And with a twist or three still coming, over 450 reviews, 30 chapters and over 100,000 words, we near the endgame, where the chapters will get longer again. I have a lot planned (including a sequel) and a new poll which I beg you to vote on, deciding who should die (well, I've chosen already, but I'm curious as to what you think). As you vote, just remember. Nothing, with me, is ever quite as it seems.
The assassin slipped silently on to the balcony of the houses of healing. He wore the garb of a healer, allowing him to blend in and potentially force a moment's hesitation if he was discovered, and kidskin shoes to aid in silent movement. However to any who had even a fleeting experience of combat, it was plain that the man dressed as a healer dealt in death, not life, moving with a liquid grace and possessing the sort of compressed power that reminded one of a spring. The Rohirric guards, not expecting entry from an apparently untenable area, did not notice him. His brief was clear. Kill them all.
He slipped towards Eowyn, silent and deadly, drawing a black lacquered knife as silently as a moth's whisper. As far as he was aware, he was the best assassin in Middle Earth. But as the old saying goes, 'there's always someone better'. As he stole towards the Lady Eowyn's bed, her flaxen hair almost glowing in the moonlight, ivory skin shining, pale as porcelain, he cast a cursory glance towards the bed of his next target, Lord Faramir. Which was empty. As he realised this, Faramir moved out of the shadows that he had worn like a cloak, and, grabbed his throat and delivered a vicious rabbit punch to the back of the unfortunate assassin's neck, dropping the man like a stone.
Silently, Faramir removed all the man's weaponry, tied him up in what he referred to as the Hangman's knot, a fiendish knot that kept the tied person in place by making every attempt to escape from the ropes binding his arms and hands have the consequence of strangling him, gagged him and went back to bed.
The next morning Harry woke first as the dawn rays touched the ward, absently summoning his glasses. They zoomed to him, and he estimated that he was now about as strong as he had been just before he came to Middle Earth, and his remaining power was coming back fast. He looked around the room, quickly picking out the now conscious and red-faced assassin and the pile black lacquered weaponry on one of the tables.
Harry stood, noting he was now dressed in his habitual black, and looked at the other sleepers. All appeared to be unhurt. He walked over to the pile of black weapons, presumably painted so to avoid shine in the moonlight. Knives, many of them, some poisoned, judging by their vaguely herbal smell. The weapons of an assassin, in other words, their owners eyes warily tracking his progress around the room.
The assassin gulped as a cold, hard and deadly gaze settled upon him.
The healer who was bringing the various Lords and Ladies their breakfast and the Rohirric guards got the shock of their lives as a screaming man flew in a flat trajectory at shoulder height and Harry quickly stormed after him, face dark with fury.
The healer stared after them then looked questioningly at the older of the two guards, who shrugged and said, "Go put those down by the Ladies Eowyn and Ginny, Lord Faramir and Esquire Meriadoc. As far as I can tell, they are still abed. We will go and ask Lord Potter what is happening."
The healer nodded mutely and walked into the main chamber shaking his head. Why, oh why did he have to deal with the most dangerous and danger prone people in Middle Earth? Why?
The guards proceeded down the corridor to where Harry was currently holding his captive by the throat with an ease that did not immediately strike one as being entirely human.
"Who do you work for, assassin, tell me! Now!" Harry snarled as the man began gasping for air.
"Lord Potter, your captive may better answer your questions if you let him breathe." One of the guards said with a wary respect.
After a couple of moments, Harry sighed, looked away from his captive, and dropped the man, who wheezed.
"I'll tell you… everything." The man whispered, rubbing his throat.
Harry raised an eyebrow at this rather unexpectedly speedy capitulation. He had expected more violence to be necessary. Seeing the eyebrow, the man elaborated. "I look after myself, and I have no reason to like the people I work for. For me, it's just about getting the money to pay for my little brother, enslaved these six years on a Corsair ship, and to look after his wife and children."
