A/N: In which there is intrigue, arguing both Sirius and childish, introspection, exploration of character and sex references. Enjoy!
Also, it should be interesting to see who spots the Dumbo (at least I think its Dumbo…) shout out. And the other ironic joke about book titles.
The ride took several days, after Gandalf vetoed the idea of apparition on the grounds that Sauron might be able interfere in the process and no one wanted to turn up in Minas Tirith minus an arm. Occasionally they were challenged by members of the justly feared Gondorian Rangers, who let them past on seeing who they were.
When the fabled White City came into view, Ginny and Pippin gasped. Even Harry could not hold back an awed whistle. Nothing like it existed in his world. Sure, London had a few skyscrapers, and was rather larger, but just did not compare to the jewel like beauty of Minas Tirith. Boromir flushed with pride and whispered, "Home," and kicked his horse into a gallop, the rest following behind. Trumpets blared, banners flew and soldiers snapped to attention as Gondor welcomed the commander of her armies home.
Boromir exchanged nods, shouted greetings and occasionally even stopped to talk to a soldier, who no matter how small and shambolic, quivered with pride on being addressed by Lord Boromir, and all of them looked as if they would follow him into hell itself and he looked as if he could lead them through it unscathed. Gandalf and Harry, both well known in the city were the cause of many whispers throughout the gathered crowds. Both had a reputation for appearing when trouble was close at hand, and no one had forgotten Denethor's pink hair. Ginny and particularly Pippin attracted curious stares that followed them up the many levels of the city as they ascended, and when they reached the citadel, they were immediately ushered through to the steward, after Gandalf stopped to persuade Shadowfax to go with one of the apprehensive grooms who came to collect their horses.
As they were escorted through the courtyard, Ginny whispered to Harry, "What is that tree? Is it dead?"
"It's the white tree of Gondor, the country's symbol along with the seven stars. And not so much dead as… dormant." Harry replied quietly, for Pippin's benefit as the little Hobbit was staring at the tree, no doubt remembering his vision in the Palantir.
Gandalf stopped by the door and said to Pippin, Ginny and Harry, "Do not mention Aragorn or his status in front of Denethor. And Harry, please, refrain from insulting him. Just for once."
"Aragorn is the heir to the Gondorian throne. The Stewards have ruled Gondor for over a thousand years and Denethor is a prideful man. He would resent Aragorn's coming immensely." Harry explained quietly to Ginny, who raised her eyebrows and nodded. They walked into the coldly beautiful marble throne room, decorated in monochrome, statues of King's and Steward's past in small alcoves on the sides of the room. At the end sat with a white sceptre in a black wooden chair before the marble throne was Steward Denethor, a grizzled and grey haired man in late middle age with a forbidding expression that darkened when he saw Gandalf and Harry, and then brightened when he looked upon his son.
"Hail Denethor, son of Ecthelion, Lord and Steward of Gondor." Gandalf said, but Denethor only had eyes for his son.
"That's got to be the first time I've ever seen him smile." Harry whispered out of the corner of his mouth to Gandalf, whose lips twitched in a smile which was quickly smothered.
"Boromir, my son, you have returned! It is so good to see you, you look well." Denethor said exuberantly, standing to hug his son, then his manner turned furtive. "Did you bring it?"
Boromir sighed inwardly. He had known this was coming. "No father. It is too strong for us to control, that I learnt. We would follow Isildur into death if we tried."
"Who taught you that I wonder? These two conjurers, one young, one old, one arrayed in black and the other in white, yet equal in their meddling." Denethor asked rhetorically.
"At least we blend in." Harry replied airily, pointedly looking at the monochrome decoration.
"No father, I learnt it the hard way. The Ring nearly destroyed me, father. We cannot control it." Boromir said firmly.
"Are you sure that was not merely an illusion? I fear that you have been deceived my son." Denethor said sadly.
"You need to light the Beacons, Denethor. Call for help. Rohan will come." Gandalf advised
"Deceived? The One Ring turned your son, one of the most loyal men of my acquaintance to madness, by finding a weak point and exploiting it. It responds to one master and one alone. When he realised what he had nearly done, he begged me to kill him. Boromir the brave, a man who fought 200 Uruk-Hai without blinking, even after being shot in the chest, the man who has fought cave trolls and faced a Balrog while retaining his composure, begged, Steward Denethor. Do you not trust your own son's testimony? If it can break him, it can break anyone." Harry said coldly.
