asked, flabbergasted.
Boromir turned to Harry who was whistling innocently. "Any you knew?" He asked incredulously.
"I was once he. I shall explain later." Aragorn said, as the horses were brought. "If there is a later." He added under his breath. Harry mounted his broom, politely refusing a horse. Many of the rag tag force were mounted two to a horse, but somehow, that didn't matter.
"Fell deeds awake. Now for wrath, now for ruin, and the red dawn!" Theoden said, caught up in the excitement of battle as he rammed on his helmet. Aragorn drew his sword, and Harry slipped his helmet on.
Gimli, having reached the Horn, blew on it, causing one massive, and vaguely flatulent sound to echo over the deep. And like the Dunlendings in the great winter siege, the Uruk's soon knew to fear that sound. The doors broke, and everyone drew their swords and Theoden cried, "FORTH EORLINGAS!"
The Horn sounded again is with a roar, the remains of Rohan charged, galloping down the ramp, ploughing through Uruk's, as Harry shot out the Fortress like a cork from a bottle, firing blasting curses at the army and a slicing through many with the sword of Gryffindor, which flashed in the morning light.
Aragorn looked up at the top of the hill, and saw a white rider on a white horse, rearing in the dawn.
"Gandalf." he breathed. Harry shot over his head, firing another massive burst of fire to ward off more Uruks as he raced to greet Gandalf.
"Gandalf. If you had been any later, you'd have missed all the fun." Harry said, as Eomer trotted up behind Gandalf.
"Hello Harry." Gandalf said with a resigned smile. Both armies were looking up into the sun and at Gandalf, who then spoke to Eomer, who nodded at Harry in greeting.
"Théoden King stands alone."
"Not alone." Eomer said, drawing his sword with a metallic rasp.
"Rohirrim!" He called, and his eored with added reinforcements formed up behind him.
"Eomer." Theoden and Theodred said at the same time, smiling. Eowyn grinned to see her brother, then hacked at a particularly persistent Uruk.
"FOR THE KING!" Eomer cried, and his war cry was echoed by his troops as they began to charge down the steep hill, Gandalf enhancing the sunlight to blind the Uruk's who were forming. Harry, seeing Gandalf's plan, raced ahead pouring every fragment of speed he could muster into his broom and formed a large wedge shaped barrier ahead of him. Even magic must do business with the laws of Physics every now and then, and Harry hit the Uruk's like a hammer, shattering their defensive line with one massive blow, leaving massive gaps for the reinforcements to exploit.
The Uruk's were soon routed, and what was left charged into… a forest. A forest that had not been their when Harry had last looked. A forest that Eomer was warning the pursuing forces to stay away from. Seemingly, a large part of Fangorn had decided to up and move, and was now exacting a violent revenge on its tormentors. It reminded Harry vaguely of Macbeth.
"I am never looking at trees the same way again." Harry commented to Legolas.
Legolas replied casually, "All you young ones are the same. Orcs? Uruks? Easy. When the forest makes itself felt, you must resist the desire to soil your breeches. Isn't that so Master Dwarf?" He said, looking at Gimli.
"I won that match elf. You had 42, I had 43."
"Harry, please explain to the sadly mistaken dwarf why this is not true." Legolas appealed.
"Gimli, I'm sorry to say this, but Legolas' right. You didn't win." Harry said sorrowfully, and as Legolas was about to start gloating, he said brightly, "I did. I killed at least two and a half thousand." Legolas looked taken aback while Gimli stuttered incoherently.
The clean-up operation was in full swing. Foul smelling piles of Uruk's were burning, whilst Eomer was reading terms to the remaining Dunlendings that had fought for Saruman, with Emrys standing by him to translate. The Dunlendings themselves were puzzled and mistrustful of the terms until Emrys lost his temper and let loose with a vast torrent of angry and vaguely obscene sounding words in his mother tongue, occasionally gesticulating at Eomer to emphasise his point. After he had finished, they bowed clumsily in thanks to Eomer, and were escorted out of the valley.
