Lotr: (you should really get an account. It would make this much easier) Harry had the foresight to take some books with him, and when you're wielding that much power it largely comes down to instinct. Plus, the greatest innovations are in times of war.
Hermione is a voracious book worm and they were at Rivendell for over a month, plus she was asking questions of everyone she could lay her hands on. I'm betting 'are there ghosts?' came up in conversation.
As for that, it will be a mix of the two.
Later accounts of the battle stated that Harry didn't scream, didn't fall into despair, and didn't rage incoherently when Ginny fell, he just became very… calm. He had passed like lightning through the ponds of anger, the lakes of fury, the seas of rage and the oceans of wrath and passed into a calm pool of tranquil fury.
He removed his broom from his pocket, firing a concussive ring with his wand that expanded like the ripples caused by a dropped stone in a pond, knocking all the nearby creatures off their feet. He re-enlarged the broom and mounted it, putting Ginny on in front of him with a smooth gentleness, then kicked off, flying at scarcely comprehensible speeds straight towards the Houses of Healing. According to the healers' later accounts, he had dismounted and carried her gently into the infirmary and laid her tenderly on a bed next to Faramir, who was similarly afflicted, and Denethor who was next to his son, suffering from severe physical trauma.
He removed the dart and cleaned the wound. He had laid a gentle kiss on her forehead and strode back outside, his face darkening with every footstep. He remounted his broom and took off once more, flying up towards the darkened sky, then, like some avenging angel or seriously pissed off deity hovered and picked out his unaware target. He whirled his sword once, which glowed with a cold silvery fury that caused a pang of fear in all who saw it on all sides. All recognised death when they saw it.
Then he struck like a crimson eagle from the skies. He flew like the wind, sword extended, and beheaded the Witch King's fell beast in clean one blow, hardly slowing, rose once more, then swivelled and paused for a second. He had probably done some damage to his arm from such a ferocious impact, but right now he was beyond caring. Enhancing his voice as the beast began to fall wings twitching in its death throes. He called out over the Fields, audible even deep inside the city, and possibly at the edge of Mordor itself, clear and harsh as an eagle's hunting cry:
"DIE!"
Then he cast what seemed to be a variant of the Patronus charm with the incantation 'PATRONUM FULMENAS!', his face, if any had been able to see from that far away, had fury etched into it.
Instead of causing Prongs to issue forth and charge through the air, the sky darkened and the clouds thickened as a pulse of silver light emanated from the sword, flying into the clouds. Then they took on a dim, but brightening, silver light which coalesced into one massive lightning bolt of silver power which flew with an almost tangible fury and caused a crackling roar to be heard all over the Fields, hitting the Witch King like a freight train and causing the undead being to screech furiously and tinnily as he plummeted through the air. All eyes, orc, man, elf, dwarf, witch and wizard alike turned to watch the enormously powerful silver bolt smash the monstrous chief lieutenant of Sauron's into the ground with an earth shaking crash, landing where his ill-fated mount had, causing dust to rise and obscure the site of the fall that left a wide, deep crater, vaporising one of the Mumakil that had been underneath. Subsidiary bolts snapped off, striking deep craters in the earth. Bolt after enormous silver bolt hit the site, getting bigger each time as the sky gained a shimmering silver light for 5 miles around, could be seen clearly from well over 50 miles away and the bolts were growing as Harry sought to smash the Witch King into the water table through a large amount of bedrock.
After he launched his final bolt, Harry made his only mistake. He flew down to grimly and extremely wearily to inspect what he thought would be the Witch King's not doubt crumpled and melted armour the spirit presumably having fled to Mordor. Instead a Morningstar lashed out of the slowly settling dust cloud and hit him in the side with palpable malevolence, catching the hovering and tired wizard off-guard and sending him and his broom flying out of control, smashing into the ground 50 feet away, apparently dead.
Emrys
Emrys, who had been baiting the troll, occasionally drawing blood, looked up at the glowing sky, as did the troll. Their battle forgotten, both watched as a power comparable to that of the Elder Days formed, striking the black lieutenant of Sauron into the earth. And if that wasn't enough, it was done again. And again. And again. And the bolts of silver lightning were only getting bigger.