"When I want your opinions, Black Wizard, Gandalf, I will ask for them." Denethor said just as coldly. "And I know what you plan, Gandalf. The eyes of the White Tower are not blind. With your right hand you would use me as a shield against Mordor, and with your left you would supplant me. I have heard of this Ranger from the North, this Aragorn, son Arathorn, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship." He pretty much spat Aragorn's name, "And I say that he will never be King here."
"Authority is not given to you to deny the Return of the King, Steward!" Gandalf snapped. Harry thought vaguely that 'The Return of the King' would make an excellent title for a book… or maybe a film.
"Rule of Gondor is mine! And no others!" Denethor snarled.
"Yeah, about that, the word 'steward' means someone who is looking after something for someone else. Not ruler. Your son, unlike you, has learned that there are other courses of action than maniacal intransigence. So, suck it up and deal with it." Harry replied, not flinching as Denethor death stared him.
"You don't scare me Denethor. I have been stared at by far more dangerous people than you." Harry said quietly.
Denethor then switched tack. "And two of your party have yet to speak, the halfling and the beautiful red headed young woman. What is their purpose here?"
"To help fight Sauron, as we all wish to do." Gandalf said quietly.
"What use will a Halfling and a woman be in the defence against Mordor's armies?" Denethor asked mockingly.
"Bat-bogeys?" Ginny whispered.
"Nah. Levitate his chair." Harry replied.
Ginny drew her wand and did just that. "I think your question is answered, Lord Steward," she said coolly.
"She is a witch who is easily as skilled as I, if not more, though perhaps with a little less raw power." Harry said, savouring Denethor's poleaxed expression as he was lowered to the floor.
"I take it she is yours, Black Wizard, since you speak for her so much." Denethor sneered. Before the sentence was finished, Harry had his wand drawn and pointed at Denethor.
"Speak so again, Lord Steward, then rank and ancestry be damned; pink hair will be the least of your worries. How do you like the idea of your tongue being attached to the roof of your mouth? Then I wouldn't have to listen to any more of your bile." Harry said with a soft menace, then looked to Boromir and said, "I'm sorry Boromir, but I needed to remind your father about how to speak to a lady in polite company. It seems he has forgotten." Boromir sensibly said nothing, though his eyes showed a tacit acknowledgement that Harry had not been wrong, even if he did not like to admit it.
"I can defend myself you know." Ginny said in a dry whisper.
"Yes, but I think it would have been a diplomatic fiasco if the Steward's mucus suddenly took to the air and began attacking him." Harry replied just as quietly.
Then something unexpected happened. Pippin stood forward and went down on one knee. "Your son risked his life to save mine, and was nearly killed. I owe your house a debt of honour that I, Peregin son of Paladin, would repay by serving you." Harry glanced up at Gandalf, suspecting he had coached Pippin in this, but the old wizard looked as surprised as he was, even if he was better at not showing it. Even Boromir looked surprised.
Denethor looked at Pippin with what only a charitable describer would call a smile.
"I accept your service, Peregrin son of Paladin, if you swear the oath of loyalty. Boromir my son, would be so kind as to teach it to him?"
Boromir nodded stiffly and over the next half an hour painstakingly taught Pippin the oath of fealty that he was to give to Denethor, and a servant was sent to collect some of Faramir's childhood armour.
Eventually, Pippin went down on one knee, and with some hesitation and much nervousness, recited the oath. "Here do I swear fealty and service to Gondor, and to the Lord and Steward of the realm, to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end."
Denethor stood and accepted the oath, then said with a lordly magnanimity, "I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance."
Harry restrained himself with great difficulty from making a smart remark. Inwardly, he was worried. Pippin, in his well-meant and as ever ill thought out action had given Denethor a lever on Gandalf, and a potential spy against Gandalf and Harry.
"May I suggest father that he is assigned to my service? I taught him swordplay and I would like to help polish his skills in that regard. Not only that, but he is small, fast and agile, with an excellent eye for detail, meaning that he would make an excellent runner, if nothing else." Boromir intervened respectfully. Harry strangled a triumphant smile. Clever, clever, clever Boromir! He too had seen it coming and managed to prevent it.
Denethor too had seen it, and curled his lip slightly, but acquiesced with a painfully false joviality. "Of course my son, your young and agile mind outpaces my old and weary one. He shall be assigned to your service."
"Thank you, my lord." Boromir said formally, and at a nudge from Harry, Pippin bowed and copied him.
Once they returned to their collective apartments as night fell, Harry and Ginny having been given a separate room with a knowing smirk from the chamberlain, Gandalf thanked Boromir. "That was excellent piece of quick thinking, Boromir. You prevented Pippin being caught between his friends and his liegelord and acquired for yourself a good errand runner in one neat stroke."