The women and children were being sent back to Edoras, Eowyn with them. She had protested, saying that she was just as capable a fighter. Harry had replied that, yes, this was true, but Saruman's enchanting voice was still a threat, and if she stayed she risked becoming like Théoden had. "And possessed and decrepit really isn't your look." Harry had finished, falsely earnest. "Besides, your cousin has to go because he is the heir, and your brother has to because he's about as good at dealing with civilians as I am at herding cats. Blindfolded. With both legs tied together."
Eowyn had snickered, and reluctantly accepted her charge, and the stream of refugees, guarded by most of the remaining soldiers and those Lothlorien archers who remained.
The rest made for Isengard, and stopped on the rise. Harry had, for reasons known only to himself, acquired a horse, which to Theodred and Eomer's disappointment, he hadn't fallen off for being too rusty.
"Sauron's wrath will be terrible, his vengeance swift." Lightning crackled over the orange and black skies of Mordor, the sounds audible even from so far away. "The battle for Helm's Deep is over. The Battle for Middle Earth is about to begin." Gandalf said, his voice full of foreboding.
"Not before we, one, deal with Saruman, and two, I get a decent pint, it won't." Harry said firmly.
"Do you have any sense of occasion?" Boromir asked despairingly.
"Sense of occasion? What is this thing you speak of?" Harry said blankly.
"All our hopes now lie with two little hobbits. Somewhere in the wilderness." Gandalf said, steadfastly ignoring Harry.
The small group rode on, somewhat cautiously through the forest, Harry melodramatically handing his wand to Gandalf for the duration and saying, "I don't trust myself not accidentally set fire to something. And that would be bad." He added as the trees creaked threateningly. Everyone aside from Legolas and Gandalf looked distinctly ill at ease as they rode through, and Harry debated grabbing Boromir's shoulders suddenly, hoping to elicit a scream, but judged the likelihood of him immediately being stabbed was too high for his liking.
It took two days to reach Isengard, crossing the Fords of Isen, which caused Eomer, Theodred and Emrys to share a silent look. When they arrived, several things greeted their eyes.
First, a very particular pair of hobbits engaged in the traditional hobbit activities of smoking, eating and drinking. They whooped and laughed upon seeing the arriving group, and Merry stood and indicated the famous and partially drowned tower in the background. "Welcome, my Lords, to Isengard!"
"You young rascals!" Gimli said, all anger being feigned. Pippin waved in acknowledgement as smiles spread over the faces of the Fellowship. "A merry hunt you've led us on, and now we find yer… feasting and, and, and… Smoking!"
"We are sitting, on a field of victory, enjoying a few well-earned comforts." Pippin said archly, as his cousin smugly blew smoke rings. Gimli's mouth opened. "The salted pork is particularly good."
"Salted pork?" Gimli said, in strangled anticipation.
"Hobbits." Gandalf said, shaking his head slightly.
"They never change." Harry agreed with a wide grin.
"We're under orders. From Treebeard, whose taken over management of Isengard."
As they rode in, Merry spotted Harry and his surcoat. "Ah, Harry! You're wearing that armour at last! And are the young ladies flocking around you?" Merry said with a conspiratorial wink. Harry, still wearing his surcoat, though his helmet had been packed away revealing his tousled black hair, did something unexpected. He blushed. Bright red. "There's only one woman I want flocking around me." He mumbled indistinctly. Eomer, Theodred, Legolas, Gimli and Boromir all had devious smiles of one form or another on their faces, and Harry knew he was going to get the life teased out of him later.
Merry and Pippin just laughed triumphantly as the small procession moved into Isengard itself. Harry nearly jumped out of the saddle when a large walking tree came to greet them, one the Hobbits were apparently on first name terms with, introducing, it, no, him, as 'Treebeard.' And he was something called an 'Ent'.
