A/N: Questions are asked, questions are answered, laughs are had and one twist is partially revealed (well, if you know enough about King Arthur and the origins of the Istari, specifically what they originally were and where they came from, it's quite obvious).
Eowyn had been most put out when she had been told that she had to stay, as had Faramir, but both acquiesced reluctantly when it was pointed out that Eowyn's arm was far from healed, and someone needed to organise the defence if an unexpected force from Mordor attacked, as well as beginning to rebuild the city. Harry had also grinned and winked suggestively, saying that they could find other things to do, such as having Faramir show Eowyn his enormous… knowledge of lore. This earned him a clip round the head from Ginny, who was also giggling, laughter from Ron and Sirius, and despairing eye rolls from everyone else, as Faramir and Eowyn had both gone identical shades of crimson.
It took a week to march to Mordor, the terrain growing steadily drier and more arid as time went on, but Hermione's inspired suggestion of sending a light mist over the soldiers to stave off the worst of the heat worked wonders, though it had the downside of forcing the soldiers to take rather more time caring for their weapons and armour. This, however, was generally considered to be infinitely preferable to heatstroke.
Every night the various commanders wandered around the camp, chatting with the soldiers and keeping up morale. But the shadow of Mordor grew ever darker as they got closer, and everyone was painfully aware that this was a last, desperate gambit to save the world, or more accurately, worlds.
The slightly tired, terrified, but well hydrated army (as Harry had commented in an outburst of black humour that got him clipped over the head by Ginny, "All the better to piss themselves with") formed up outside the thoroughly imposing gates of Mordor.
Sirius looked the gates up and down and said, sotto voce, "Maybe we should look for the doorbell," thereby causing Harry to snicker softly as the leaders of the forces of light rode forth towards the gates.
"Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth, and judgement be done upon him!" Aragorn called in a clear, perfectly projected and deeply regal voice. Clearly, Harry thought, someone had been giving him lessons.
The gates remained firmly closed, and not a sound was heard, except the occasional gust of wind. Harry looked around and sighed, drawing his wand.
"What are you doing mate?" Ron asked, puzzled and the rest looking vaguely worried.
"Encouraging them to open up. Sonorus." Harry said calmly, then bellowed "OI! WANKER! OPEN UP OR I'LL BLOW YOU UP!"
"Harry!" Hermione squeaked.
"That should work." Ron remarked dryly.
"I'm not done yet." Harry said, and made beckoning gestures to the massed army, who quickly cottoned on and joined in with a large variety of rude words, ruder gestures and many ubiquitous and anatomically impossible insults to Sauron and his ancestry.
"Quietus. Now I'm done." Harry said satisfied.
"Irreverent young wizard." Gandalf muttered, smiling. "Could you actually have blasted down the gates?"
"Harry, you remain as incorrigible as ever. Do you ever do anything conventionally?" Aragorn asked half despairingly half amusedly.
"Where would be the fun in that?" Harry asked, frowning slightly. Aragorn rolled his eyes and said nothing.
The gates opened, Harry's unique approach apparently successful. A figure in crude black armour and cruder skeletal black horse proceeded towards them. "To answer your question Gandalf, I have no idea. But they seem to think so." Harry said out of the side of his mouth.
"Who dares to call upon the Master of Mordor?" It asked arrogantly.
"Us. Or is there another army that you were expecting?" Sirius sniped. Harry sniggered quietly, while the rest concealed smiles with difficulty and Aragorn, Théoden and Gandalf concentrated on looking regal as opposed to a bunch of schoolchildren mid-prank.
"I am the Mouth of Sauron," It said, ignoring Sirius. It surveyed the group before it.
"So it comes to this." The Mouth of Sauron sneered. "Is there any here fit to negotiate with me and with the wit to understand me?"
Sirius made a snarling noise, to which the Mouth laughed mockingly, saying, "I do not negotiate with beasts". Harry glanced across at his Godfather, who had Ginny's restraining hand on his arm. Sirius had never liked to be condescended to, and would clearly like nothing better than to transform and rip this impudent and foul smelling creature's throat out. His stint in Saruman's dungeons had done his temper no good.