Harry raised a second eyebrow, hearing the ring of truth in the man's voice. "Excuse me if the sob story does little to improve my outlook towards you. However, the King captured a Corsair fleet on the way to the battle and all the slaves have been freed, almost all staying to row the fleet to the battlefield. If you deal with us in good faith, I will help you find your brother. Deal with us in bad faith… well, I think you can begin to guess what might happen to you."
The man looked up, a wild hope in his eyes, and said with a wry smile, "How could I refuse such good terms?"
"Somehow I doubted you would." Harry said dryly, and though the earlier flames of fury were banked to quiescent embers, they could be fanned into a fire storm at a moment's notice.
Boromir
"TELL ME WHY!" Boromir roared, alight with apoplectic fury, bloodied knuckles and bulging muscles. He and the apparent leader of the Lords, a badly beaten Lord Minastir, were in a small stony room with one chair that Minastir was tied to, and a shaft of sunlight came from a barred window above the old and sturdy oaken door, shining directly onto the chair. The interrogation had gone on for half an hour, in which an impressive amount of creative violence and threats had occurred, and Minastir had broken many bones and his silence.
"Power. When the Lord of Barad Dur takes back what is his and rules this world, he will need lieutenants, people to rule in his stead. We, no I, was to be one of those lieutenants. And I did what any sensible general would, pick my enemies off. One, by one." Minastir replied sullenly in a pained voice, blackened eyes gleaming with malice and resentment.
Boromir looked at him, much of his rage dissipating, and let out a contemptuous laugh. "You think that Sauron would share power with something as pathetic as you? He needs no lieutenants, he already has those. You are a fool, Minastir, blinded by power and greed."
"Maybe. But that does not change the fact that your father is dead. At least I managed to get rid of that stubborn old fool. And unless I miss my guess, your brother, those meddling wizards, the Halfling and that graceless Rohirric Princess are dead as well." The man said cruelly, eager to get in a parting shot before he was condemned to the gallows.
A couple of moments later, the door flew off its hinges as Lord Minastir hit it at high velocity, still tied to his chair. The two guards outside looked down at Lord Minastir, then at each other. From within came a bellow of, "NEXT! AND SEND SOMEONE TO CHECK THE HOUSES OF HEALING."
Aragorn
"So this assassin has agreed to speak?" Aragorn said quietly. Inwardly he sighed. What a Kingdom he had inherited, full of lies, treachery and backstabbing. And he had thought Orcs were the main problem, but for all their evil, Orcs did not have the outright deceit of men. They, at least, did not pretend to swear eternal fellowship and service with one hand whilst stabbing you with the other.
"He has. I took the liberty of finding his brother from among the freed slaves and letting them speak briefly. Without the search for his brother to motivate him, he has no reason to play false." Harry replied with confidence.
"What has he said?"
"That he was paid to kill all in that part of the Houses of Healing by a group of Lords whose intention was either to rule through you as a puppet or to kill all support off, then you and surrender to Sauron and rule as his vassals." Harry replied, then said wryly, "Makes it a little difficult to see the good core of mankind, despite the fact that I know it's there."
"We must have faith Harry, in our friends if nothing else." Aragorn said, the quiet wisdom in his bearing so much more apparent.
Harry sighed wearily and sat, rubbing his face tiredly. "I know Aragorn, and I do. It's just that for every decent person I know, there are two others trying to screw I and my friends over for personal gain."
"Every good person is worth more than all the power and glory this world can offer." Aragorn said.
Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Since when were you channelling Gandalf? Vague and wise remarks are his purview."
Aragorn smiled a smile that would on someone with less presence and inherent dignity be called 'cheeky' or 'insolent'. "It's one of the perks of being King."
Harry grinned back, a grin that he wore when a plan had come to fruition, or when something had wandered blithely into a carefully constructed trap. With the barely contained glee of a child who had realised Christmas was now coming every day, he said, "I just hope that those perks include having a guaranteed excellent wedding night. You've been waiting, what, fifty years? Don't want to get stage fright, do you?" Aragorn narrowed his eyes and gave chase as Harry ran off cackling madly. Gandalf, making his way to counsel Aragorn on this latest development, had to use all his unnatural reflexes to avoid being trampled by a gleefully cackling Harry at full pelt and a half amused, half homicidal Aragorn who wasn't far behind, headed in the direction of the Houses of Healing.