"And I thought I'd seen everything." He drawled.
"Middle Earth is like the hobbits. You may learn their ways in a month, but a hundred years later they can still surprise you." Gandalf said with a smile.
"Ah, young master Gandalf." Treebeard said. Another thing about Ents, Harry thought, is that… they speak… really… slowly… "I am glad that you have come. Wood and water, stock and stone I can master. But there is a Wizard to manage here. Locked in his tower."
"And there Saruman must remain." Gandalf said. "Under your guard, Treebeard."
"Well, let's just have his head and been done with it." Gimli said.
"I like that idea. Dibs on removing it from his body." Harry said laconically, as the Rohirrim made various sounds of approval.
"No. He's no power anymore." Gandalf replied calmly.
"Good. His head will be easier to detach." Harry said grimly. "We showed no mercy to his creations, why the hell should we do the same for him? It certainly won't cause me any trouble sleeping at night. And here he comes now." Harry pointed, and indeed, a white figure had appeared on the roof of Isengard.
"I'm bringing him down." Harry said quietly. And before Gandalf could stop him, he dismounted, walked onto the steps of Isengard and disapparated.
"Hotheaded young fool." Gandalf muttered. When Aragorn gave him a curious look, he elaborated. "Even in this state, Saruman is not to be underestimated."
Gimli cheered, bellowing at the top of his voice, "Take him down laddie!"
"Make the bastard scream!" Theodred added venomously, garnering a surprised look from his cousin. Usually Theodred was the less intemperate one. Then, Saruman had ordered him murdered, enslaved his father's mind, tried to destroy his country and exiled his cousin.
When Harry reached the roof of Isengard, stumbling slightly in the winds, Saruman stood straighter. He looked much like Gandalf, or an evil Dumbledore, Harry thought distantly, with the one part of his mind that was not frantically running through incantations to defeat the fallen Maiar. But a lot neater and more austere, he decided firmly. Harry had an ingrained dislike of excessive neatness, one born during his life with the Dursley's, who were neat to a fault, one of the many things they had clashed with Harry on, Harry having inherently messy hair, and an almost messy demeanour. Harry knew, because he had been the one doing most of the cleaning.
It was Saruman who broke the silence. "So, the Wizard comes out from the Shadows at last. Long have I wanted to meet you Moristar." He said, in majestic tones, which hid his fear well. In this state, he was not sure if he could beat this opponent, and while he could rely on the forgiveness of Gandalf, he could not rely on his current foe's goodwill.
Harry knew the latter title to be one of the elvish languages, he forgot which, word for 'Black Wizard". Since he dressed almost exclusively in black, to match his hair, this was a fair title, he thought wryly.
Saruman continued. "I thought you were merely a poor trick of Gandalf's, an illusion or a rumour, but this was proved not to be so by our duel on Caradhras. Which you lost." The biting scorn would once have bothered Harry, but no more. He merely watched his opponent, who continued his poisonously honey laden speech, not knowing the thoughts that lay behind the façade.
"You have power beyond your own knowledge. And you do not know it yet. It is far greater than the power that old fool of a mentor professed you had, in your own land. Love. That most frivolous and wasted of emotions." Saruman spat this last in tones of absolute disgust, then returned to honeyed tones. "The power you foolishly rejected as dark would serve you far better. There is no good or evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it."
"Love was enough to defeat the last man who said those words, and his master. Those who understand love, consciously or not, have defeated you, and the forces of hatred you assembled against us." Harry retorted levelly.
"Ah, so you can speak after all." Saruman said, feigning surprise. "It is amazing how much he was like Gandalf, advising much, yet doing little, training the young and foolish to do his dirty work, fashioning ordinary people into weapons. I made the Uruk Hai and Albus Dumbledore made you." Saruman then continued, as if Harry had not spoken at all, rolling the unfamiliar syllables of Dumbledore's name around his mouth like a fine wine. "Albus, meaning White. A good name, that at least I will grant him."