Gandalf moved Shadowfax slowly forward, light to the Mouth's darkness. "Ah, old greybeard. You would speak for this ragged collection of dying kingdoms and insignificant powers? The Lord Sauron gives generous terms. The so called 'Free Peoples' are to move their forces beyond the Anduin river and give those lands they leave behind to Lord Sauron in perpetuity and swear never to raise a sword against him ever again. You are also to deliver the three elven rings of power, and an annual tribute. For that and no less, Lord Sauron will let you live. As evidence of your failures in sending puny Halflings to do your dirty work, I have tokens that I was given to show thee." And with that the Mouth of Sauron showed them Frodo's mithril coat, Sting and some of his other clothes. But hang on, not the light of Earendil given to Frodo by Galadriel, Harry thought, something that he figured Gandalf and possibly Aragorn would have worked out.
"Be quiet." Gandalf said to Pippin who was unsurprisingly on the verge of breakdown.
"I see you have brought another one of those imps with you," the Mouth sneered. Harry was beginning to wonder if that was his default tone of voice. "I cannot tell what use you see in them, and to send one against the Lord of Barad-dur is beyond even your usual folly, but I am grateful that you brought this one. At least now you cannot deny that you know these garments. Did you really think that you could prevail against the Lord of Mordor with a witless Halfling and some bedraggled ranger waving a broken sword around? There was never any hope for your cause. Surrender now, and some of you may be suffered to live. Also know this, Greybeard, the Halfling screamed as he died, and his death was not quick."
"Shut. Up." Harry said harshly.
"Ah, the black wizard speaks at last. And I see you have brought companions, lesser in power, but still, you would have been useful to Lord Sauron if you had been but willing to serve him. As it is, you are mere fleas compared to the might of the Lord of Barad Dur." The Mouth, said, aloof and contemptuous.
"And why would I want to serve a being that is restricted to existence as a giant eyeball on a tower, who sends petty emissaries to lie to us and try and crush us with despair? If Sauron had the One Ring, he would not send something as pitiful as you out to 'negotiate' with us." Harry replied disdainfully, paused for breath, and then continued, indicating each person as he spoke.
"You spoke of whether any of us were fit to negotiate with you. When I look at my companions I see people of power, nobility, impeccable lineage and courage. You have the Royal House of Rohan, whose current King fought the Witch King of Angmar, a millennia old sorcerous wraith and your master's second to a draw. You have the new King of Gondor and Arnor, who under the name of Thorongil burnt out your miserable lair of Umbar and other deeds too numerous to name. You have Gandalf the White, a being of such power and wisdom that you could not know or understand a fraction of his thoughts, who was sent back by Eru himself to face your Master's evil after fighting a dark creature of the same order as your Master to the death. And then you have me. I, who faced a Balrog of Morgoth, Durin's bane, and lived to tell the tale, I who fought Saruman the accursed and cast him down, I who drove the Witch King of Angmar into the earth with a power this world has not witnessed since the elder days, I who killed a Dark Wizard of equal power to any of the Nazgul in single combat at the age of 17, after drawing at the age of 14 and driving him off at 11. And that is just the beginning, you miserable piece of Black Numenorean slime. My fellow wizards and witches have faced dark wizards whose cruel deeds and power would curdle the blood in your veins since they were little more than children. All my other companions have been slaughtering your master's minions in uncountable numbers. I think Sauron is frightened. He has seen his greatest servants fended off and destroyed, some by myself personally, by our power."
Harry paused at the end of his tirade, then asked mockingly, "And what are you in comparison to that?" Before the Mouth, whose mouth was opening and shutting in shock at being so addressed, could reply, Harry answered his own question.
"You are simply the latest and by far the most pitiful of his attempts to destabilise us. Run back to your Master, wretch, grovel in front of him and tell him that he is right to fear us. We have courage, steel, powers your master will never understand and the strength to wield them effectively. Go, now, while we feel merciful, you worthless piece of shit. Or I will fight you to the pain. I feel I should explain at this point what that means. To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next your nose. After that, you will lose will be your left eye followed by your right. But your ears you keep and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, "Dear Eru! What is that thing?" will echo in your perfect ears. That is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever." Harry said in low hiss.
Then added with a hint of thoughtfulness, "But they probably do that anyway, don't they? So you hide yourself behind a mask of metal and words that drip foul poison, hiding your twisted visage and soul from the world because you can't bear others seeing it. You serve the biggest bully because you think he can protect you from the screams and contempt as people see how far you have debased yourself in your fruitless quest for power," He finished, having intentionally taken on a more local and formal timbre, impressing his speech upon the foul ambassador.