"Merciful Eru…" He whispered. What he felt was not awe. Awe is for beings that are merely impressive. As for this… people had been worshipped for far less. Unsurprisingly, the troll was cowering, and Emrys, shaking himself, slipped behind it like a ghost. He sheathed Theodred's sword, took his own in both hands and with a roar of effort, stabbed the troll in the small of back. Using the lodged sword as a hand and foothold, he scaled the troll's back as the creature thrashed in surprised agony. Grabbing the monster round the throat, wincing from several enormously powerful but thankfully glancing blows at his back, he drew Theodred's sword. Steadying himself for a moment, reversing his grip on the sword to a dagger grip, he lined up the base of the monsters skull and shoved hard. As the troll tottered and bellowed, Emrys stood on the hilt and used it to jump clear, the pressure pushing the blade in further. The troll dropped as Emrys performed a three point landing, using his free hand to scramble for a knife in case something looked to take advantage of his distraction. As it was, most creatures were watching the lightning bolts and any others thought better of taking on someone who had just brought down a troll with only a cracked rib or two to show for it.
Wincing, he made his way over to Theodred, who he slapped across the face.
"Ow!" Theodred said, blinking, coming into full consciousness.
"Sorry. No water." Emrys said shortly, looking around cautiously.
Theodred sat up, wincing and said, "Where's my sword?"
"In the skull of that troll." Emrys replied, lifting his liege to his feet and indicating the very dead troll.
Theodred blinked, looked at the troll and back at Emrys. "You… brought down a troll."
"Sounds about right." Emrys agreed, casting around for a horse.
"With one sword." Theodred said slowly.
"Two. Mine's embedded in its back." Emrys corrected him.
Theodred looked at him. "How?"
"I was distracting it when one of the wraiths did something that particularly incited the rage of the Black Wizard. When the clouds turn silver for miles around and enormous silver lightning bolts start raining down on one of the wraith's, it's difficult not to stare, even for a troll, so I took advantage." Emrys replied dryly.
"Eh?"
Emrys pointed, just as the last of the bolts hit with a crackling roar.
Theodred rattled off an impressive stream of Rohirric imprecations.
"Yeah, he's been doing that for the last 5 minutes at least. Whichever of the Wraith's he hit won't be in a good way." Emrys said laconically, as the crimson dot that was Harry dropped, looking tired, towards the dust cloud, then was caught by something black and metal that flew out of the dust cloud, sending him crashing to the ground.
"Oh crap." Theodred said, face drained of colour, "That's the most magic I've ever seen Harry wield, and that's including Helm's Deep and Isengard. If whatever he hit survived that-"
"Then we're fucked." Emrys said flatly, and sighed. "Shall we go and help?"
"Of course. Nothing shall stop us rendering assistance to our friends." Theodred said.
"Yes." Emrys said, shading his eyes. "I think I can see the King… fighting whichever Wraith Harry pummelled into the ground."
"Father! He shall not stand alone." Theodred said, sprinting forward heroically, then tripping over a dead Orc and fell flat on his face. Emrys tried to hold back the giggles, but they exploded out of him, quickly growing into a full blown belly laugh. Without standing up, Theodred said stonily, "When stories are told of brave Prince Theodred's charge to assist his father, they will not include his tripping up and his loyal vassal laughing his arse off. Is that clear?"
Emrys stifled his laughter and said, "Yes, Lord Prince. I swear to tell no chroniclers of this."
Theodred heaved himself up and added, "No one. Not just the chroniclers, no one. Especially not Harry. You are not to breathe a word of this."
"Not a word shall pass my lips, Sire." Emrys said with a seraphic smile, bowing extravagantly as he managed to collect a couple of riderless horses.
Theodred looked on suspiciously. That boy was planning something.
Boromir
Boromir was looking on grimly. Harry's… intervention had turned the tide of the battle, or at least stemmed the advance, vaporising at least one Mumak and goodness knows how many Orc's. When the first of the lightning bolts had struck, he had raised his eyebrows. He'd been surprised when a second, then a third hit, and somewhat unnerved when he noticed they were getting bigger. Of course, he didn't show it.
Sirius had just been staring, slack jawed in amazement. "That shouldn't be possible."
"Has any other of your kind managed it?" Boromir asked calmly.
Sirius ran his hands through his hair and let out a huffing sigh. "Plenty managed thunderstorms, lightning bolts and all that. Any wizard over a certain power level could do that, hell, I could do that, though directing them is a bit difficult. Combining it with the Patronus Charm? On that scale? Literally unheard of. Ever. Not even Merlin managed it. Whatever power source Harry's somehow tapped into, it's not remotely human."
"The Valar? Eru?" Boromir asked, eyebrows raised.
Sirius shrugged. "From what I've heard, it would have to be one of them. Maybe Sauron at full strength could have done it. Gandalf would be a better person to ask."
"It has not been revealed to me who is behind Harry's vastly enhanced power, but I do know that that sword is its source and that is how your father managed to survive duelling the Witch King." Gandalf said, coming up behind them.