Harry realised with a jolt Saruman had been rummaging around in his mind while he had been talking to him. Harry swore viciously under his breath. He shouldn't have let his guards be bypassed so easily.
While Harry was adjusting his mental guards, Saruman was considering his opponent further. He had lost much of his power in Gandalf's ascension, and he could overpower his foe, who appeared to have only become stronger. But many a battle could be won by guile instead of power, and while his young opponent was strong, he had absolutely no idea how much power he could potentially have, and was yet to come into his ordinary full strength. Which was all to the good, Saruman thought, maybe he would provoke him a little, as a test. From the little he had glimpsed, he knew he had the knowledge to do so. Or at least to barter his way out of trouble.
For he had seen a man in Harry's mind, one he was close to and had lost. One who was, as serendipity would have it, in his cells right now, and he was the one Gandalf had looked worried upon seeing. And while Saruman knew he held the ace, he would have to be careful not to enrage the young man into releasing his full power. That would be a disaster, and, loath though he was to admit it, the young man might be better versed in the art of combat magic, albeit a form very much different from that native to Arda.
As the two wizards pondered one another, Legolas slowly put an arrow to his bow, aiming it at Saruman, but Gandalf caught his eye and shook his head. He said quietly, "This is a battle our young friend needs, and wants, to fight by himself." He paused then added, "Especially if what I thought I saw in the dungeons of Isengard is true." Legolas held his bow in position for a few moments more than let it drop with a sigh, remembering what Gandalf had told him in the gardens of Rivendell. Gandalf was right. This was Harry's battle to fight, and Legolas suspected his young friend would take it ill if he interfered.
Meanwhile it transpired that Harry had lost his patience and a battle royal had commenced on the roof of Isengard, spells flying everywhere, and in the epicentre of the unprecedented magical battle, a massive bubble of energy, one half a resolute crimson flecked with gold and the other an ever changing variety of colours, that someone from Harry's world would probably identify as an oil slick that caught the sunlight, caused by the two different forms of magic colliding violently.
The spectators below shaded their eyes, the Rohirrim astounded and fearful at this display of raw supernatural power the likes of which they had never seen, and the Hobbits simply frightened for the sake of their friend. Boromir anxiously wandered over to Gandalf and Aragorn, both whom were very carefully not showing any outward emotion whatsoever.
"What is happening?" he asked, as the red half of the bubble pulsed suddenly, releasing a burst of energy, growing brighter. Without turning his head, Gandalf replied calmly, "Harry is fighting his own demons as much as he is fighting Saruman". And Boromir would have to be satisfied with that cryptic answer, as the set of Gandalf's face said what a thousand words could only begin to state. He was very emphatically saying nothing more.
On the roof of Isengard the sheer power of the battle was beginning to melt the stone of the roof. Saruman was worried, a most uncharacteristic feeling. He could feel his power waning as the young man opposite him showed no signs of weakening.
However Saruman was rightly renowned for his cunning, and was watching for a chink in his opponent's magical armour. There! With a roar he focused his power into one well aimed spell that got under Harry's guard, sending him flying off the roof. Merry and Pippin screamed as one, Aragorn gasped and Boromir swore horribly, using language that he must have learnt in a Gondorian barracks, while Gandalf was having flashbacks to his battle with the Balrog.
As Harry fell, he did something that none had expected. Even hundreds of feet below, the watchers heard him roar "Accio Firebolt!" and immediately afterwards saw the broomstick that he had used at the battle of Helms Deep and over the plains of Rohan rise up to meet its master, who caught it, scrambled on and directed it upward, hugging the side of the tower as he rose at a phenomenal rate, the spectators watching with wide eyes, none save Gandalf quite believing the evidence of their eyes, as their seemingly doomed companion had saved himself.
"So that's why he took a horse." Gandalf muttered with a smile. "Clever boy."