"You think I fear you and your grandiose words?" The Mouth asked, but fear was present in his voice and manner.
"Of course you do. You're a coward, a craven survivor, something that seeks out the protection of the powerful and runs when faced with strength. You would be stupid not to." Harry replied coolly.
The Mouth looked at the other commanders of the Free People's. Seeing nothing but fell looks in their eyes and grim visages, he turned his skeletal horse and trotted back towards the gate.
Hermione turned to Harry and raised her eyebrows. "I never knew you were a fan of the Princess Bride."
"I watched it once on TV when the Dursley's were out. It provided a lot of great lines, even if they have to be altered to fit the occasion. Looking back, I should have gone up to Voldemort and said 'Hello. My name is Harry Potter. You killed my parents. Prepare to die.'" Harry said in a deadpan Spanish accent, drawing a chuckle from Hermione. He then added for the benefit of those unfamiliar with television, "TV's a sort of recorded play."
"I always liked Inigo best." Sirius added offhand, and then when Harry and Hermione turned to him in blatant incredulity, said defensively, "What? Grimmauld Place got really boring. So I took walks as Padfoot and an obliging elderly Muggle woman with a liking for dogs occasionally fed me under the belief that I was merely a lovable stray and let me sleep on her rug. Then her grandkids came round and she showed them the film."
"Sirius! You could have been caught!" Hermione squeaked.
"Oh give over Hermione, there are thousands of dogs in London. Besides, if the Muggles got me, I could just apparate out of wherever they took me." Sirius replied lazily.
"Did you ever have to do that?" Boromir asked curiously.
Sirius merely shook his head and whistled innocently for Hermione's unconvinced benefit, then shot a wink at Boromir and stage whispered, "And they're probably still trying to work out how a dog escaped from its cage and freed each and every one other of the hundreds of dogs in the building then destroyed all the security tapes."
The rest of the group shared a grin, while Hermione huffed and said, "Boys!"
As the Mouth rode towards the gate, he called back with fear and hatred in his voice, "I hope you enjoyed your redheaded whore last night, black wizard, you shall never be in a position to do so again. Your body will lie cold before the Black Gates and she will be a plaything of the Orc's before the next dawn!"
Before anyone else could move, Ginny whirled her wand, clearing it from its holster and ripping the Mouth off his bony mount and hundreds of feet into the air and with a sharp arc of her wand sent him flying, screaming all the while, onto one of the spikes atop the gate, impaling him through the abdomen and practically cutting him in two with the sheer force of impact. With a satisfied nod, she sheathed her wand, stretched a little and sat more comfortably on her horse. Then she looked around. Everyone was staring at her, with unbridled awe in their eyes.
"Well I guess that concludes negotiations." Gimli said with a certain satisfaction in his voice.
"Sorry Harry, but that one was mine." Ginny said briskly, watching the Mouth's corpse as the late envoy's blood flowed down the spike.
"No problem." Harry said, slightly dazed. "Pity about the wasted threats, but no problem at all."
"Harry, your Ginny is the scariest woman I've ever met. And I grew up with Eowyn." Eomer said to Harry in an undertone. Ginny, hearing that, flushed with pride. She'd met Eowyn, and heard many stories about her, including her slaying of the Witch King. To be compared to one such as her was an honour for anyone.
"She's not just my Ginny. She's also her own Ginny and all the more wonderful for it." Harry said with a proud smile, while Ginny flushed even further.
"Nice one Gin." Ron said, in a slightly strangled voice.
Hermione looked at Ginny confidentially, then said, "I could have told you how to kill him more painfully. More slowly too."
"How?" Ginny asked, curious.
"Men. They all have one target in common." Hermione said, then cupped her hands around her groin, and suddenly separated them, depicting a sudden explosion and smirked.
The male leaders, Ron, Harry and Sirius included, all crossed their legs as one, or moved to cover their most important anatomy in some other fashion.
"Now I just heard that, I'm not sure if your Ginny doesn't have a challenger in that department," Theodred said nervously, Eomer nodding slowly.
"Where did you learn that spell?" Ron asked, edging away from his wife.
"I found it in a book." Hermione replied casually.