"Yeah, that was a surprise." Boromir said with a proud grin.
"Your dad's a tough old sod, I'll say that for him." Sirius added with a certain admiration.
"How does he?" Boromir asked Gandalf.
"Alive, but unconscious and suffering from severe trauma. Frankly, the power sword must have protected him from some of the blow or he'd be dead." Gandalf replied.
"OH SHIT!" said one of the sharper sighted archers, staring out over the battle field.
Sirius, Boromir and Gandalf turned to look over the battlefield and caught a glimpse of the Witch King's morning star lashing out and catching a low flying and exhausted Harry by surprise.
"Harry." Sirius whispered and disapparated, but not before Boromir showed remarkable presence of mind by grabbing his shoulder and gabbling as they disappeared, "Gandalfincommand!"
Boromir and Sirius landed by Harry with a crash, both up and drawing blades in a heartbeat. Sirius bent to check on Harry as Boromir watched for any approaching enemies.
"He's alive and semi-conscious. I am going to kiss whoever gave him this armour!" Sirius exclaimed, relieved. And indeed, the elven steel had held up, dented, scratched and battered, protecting its owner from the worst of the blow.
"She's married, at least seven thousand years old and mindreading elf nobility. You haven't got a chance." Boromir drawled.
"You'd be surprised." Sirius said dismissively
"Yes, I would. I really, really would."
"Anyway, I'm taking him up to the Houses of Healing. Can you look after yourself until I get back?"
Boromir gave him a flat look.
"I'll take that as a yes, then."
"No. Not yet." Harry whispered.
"Harry? Don't be stupid, you need immediate medical attention."
"Heroic stupidity is a Gryffindor trait. Greater need than mine."
"Eh?" Sirius said, and Boromir tapped him on the shoulder. He saw Théoden brought down after a valiant fight and a young Rohirric trooper who would have made Gryffindor any day of the week standing over him, despite taking the full force of the Morningstar to his shield.
"Sirius, do something! The Witch King's killing that boy!" Boromir snarled tensely as the boy dodged not once but twice, clearly labouring under a broken arm.
"I can't! Harry's power residue is shorting out any magic I try and cast round here." Sirius growled back, shaking his wand which was emitting scarlet sparks. "Hell, let's do this old school." He said, hefting his sword. Boromir stopped him, and pointed at Merry, who was sneaking up behind the Witch King as he strangled the Rohirric trooper, saying, "No man can defeat me."
"At the very least Merry will distract him, then we take our chances."
Sirius grumbled, but stayed back as the small and valiant Hobbit drove the barrow blade of Westernesse into the Wraith's leg. Shockingly, the mighty Wraith fell to his knees and Merry screamed in pain as some of the Wraith's power snapped back at him and his blade dissolved.
The trooper was released, and stood. Whipping off his, no her, helmet, Eowyn daughter of Eomund, Shieldmainden of Rohan and Princess of the Mark said triumphantly, "I am no man," stabbing the Wraith in what would have been its face.
"The sword. Blood of a friend and a tear of one who weeps for him. All these to save the King. Love conquers all." Harry murmured.
Boromir and Sirius looked down at him, up at each other, down at him again, once more at each other, and shrugged at the exact same time.
The King's Guard arrived at that moment, and lifted Harry gently onto a spare horse, which Boromir also mounted, holding him steady as they rode back to the Lady Eowyn who cradled her uncle's dying body.
Théoden: A few minutes earlier
Théoden, who was nearby, looked on grimly as Harry landed 60 metres away, then dispatched half his bodyguard to - at the very least - prevent the desecration of Harry's body by the orcs. Then he motioned Snowmane forward. He was the King, and he could not send his followers to face something that he refused to face himself. He mentally sent out a prayer to Bema to keep his soul safe if he died facing this abomination, and to lend Theodred, Eowyn and Eomer his strength in the days to come.
He trotted his horse forward, and said grimly and formally, his voice as deep and majestic as the greatest war horn, "Foul spawn of Mordor! Come forth, for I would face thee in single combat."
"Challenge accepted." The Witch King said - his armour melted in places, scorched in others, with small sparks of silver power popping around it, but still functioning - in his sibilant voice, swinging his Morningstar at Théoden without warning.
However Théoden was not born of a line of great warrior kings and horsemen for no reason, and with the blood of his ancestors singing a song of death, he let out a battle cry, and controlling Snowmane with his knees, closed the gap to well inside his foe's reach, robbing the Morningstar of its power, deflecting the chain with his shield and dealing a powerful blow at the point where shoulder met neck on the monster's armour. The Witch-King reeled, disoriented as he faced the first real fight from a mortal since Eärnur had faced him nearly 1100 years ago at the Battle of Fornost, then faced him in single combat over 20 years later. Of course, the second time had not ended well for the last King of Gondor.