As Harry shot up the side of Isengard, he noted with surprise that Saruman's magic was different to the sort he had encountered in Middle Earth. It was more like his own in fact. Brushing the thought aside, he concentrated on a surprise attack. He could worry about Saruman's magic later, after he had defeated him.
One thing that confused him was that when Saruman had rifled through his mind, he had disregarded a basic rule of mental combat, never sacrifice your own defences to enhance your attack. While Harry had not been aware of Saruman's presence in his mind, a small piece of information had leaked through. An image of a large and vaguely familiar black dog snarling in a corner, warning off its tormentors. Harry shook his head, another thing to be contemplated later.
Just then Saruman made a mistake that chroniclers and historians studying the duel for centuries agreed was his most fatal error. He leaned over the edge of Isengard. To his credit, despite his shock he managed to launch a fire ball like the one he had launched earlier, except this one was larger, powered by fury and desperation. As it enveloped Harry, it was expected that the wizard was to plummet on the charred remains of his broomstick to his death.
Out of the raging flames emerged a glowing silver ball of energy, the sight of which caused Legolas, who could see it for what it was, Harry, to let out an explosive exclamation, "Eru!" and Gandalf to smile. Clearly their young friend was not seriously harmed, and judging by the brightness and power of the energy he wore like a cloak, Gandalf thought, absolutely furious. To his own surprise, Gandalf found himself pitying Saruman. A bolt of silver power hit Saruman, who seemed rooted to the spot, sending him flying out of the spectators sight on to the roof, Harry following him.
Saruman looked up at his opponent, who had landed on the roof of Isengard, and was now dismissing the energy which had wreathed him as he emerged from the flames, emanating from the Sword of Gyffindor. He wearing a fell look on his face, emphasised by the scorch marks on his clothes and minor burns he had sustained, but they didn't seem to bother him. Saruman reached for his staff, knowing in his heart of hearts that it would not avail him. This came to pass when Harry muttered a word that Saruman did not understand, and sent it spinning into the air. A split second later Harry said "Reducto", and a beam of orange light issued from his wand-sword, obliterating the staff, the remains of the energy disappearing as he did so.
"Saruman, your staff is broken and you are defeated." Harry stated in a deceptively flat tone, which managed to barely mask the sheer anger he felt, flicking his wand from which ropes issued, binding Saruman.
"I doubt the Rohirrim can forgive you, though Gandalf may persuade them to merely exile you." He continued in the same tone, regarding Saruman carefully. Even bound and gagged, a dark wizard of Saruman's ilk still bore careful watching.
Saruman breathed a mental sigh of relief. Gandalf, Grey or otherwise had always been stupidly merciful. Maybe he could yet turn this disaster to triumph. His nascent scheming was interrupted by Harry shoving him hard against one of the broad spikes of the roof of Isengard, emerald eyes suddenly alight with pure rage and put his wand to Saruman's throat.
"I am tired of fighting dark wizards like you, with pretensions to power you have no right to wield. The last Dark Wizard I fought I offered mercy, and I shall let Gandalf do the same to you. But if you do not explain why I saw an exceedingly familiar black dog in your head when you rummaged through mine, he won't get the chance." Harry paused, then snarled. "Where. Is. Sirius. Black?"
Saruman, still gagged, pointed downwards. Harry levitated him down into his main throne room, where he found Wormtongue, who had blood on his hands and was throwing something out the window. Human blood. He saw Harry and screamed, causing Harry to stun him as red mist clouded his vision. He struggled to control his anger, then turned and savagely ripped the ropes from Saruman's mouth and said harshly, "You will speak when spoken to, and only to answer questions. If you try any funny business, I'll make you tell me." Saruman nodded slowly.
"Where is he?"
"In the Dungeons, at the basement." Saruman replied sullenly.
"Excellent." Harry said, waking Wormtongue up and throwing him out the window, then grabbing Saruman and disapparating.