Boromir grimaced. "And I have lost much of my father's good will in the process," then looked to Pippin who was examining his new armour and said, "that was Faramir's first armour as a boy. He immediately started running around, proclaiming he would slay all dragons and evildoers in the world." Boromir cracked a wistful smile. "Mother was still alive then, if a little faded, and father… was not as bitter as he is now. He cared for both of us equally and favoured neither. It was a good time."
"I remember Finduilas well. So beautiful and full of life, a breath of fresh sea air… but Mordor killed her. The darkness sapped her life and will to live until she became a shell of the woman she once was." Gandalf said sadly, then smiled and said, "And her kindness and wisdom lives on in her sons."
"Faramir, certainly. He is one of the kindest people I know, save when he is in battle. I have always been a warrior, harsh, ruthless and a calculating commander." Boromir refuted him.
"Oi, moaning about your own perceived failures is my schtick. Stop infringing." Harry replied, then said sarcastically, "I take it that your cold and calculating side is why your soldiers love you and would die for you without hesitation, why it was you who comforted me after Gandalf died. Yes, very cold, very ruthless, no doubt all with a cunning ulterior motive. Face it Boromir, you're like a big, fluffy… stuffed toy!"
Boromir stuck his tongue out in an immensely childish gesture and said truculently, "Am not."
"Are so."
"Am not."
"Are so."
"Am not."
"Are so."
Gandalf put his head in his hands. "The world is doomed."
Ginny shrugged and said, "Look on the bright side. Any normal Dark Lord wouldn't believe a bunch of childish idiots could be any threat whatsoever. It's all an obviously masterfully planned gambit to lull him into a false sense of security." She added sarcastically.
"Genius planners, that's us." Boromir said, looking almost innocent.
"We have a cunning plan…" Harry said and grinned.
Ginny stared at him flatly and said, "You've just made a reference that only Hermione would get, haven't you."
"…maybe."
Ginny sighed. "Sometimes I wonder why I love you."
Harry slipped up behind her and kissed her neck. "Because of this?"
"Mr Potter, are you suggesting I'm so shallow that I love you only for your body?"
"Never Miss Weasley, I merely know that you would have to be a fool, and you are most definitely not, to fail to love it."
"If you two are going to have sex, kindly get on with it in the other room and leave us in peace. We don't want a full frontal display." Boromir said dryly, looking out towards Osgiliath. Before Harry and Ginny could either come up with a sarcastic reply or make good on his suggestion, an enormous beam of pale greenish white light shot up from near Mordor with a crackling roar.
Gandalf hugged Pippin to his side and said grimly, "The enemy is on the move."
"Really? I thought that it was just Sauron's birthday and they couldn't afford fireworks, so went with ominous eldritch beams of greenish light instead." Harry said, voice dripping with sarcasm, then said sincerely, "Okay, joking aside, what the hell was that?"
"Minas Morgul." Boromir said grimly. "The Nazgul's base. It was once a Gondorian Watchtower, but the Nine took it and perverted it to their own fell purposes. Now, there is a ceaseless malevolent presence about the place, an evil that never sleeps."
"Well, what would a group of evil undead do with sleep?" Harry replied.
"Harry, I notice you get more sarcastic as you get either more angry or more worried. Neither is particularly helpful at the moment." Gandalf said sternly.
"Sorry Gandalf." Harry said, then smiled and turned to Ginny, lightly pushing some of her behind her ear and slipping a hand behind her back. "Now where were we?"
"Out!"
Ron, Sirius and Theodred
"I wonder what Harry and Ginny are getting up to now." Ron said thoughtfully. He, Theodred and Sirius were drinking sociably, while Eowyn, Legolas, Gimli and Hermione were quizzing each other on their respective worlds and life stories, Eomer had decided to get an early night, as had Aragorn, after the latter had brewed a hangover remedy for the next morning. Emrys had looked interested on mention of alcohol until his sister had dragged him away and made sure he went to bed, easily foiling two escape attempts before he finally went grumpily to sleep.
"They'll have arrived at the city by now, and spoken to Steward Denethor." Theodred supplied helpfully.
"What's he like?" Ron asked, curious.
Theodred thought for a long time. "Gruff. Harsh, but fair. A little thin skinned, and favours Boromir over his little brother, Faramir, which upsets both. It's because of this last that he really doesn't like Harry."
Ron felt his heart sink. "Dare I ask?"
"Harry objected to Denethor's constant denigration of Faramir when Boromir was not around to defend him. So he turned Denethor's hair and sceptre pink. For a month." Theodred replied, downing a pint.