Théoden capitalised on his opponents' shock, and charge in once more, attacking again and again, the tall dark figure of his enemy reeling more and more with each pass. As hope grew within Théoden, and the cheers of his soldiers spurred him on, the Witch King desperately let out a pulse of fear inducing dark power. Théoden managed to shake it off, but the same could not be said of Snowmane. In the same fashion as Eärnur's horse had, he spooked, collapsing and trapping Théoden beneath him.
"Fool. You thought that a mere mortal could face the might of Mordor?" the Witch King mocked, and drew back his Morningstar for a mortal blow. As the weapon descended, it was met squarely by a shield. The shield of Dernhelm, that young soldier who had fought so well, Théoden thought dazedly. He tried to shout, to warn the boy that it wasn't worth it, that he was dying anyway, to run while he could and preserve his life, but he couldn't get the words out, or do anything but wheeze.
"You will not touch him." Dernhelm said in a high, but firm voice, something Théoden attributed to the boy mastering his fear and pain at the broken arm the blow must have caused.
"You are a fool to stand between a Nazgul and his prey." The monster proclaimed, bringing the Morningstar down once more. Dernhelm dodged, and dodged again.
"Fool. No man can defeat me." The Witch King mocked, then he suddenly collapsed. Merry had crept up behind the Witch King and stabbed him in the knee with his sword, a barrow blade enchanted especially to defeat the creature they now faced, though not without a price as the courageous Hobbit let out a scream of pain.
Dernhelm, no, Eowyn, Théoden muzzily thought as she took off her helmet, shaking out her flaxen hair, said triumphantly, "I am no man." Then she stabbed the abomination in the face. A moment after she did, her sword came shooting out backwards, as if fired from a cannon, and Eowyn let out a cry of pain that mirrored Merry's, staggering.
Eowyn scrambled over to her uncle after evading a particularly ugly orc commander who was slain in short order by a passing Aragorn and Gimli, who then moved on, apparently oblivious to Eowyn and what had happened, or considering other priorities to be paramount.
As Eowyn tended to her dying uncle, Harry was carried over, mumbling something in a semi-conscious state.
"Milady." One of the King's bodyguard said, clearly not bothered by Eowyn's presence, but considering the sheer number of fantastical things that had happened, the unexpected appearance of the Lady Eowyn on the battlefield in full armour was simply one among many odd things.
"What?" She said, clearly irritated.
"Lord Potter is saying something, according to Lord Boromir and Lord Black. Something about his sword, blood and a tear to save the King. The power of love." The soldier said stolidly.
Eowyn opened her mouth to shout him down, to say that Harry was severely injured and probably delirious. Then she shut it and mentally shrugged. Enough strange things happened around Harry to make this possible.
"Do it." She said finally, on the verge of tears. If this worked… she didn't know what she would do. Cry probably, as unshieldmaidenly as that was.
Sirius lifted Harry down gently, drew the sword of Gryffindor and pushed its hilt towards Théoden.
As Théoden saw the ruby inlaid hilt of the sword of Gryffindor, something inside his head, like a song to which he did not know the words, but was somehow familiar with, told him to grasp it. He did, and at the same time, Harry's bare hand snapped out and grasped the blade tightly, drawing winces from all who saw it. Everyone watching was well aware of how sharp that blade was, having seen it make short work of anything in its way.
A trickle of blood emerged from Harry's death grip on the sword, and ran down the blade. It was met halfway down from a singular, solitary tear from Eowyn. The two met, and the blade began to glow softly. As the blood and tear mixed, then ran together, time seemed to slow. Eowyn watched as the blade began to glow brighter and brighter, then grew to an incandescent glory when it hit the hilt, the rubies glowing like droplets of blood and there was pulse of raw force from the sword, sending the King's guard and Eowyn flying backwards.
Eowyn moaned in agony as she landed on her broken arm, her vision spotted with splashes of multi-coloured light. She forced her head up to see her uncle stand, Snowmane's unfortunately slightly burnt corpse having been blasted away. He looked around, down at the sword, then at Harry, and exclaimed in a strange sort of relieved exasperation, just before Eowyn lapsed into unconsciousness, "This sword summons the spirits of the long dead for assistance, enhances magic spells and now it brings back the dying. Is there anything it doesn't do?"
Yes, there is divine meddling going on here. Who? Good question. Please review.