The rest watched as first a spherical object was thrown out of a window, then Wormtongue moments later, shrieking the whole way down. Harry arrived moments later, a disoriented Saruman firmly in his grip, ahead of Wormtongue, and waited until the last moment to stop the screaming man in mid-air, then dropping him in the water. Gandalf frowned slightly, while Eomer and Theodred wore identical satisfied smiles.
"Saruman is only still alive so long as he is useful. It turns out that he has been keeping someone I thought dead captive. The only difference is that if he helps me, his death will be swift. If not, it will be long, protracted, involve a rusty spoon and the Cruciatus curse. You can do with Wormtongue what you wish. " Harry said coldly, meeting Gandalf's gaze levelly.
Meanwhile, Emrys, who had insisted on accompanying Theodred, had dismounted and was advancing on Saruman with a homicidal expression on his face. Suddenly, he punched the fallen wizard square in the nose, which broke with a loud crunch.
"Where is my sister, you evil son of a bitch? She was one of the ones taken to this cursed place."
"Answer him." Harry said curtly, forcing Saruman's nose back into joint, causing the fallen Wizard to wince in pain.
"Also in the dungeons. If the Uruk's did not take her for their pleasure, then eat her, of course." Saruman said, malice in his voice, and got boxed around the ears for his trouble.
"Emrys, Saruman and I will go to the dungeons and release any captives. Keep an eye out for any nasty surprises." Harry said, striding towards the doors of Isengard.
"You don't have the keys, Harry." Gandalf said. In reply, Harry disintegrated the doors and walked in.
"Typical." Gandalf with a half smile. Wormtongue had resurfaced, spluttering, to the sight of Eomer's face less than a foot away, a Cheshire cat's grin spreading across his face. That is, if the Cheshire cat had had the sort of menace normally found in hungry lions.
"Hello again, Grima."
Wormtongue screamed. Again.
Harry and Emrys
Harry strode ahead, dragging Saruman roughly behind by his beard, causing the old wizard to stumble. As they descended deeper and deeper into the dungeons, most of which were empty, and all of which had the stains of dried blood. Any captives found were quickly released by blasting the lock off and told to go upstairs and out what was left of the doors. As the darkness grew, Harry lit the tip of his wand to light their way. Otherwise, nothing was said.
Towards the very bottom of the dungeons, Harry heard the sound of singing, a woman's voice in a language he recognised, but did not understand.
"That's the ballad of Tam Lin." Emrys said in a hushed voice. "My sister used to sing it to me." He dashed ahead, and indeed, it was his sister. Harry followed, and in the cell he saw a young woman, with the straggled parody of once beautiful brown hair, dirt and dried blood on her still pretty face, and a sudden wild, desperate hope in eyes the same shade as Emrys', now engaged in a frenetic conversation in the sing song language of the Dunlendings. Harry quickly blasted the lock off, and Emrys raced in, cradling the young woman who was now weeping with joy.
Harry looked briefly at Saruman, who was sneering, and said, "'And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.' A wise man once said that. A bit of a pity the book in which it was written also advocated killing Witches and Wizards, but nothing's perfect. And they are all sentiments you will never understand. And I pity you for it."
"Do not pity me, Moristar. With love comes pain, crippling, debilitating pain. Love destroys you young wizard, as sure as any poison, spell or sword. I would feel sorrow for you, but that too is a wasted emotion." Saruman replied coldly. Harry stared at him speculatively, then walked on to the last cell. In it was a hunched, painfully thin figure with a vast amount of thin, long and matted dark hair and beard, hands manacled. He shivered, blood running from new and old wounds and looked into the light with sunken eyes in a gaunt face.
"Harry?" Sirius said, his voice cracked. After that, Harry only remembered blasting off the lock, shattering the manacles, and running over to Sirius and hugging him tightly.
"Oh, Sirius, what have they done to you?" Harry asked, tears in his eyes.