He shook his head and sighed. "That boy…"
Having gone through the rest of the prisoners, all of whom had been equal parts terrified and useless, not that any more information was needed, Boromir decided to go and check on the recovering patients himself.
What he saw when he entered the ward was his liege lord, King Aragorn son of Arathorn, second of his name, holding the mighty Black Wizard of whispered legend in a headlock while the patients and Theodred, who was visiting, cheered the combatants on. Emrys was betting with Pippin. As Boromir watched, Harry wriggled like an eel, but only succeeded in being pulled into a half nelson. The two opponents kept up their combat, Harry hampered by the fact he wasn't interested in using his wand in the friendly scuffle, Boromir sat down beside Ginny, who was cheering Harry on with a grin on her face.
"You're very much in love with that chaotic nuisance, aren't you?" Boromir said, words softened by a grin and a light tone.
Ginny started, then said with a smile, "Yes, yes I am."
Boromir sighed. "Would that I felt such love for a woman."
Ginny looked at him and patted his arm sympathetically. "Surely girls are lined up around the citadel for a chance with the son of the Steward. Or rather, Steward."
Boromir winced slightly at the reminder that he was indeed the Steward, and said sourly, "Aye, the ambitious sort usually. There is often no love in their hearts other than for power or all too often, any thought in their heads."
Ginny raised a solitary eyebrow and looked at him, and Boromir chuckled. "I am aware that not all are like that, far from it. I have just had too many bad experiences to easily trust any woman who I feel seeks my heart," he admitted.
"You could ask Harry. In his 4th and 6th years he had girls swarming all over him because he was famous and 'the Chosen One'." Ginny suggested and patted Boromir's arm. "Maybe you should try looking at those close to you. Sometimes love is closer than you think."
Boromir tilted his head in a half nod of acknowledgement, watching Aragorn pin Harry to the floor, unrelenting as the latter squirmed and wriggled, then said dryly, "Harry would likely spend several minutes laughing at me before giving me something even approaching serious advice."
"No, I don't think so. Harry takes love seriously." Ginny disagreed.
"So I can tell, judging by your messy and euphoric state the morning after we arrived." Boromir snarked.
"Mm. Very seriously." Ginny said dreamily. "And then there's that amazing thing he does with his-"
"I wanted no full frontal display, and I don't want a blow by blow account." Boromir said hastily.
Ginny smiled cheekily. "There was less blowing involved, more thrusting. Harry takes his time getting to the point and makes it very worthwhile. And don't get me started on the writhing…"
"Dear Eru, I beseech you to heed my prayer and wipe that image from my mind." Boromir groaned as Ginny laughed and continued to watch the scuffle.
"Why were we fighting again?" Harry wheezed.
Aragorn shrugged and said with a hint of embarrassment, "I think I've forgotten. But I'm sure I had good reason."
"When people talk of the King being advised by his closest and wisest friends, they never talk about this. I am most certain that my father has never wrestled with Galion in the middle of counsel on matters of grave import." Legolas said lightly, clearly amused.
"Nor does our father wrestle with Erestor and Glorfindel." Elladan or Elrohir put in. Everyone was having trouble telling the two apart, as usual.
"Aye, neither does mine." Gimli said, shaking his head faux sorrowfully, then said, "It must be a human thing."
"Indeed, Master Dwarf and Masters Elladan and Elrohir, the race of Man is an odd one, whether of the ordinary variety or the wizardly variety. Yet we put up with them all the same-" Legolas said.
"Because we find them funny." Gimli finished.
"You two aren't related, married, performing a comedy routine or any combination of the above, unless I missed a lot of very strange things when I was out of action, so stop it with the sentence finishing. It disturbs me." Harry said, having finally resorted to drawing his wand and levitating Aragorn off him and dropping him with a thump.
Boromir rolled his eyes heavenwards and sighed, "We're all doomed."
"And so, we few, we merry few…" Hermione said dryly.