"And not to cut off this fascinating topic of conversation, but I think it would be best to retreat to the army. Sauron's taken the bait." Harry said, watching as the gates of Mordor were fully opened for the first time in centuries, the forces of Mordor emptying onto the Plains of Morannon.
They surrounded the army of the west, easily being the same size as the army that had assaulted Minas Tirith.
Aragorn rode back, yelling, "Hold your ground!" at the decidedly nervous looking army.
"We are all so very, very dead." Boromir said in a matter of fact tone.
"Where's your positivity? I'll take the 6,000 in front of us, and you lot can play nicely divide the remains among yourselves." Harry said with forced cheerfulness.
Aragorn had ridden back out in front of the army, cantering across the front of the line.
"Oh, pre battle speech coming up. This should be good: is it going to be a 'we're all going to die, so let's take some of the bastards with us' routine, or a 'There are only ten thousand of them, see you on the other side of the evil army'?" Sirius said laconically.
"Sons of Gondor, of Rohan, my brothers!" Aragorn continued, and something about him made Harry refrain from the obvious snarky comment, something that made him feel like he had just mainlined roughly two gallons of coffee. "I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me! A day may come, when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of Fellowship!" Harry could have sworn that Aragorn's gaze had lingered for half a second over the remains of the Fellowship. "But it is not this day. An hour of wolves, and shattered shields when the age of men comes crashing down. But it is not this day!" Aragorn said, emphasising each word. "This day we fight! By all that you hold dear, on this good earth, I bid you stand! MEN OF THE WEST!" Aragorn bellowed, emotion suffusing his voice as he raised Andúril, the mantle of kingship truly settling upon him for the first time, the blood of Elros Tar-Minyatur, Beren and Luthien making itself known once more.
"Well, I wasn't expecting that." Sirius said admiringly as courage flowed over the army like a shot of adrenalin, and each man, witch, wizard, elf, dwarf and hobbit drew their preferred blade in a rasping of steel. Aragorn's sword flashed in a faint beam of sunlight and his horse reared as he turned to face the dark army. The dark army was still proceeding out of the gate, still surrounding the heroes.
"Now that's just overkill." Harry commented.
"You can never have too much kill." Sirius said sagely, eyeing the dark army as if deciding which throat to go for first. The horses were moved to the back and fast messengers placed near them, ready to fight their way out and send warning if the battle went poorly.
Aragorn, now on foot, suddenly stepped out of the battle line. Sauron appeared to be projecting something into his mind, and his sword dropped to his side. After a long moment, he turned, and said, "For Frodo." And charged the army of Mordor. All by himself. Thankfully, first Merry and Pippin crying shrill battle cries, then the Fellowship and then the army followed him, all yelling something. Harry was screaming, more than a bit of mad laughter in his voice, "Slow down you mad bastard!"
He was not heeded as the chivalry of the West charged headfirst into the rather surprised Orc's. Harry immediately opened fire, with, well, fire, an enormous flame blossoming from the tip of the sword of Gryffindor. He then leaped at the shocked Orc's, no longer laughing, but wielding his sword in a vicious dance of death, coldly silent as the emerald in his helmet began to glow with power and the sword of Gryffindor was wreathed in gold and crimson flames.
But good as he was with a sword, he was nothing on Aragorn and Boromir, who were fighting back to back, Boromir hammering Orc's with massive blows a troll would have been proud of and Aragorn creating a curtain of silvery steel with Andúril, slaughtering every Orc that came within range. Legolas' knives moved at speeds the mortal eye could not follow and barely comprehend, Gimli moved with an unusual and spell binding grace, combining unusual speed with incredible power as he tore apart any foe that faced, taking full advantage of the concentration of power on an axe head. Gandalf dual wielded staff and sword, far faster, stronger and more spry than most would credit a man of his apparent years.
Eomer, Theodred and Théoden, all more at home on horseback than on the ground, yet still thoroughly deadly, formed a triangle that dared any creature of the darkness to face it and come away with life and limb intact. Sirius had quickly shifted into Padfoot, clashing with an immense Warg that sought to cause chaos in the ranks, baiting the powerful creature and snapping at its flanks, easily outmanoeuvring it time after time and exacting a price of blood with each pass. The creature was strong and vicious, but it was not smart, and Sirius had fought Werewolves before. It was a pitifully uneven contest.