"Hey, pup. Easy on these old bones. Mostly it was these small monsters, Orcs, then a pale man that reminded me of a cross between Snape and Wormtail. Vaguely batlike, but not remotely scary, just creepy." Sirius chuckled painfully and coughed. "It was done on the orders of that one over there, Saru-thingy. When I found myself in this world, he took me in. He treated me well at first, kept trying to get me to tell the secrets of my magic. When I worked out what he wanted to use it for, I told him where to get off and I've been locked down here ever since, tortured intermittently and with that bastard whispering constantly in my mind. Worse than the fucking Dementors. Only the singing of the girl a couple of cells down kept me sane. Oh, and nice armour."
"Heh. She's the sister of Prince Theodred's new bodyguard. He's the one who gave Saruman those bruises. Thanks, it's apparently an heirloom. I'll explain later." Harry said with a smile, helping Sirius painfully to his feet.
"Really?" Sirius asked, grinning.
Harry nodded happily as he helped Sirius out of the cell. "Slugged him right in the face."
"Emrys, bring your sister, we're leaving." Then his face darkened as he looked upon Saruman.
"Stupefy."
Eventually they reached the remains of the doors, and Harry divested Saruman of the binding ropes, woke him up, and threw him face first into the water.
"Crucio." He snarled. And Saruman screamed, thrashing in agony. It was the first time in a very long time that someone had hurt him in earnest.
"Harry…" Gandalf said, warningly.
"Gandalf, the man I'm holding up is my supposedly dead godfather, who has spent the last 6 or so years-"
"Seven. I was counting." Sirius muttered.
"Seven years of being tortured for the secrets of his magic. Some of it by Wormtongue, on his periodical visits to Isengard. He is also the reason I have a large hand shaped scar on my chest, and nearly died on Caradhras. Not to mention all that he has done to Rohan." Wormtongue, his face battered and bruised by Eomer, looked up, abject terror in his eyes. "So Gandalf, you can either help me in giving this bastard his due, or get the fuck out of my way." Harry said, eyes blazing with fury, vision being obscured by a red mist of rage. He turned to Saruman again. "Crucio. Crucio. Crucio!"
The fallen White Wizard screamed and screamed and screamed a bit more. Then he began to laugh, to cackle madly. "Maybe you aren't as weak as I thought. Would that it had been you, not that wreck, who turned up on my doorstep. You would have made a fine apprentice and lieutenant, given time."
Harry's eyes widened, and he staggered back, the red mist retreating from his vision as quickly as it arrived.
"My God, what have I done?" He whispered, shocked. Boromir dismounted and Aragorn moved from the other ex-captives to check on Sirius and Emrys' unnamed sister. Boromir hugged the shocked and somewhat traumatised Harry, comforting him a little. Meanwhile, Emrys' sister was staring in wide eyed fear at Wormtongue, and whispering something in the language of the Dunlendings to her brother, who held her close, only reluctantly releasing her to Aragorn's care and whispering reassurances to her when she tried to cling. Then she said in Rohirric, pointing at Wormtongue, "He did things, terrible things to me…" and began crying anew. Emrys face took on a granite like cast and he strode over to Wormtongue, snatching him from Eomer and smashing Wormtongue's nose against his knee, once, twice, three times, then without a word, forced him headfirst underwater.
"Emrys." Theodred said. The young man ignored him, concentrating on drowning Wormtongue.
"Emrys, you are in my service and will obey my orders, and I say he is not to die." Theodred's voice cracked like a whip, filled with a natural authority that was impossible to replicate.
After a couple of long moments Emrys reluctantly lifted Wormtongue out of the muddy water, who promptly sucked in a massive breath of fresh air and said angrily, "He raped Eirian, my sister." He pointed at his sister, who was being checked over gently by Aragorn. "And from what I have heard, he would have happily done the same to your cousin. Why should I not kill him?"