Sirius barked with laughter and said, "That's my boy! And back to your original question, Ron, they're a young couple who are deeply in love who haven't seen each other in god knows how long and haven't had a shag in even longer. What on earth do you think they're doing?" He added with an eye roll as Theodred performed a spit take all over the table.
Ron went pale and shoved his mug across to Sirius. "Turn this into Firewhiskey. Now. I need to bleach my brain."
Sirius obliged, grinning, and said, "They're catching up of course. What did you immediately think of?"
Ron downed most of the Firewhiskey and glared at Sirius. "You are a cruel, cruel man, Black."
"And proud of it. Have some more whiskey."
Théoden
Théoden was not asleep, though he should have been. Even though his Gondorian ancestry granted him a longer life and longer youth than most men, he was still no longer a spry young man who could pace and drink all night and lead a cavalry charge the next morning. He was standing on just outside the door of Meduseld, on the small porch like area, staring out over his capital and his kingdom. All was relatively quiet, though he could hear at least one familiar off key drunken voice singing some unspeakable drinking song off in the distance, joined by two less familiar voices, equally drunken, wending their way up the slope with some crashes, bangs and swearing. Eventually his son and two drinking partners hoved into view. It made sense, Theoden thought, that Harry's friends would cause at least as much mayhem as the man himself. On the other hand, no one had turned into a giant yellow bird since Harry left, or something equally weird, so maybe the craziness was dying down.
Or not, he thought with a sigh, as a group of multi-coloured creatures of indeterminate species and magical origin flew past his nose and started parading in front of the three, one of whom, Sirius, loudly began singing,
I can stand the sight of microscopic germs, but multi coloured pachyderms are just too much for me!
Then he frowned, as if he couldn't remember the rest of the words. Theodred, meanwhile, had promptly staggered and been spectacularly ill. Théoden rolled his eyes and nodded at a couple of the guards who helped them into the hall and towards their chambers with soothing words and saintly patience. Another couple fetched something to clean up the royal vomit with.
"You cannot sleep?" Théoden restrained himself from jumping as a familiar soft voice came from behind him, its owner silent as ever.
"No." He replied shortly. Legolas stepped alongside him, hooded in a grey cloak so as to cover his natural glow.
"You think of the people, of the peace that has been so hard won, yet could be shattered at any moment." The elf replied. On Théoden's surprised look, he elaborated. "It has been on my mind throughout this quest. The kingdoms of the elves are dying. We are leaving these shores, but my father has elected to remain." Legolas was silent for a moment, then said, "The only reason he would go to Valinor is for my mother, and it is likely that she did not answer the call of Mandos. I worry for the sake of my people too. As I grew up, Sauron was no more than an evil fairy tale, designed to scare recalcitrant children into behaving, of which I was one. He was a demon that haunted the nursery, nothing more. Eventually he returned, and quickly destroyed the Kingdom of Arnor and crippled Gondor's ability to fight him, then set about restoring his power. I fear that if I fail, my woodland home will burn and fuel Sauron's war machine, like Saruman did to parts of Fangorn. If that happens, my people, a trifle uncultured and not as urbane as Lord Elrond's folk, generally speaking, will die, ignorant of what they did to deserve their terrible fate. Ignorance is not always bliss. Nor is knowledge. I know, for I have felt both."
Théoden nodded, and asked, "You have long experience in statecraft Master Elf. What would you suggest we do with Saruman and Wormtongue?"
"I was originally the second son, the spare, though no less loved and therefore less trained in matters of state. Only after my elder brother died in an ambush was I belatedly educated in matters of state, and I had little interest in them. For what it is worth, I believe if you release Saruman, he will only cause trouble elsewhere, and is too dangerous to keep in the long term. Wormtongue has been broken by his time with Saruman, very little is left of the man he was, if any. Letting Emrys kill him would be a mercy to both the executioner and executed. I would counsel Saruman to be kept for judgement, gagged and bound, by Gandalf after this ends, for his a Maiar of Gandalf's order, or that you execute him immediately."
Théoden nodded. "I will do as you suggest, Prince Legolas. Wormtongue will be executed under the laws of Rohan, and Saruman will be held pending trial. And know that you are not the only one who bears this burden of knowledge, and that others will help you bear in any way they can."
"Good night, King Théoden. Thank you for your counsel, and I hope that you will sleep well. May the Belair bless you."
"Good night, Prince Legolas. I hope so too. May Béma keep you."
As the elf departed as soundlessly as he had arrived, not even the swish of a cloak or the creak of an open door to indicate that he had left, and no marks to indicate that he had ever been there.
Note on translation: The Belair are the Valar, and Béma is the name for the Vala Orome, who is very important to the Rohirrim.
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