"We band of buggered." Harry finished, and Hermione blinked at him.
"How could you possibly know that part of the quote?" Hermione asked in shock.
"Eh? I thought I was just murdering Shakespeare's masterpiece. What did you think?"
"That you were quoting a popular American TV show that you cannot possibly have watched unless Rivendell has cable television." Hermione said flatly.
Harry promptly fell backwards, roaring with laughter at the mere thought of Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, Arwen and the twins avidly watching Muggle soaps, possibly on the Mirror of Galadreil.
"Since when did you know so much Muggle popular culture, anyway?" Hermione asked with a frown.
Harry shrugged. "I went to school, before Hogwarts. And I picked other things up over time."
"Are we meant to understand a single word of what you're talking about?" Eomer asked flatly.
"Grammatically speaking, they make sense. Everything else, on the other hand, doesn't." Theodred observed.
"Any ideas?" Eomer asked, turning to the rest of the group, garnering mostly blanks stares.
"I recognise the Shakespeare, but nothing else. Mind, I've spent the last seven years in Saruman's dungeons, so I haven't been keeping up with things." Sirius offered with a shrug.
"Speaking of questions, I would like to know who knocked out our would be assassin last night." Boromir, said, trying to turn the conversation back to a more sensible area.
"Hmm, let's see, who had the skills to get the drop on a skilled and experienced assassin and the ability to incapacitate them quickly and silently? And happened to be in the room at the time? And was not exhausted or sporting a broken limb?" Harry asked in a sing song voice, hooking a thumb at Faramir, who blushed under the scrutiny.
"The assassin was going for the Lady Eowyn and I knocked him out while he was distracted." Faramir said, slightly embarrassed as he blushed even further on the mention of Eowyn's name, as Harry and Theodred shared a knowing grin and Boromir looked on the point of cheering. Faramir's slightly standoffish bearing around women he was not dealing with in a strictly political or platonic sense was well known, and it appeared he had finally fallen in love.
"So, the rather half-hearted conspiracy has been foiled, the assassin captured with the prospect of no more, and Lord Faramir is in love. So, what next?" Emrys summarised, having been bickering with Pippin about who won the fight and thus, who won the bet, as Faramir stammered denials.
"The Ring is to be destroyed by two Hobbits, who are probably still alive since we all are, but they have a small problem. They have to get past Sauron's armies to get to Mount Doom where it is to be destroyed, and the only way we can help them…" Harry said, then trailed off.
"Is to attack Mordor." Aragorn finished.
"Can't I just distract Sauron by flying in circles around his Eye? You know, a plan marginally less insane than attacking him head on?" Harry asked sarcastically.
"Harry, you can be immensely annoying, but not so much that Sauron would send all his armies after you." Gandalf said, walking into the ward, then added firmly, "And no, I do not mean that as a challenge."
Harry pouted as Ron said, "But we can't leave the city undefended, and we're going to need everyone to mount even a remotely coherent attack. It would be a bit ridiculous to beat Sauron and come back to a smoking ruin."
"I have that planned for. I have sent four thousand men marching up through Lossanarch and Pelagir, rescinding Boromir's pragmatic order as regards those two provinces. They should be here by the time we are ready to march." Aragorn replied quietly, dipping his head at Boromir, who made a half bow in reply.
"Certainty of death, small chance of success. What are we waiting for?" Gimli said, smoking his pipe.
"Why, an expected and typically morale boosting statement from you, Gimli my friend." Harry replied sarcastically, "Thanks to your inspiring words we can go into battle with confidence and serenity."
If Gimli had been from Harry's world, he would have flipped Harry the bird. As it was he contented himself with glaring at the unrepentant wizard.
"So we go to the final battle of our time, bickering all the way." Emrys muttered.
Soon after, the soldiers were hauled out of the taverns and the arms of their loved ones, sobered up, and prepped for a long march and a hopeless battle. Meanwhile, two little Hobbits sought to find a way through the hordes of Orcs camped beneath Mount Doom. And so the endgame began.
Please review, by clicking the little box down there.