"Because he could still be of use, Emrys. As could Saruman. If it is decided that he should die, you shall have first refusal on execution, you have my word on it." Theodred replied calmly, though his face had darkened when Emrys had mentioned Grima's lust for Eowyn.
Emrys nodded jerkily, dropping Wormtongue like a stone, and remounting his horse. Harry had gone to check on Sirius, who seemed to have gone to sleep, exhausted by his ordeal.
"The filth of Saruman is washing away. Tree's will come back to live here. Young tree's, wild tree's." Treebeard said finally.
Pippin had hopped off the back of Aragorn's horse and had found something in the water, the object Saruman had throne. Something Harry immediately thought was a giant marble, then the power emanating from the thing proving that wrong. Unless marbles in Middle Earth had gone hardcore all of a sudden, that is.
"Bless my bark!" Treebeard exclaimed. Clearly, this was something powerful if an ancient creature, for what else would call Gandalf young, knew of it.
"Peregrin Took. I'll take that my lad." Gandalf said, leaning down. Pippin seemed unwilling to part with it, handing it over after Gandalf said, "Quickly now," and Gandalf wrapped it in part of his cloak. Harry looked at him questioningly, but Gandalf just shook his head.
"We should return to Edoras. I am sure that the soldiers would be unhappy if we held up the victory feast much longer." Théoden said with a smile, then frowned. "But how are we to take these people back. We cannot leave them, but we do not have enough horses, and it is too far to walk."
Harry smiled. "Leave that to me," he said, and beginning grabbing random pieces of floating junk. Théoden quirked an eyebrow at Gandalf, who just shrugged. This magic was new to the both of them.
Harry tapped each of them, turning them into a portkey and said in both common and Rohirric, Emrys chipping in with a Dunlending translation for those Dunlendings who had been in the cells, "This will take you to Edoras. Touch it, you only need a finger. When asked your business, say that Harry Potter, Gandalf the White, King Théoden and the Lords of Gondor and Rohan request that you to be fed and clothed and that they will return from Isengard with all speed." The 60 ex-prisoners looked at him doubtfully, then each group touched their object and disappeared.
"Portkey's. A difficult bit of magic, but it's worked. Sort of like portable apparition, but safer for multiple people to do at once." Harry explained. He then walked over to Sirius and picked him up gently. In his half-starved state, he was frighteningly light. Aside from Eirian, Emrys' sister, he was the only former prisoner left. Harry put Sirius in front of him on his broom and took off gently. "Eirian can have my horse. I doubt Emrys will want to let her out of his sight." The young man in question nodded vigorously, carefully lifting his sister into Harry's saddle, then mounting up himself.
Thanks and goodbyes were said to Treebeard and the other Ents, Saruman and Wormtongue were stunned and lashed to the back of a couple of horses, and the party made for Edoras.
A/N: Okay, here I would like to make it clear that I am not turning Harry into a God Mode sue, nor am I going to make him perpetually angsty. Or at least not intentionally, so please tell me if you pick up on that, because he should lighten up quite a bit after he meets up with Ginny and Co. He's just very powerful (something which is hinted at in HP canon. Both his parents were renowned as seriously powerful wizards (so much that apparently Voldemort was willing to overlook that Lily was muggleborn if they joined him) so I reckon Badassery is encoded into the genes). He's also been through a lot. PTSD, anyone? But he isn't invincible, and still vulnerable to physical injury, and will lighten up a fair bit.
The Sword of Gryffindor will continue to exhibit odd powers, at least one of them a substitute for Fawkes, but I hasten to add that they only work because of desperate need and who and what Harry is.
I got the word 'Moristar' from Azraeos's excellent but long dead (last updated in the middle of 2008) fic 'The Black Wizard', and Harry's use of his broom in battle (though that was more a logical conclusion), but it will follow a different path (for one Harry is older and post 2nd Wizarding War, whereas in that fic he was in between his 5th and 6th years, and has the advantage of experience, and disadvantage of not being able to travel between the worlds at will.