With a triumphant snarl, Sirius, seized the one of the creatures hamstrings and tore it apart with flash of fangs, then repeated it with the other, tearing out it's throat with a triumphant and spine chilling howl, then falling upon the ranks of the Orc's tearing out throats, hamstringing legs and tearing at any vulnerable body part. On seeing a troll, he stopped, shifted back and said with a fierce, "Hello beastie."
Then he proceeded to use the same Fabian tactics, launching many, small stinging attacks, occasionally actual stinging hexes before getting bored as the troll roared its impotent fury, partially stunning it and gutting it with his sword. He was promptly drenched in troll blood and was a fearsome sight as white teeth flashed beneath black blood. He kissed the blade and laughed. "I think I'll name you 'Troll's Bane'." He looked at the wide berth he was being given by all the Orc's who had seen the trail of destruction he had left behind and let out a laugh that grew louder and louder.
"BRING IT ON!" He howled, exultant. While he wasn't quite the best at what he did, it certainly wasn't very nice. A set of metal claws would be very helpful right now, he mused.
"I see where he gets it, the madness." Sirius looked up into the dangerous smile of Emrys.
"Care to join me, Knight of the Mark?" Sirius said, and with a wild laugh spread his arms and said, "I'm not stingy, there's enough to go around."
"Thought you'd never ask." The two dived into the melee, Emrys making good use of his dirtier tricks and Sirius alternately fought with the blade or the wand strapped to it. After he skewered an Orc on his sword and much like Harry had done at Balin's tomb, blasted it off, black blood arcing everywhere and the carcass landing with a squelching crash, he grinned at the now terrified Orc's, which were back away from this blood spattered, unstoppable, shapeshifting madman.
Emrys had run into trouble, surrounded by Orcs that had decided he was the easier target. And, he thought, they weren't far wrong. Suddenly, time slowed, and to an outward observer, Emrys began to move with a speed and grace that an elf would be proud of, ducking and dodging, whirling and spinning as he danced the dance of the blade. Finding a dead Rohirric trooper, he murmured an apology and took the man's sword, moving even faster and the Orcs fled from that fey visage and spinning blades.
Ron was adhering to the Boromir School of swordsmanship, minus much of the grace, which mostly amounted to 'hit it and keep hitting it until it dies'. He looked up as Emrys moved past him, a tingle of magical energy about him as he slaughtered all dark creatures in range.
"Hey Hermione, look! Guy's got moves." He said admiringly, indicating Emrys who had just gutted four Orcs in half as many seconds, and beginning to be outlined in what could be a trick of the light, or a strange halo like energy.
"I'm sure he's very good, Ron, but now really isn't the time." Hermione said distractedly.
Ron frowned suddenly, "He looks like he's used some spell on himself, or a potion. I've seen it before when someone's trying to get the advantage in a fight. Trouble is it's hard to get the hang of and has disastrous and permanent side effects if it doesn't work, like every muscle in your body tearing."
"That's impossible! He's from here! Aside from a magical sounding name, he has no magic! It would have shown by now, surely." Hermione replied heatedly.
"Tell that to the troll he's just hamstrung." Ron said laconically, as he watched Emrys casually laid open the Olog-hai's throat, baring it to the bone with a lightning fast and liquid smooth simultaneous slice from both blades.
"We can discuss this later. And Sirius looks like he's having fun." Hermione observed as Sirius rampaged past, cackling maniacally, chasing a pack of wargs.
Ron blinked and said slowly, "That man has issues."
"You don't say." Emrys said with dry smile, carving a path through to Ron and Hermione.
"How are you doing that, mate? And don't say you work out." Ron asked, smashing a force blast into the ground and firing the resultant stones and pebbles into the surrounding hordes like a shotgun blast.
Emrys shrugged, and both Ron and Hermione could sense something… different about him. Something benign, but old and very powerful, that made his voice somehow… sing with a harmonic of beauty and power. "Your guess is probably better than mine. I think father said he'd done something like this once, though, when a pack of wolves was attacking mother. But after she died, he didn't talk about her much." He replied thoughtfully, splitting an Orc from groin to sternum with smooth slash.
"Emrys, what was the name of your father?" Hermione asked, eyes suddenly very wide.
"Derfel. Why?"
"And his father?" Hermione asked with bated breath.
"I don't know. He left before I was born, as did my grandmother. Mysterious figures, the both of them, and my grandfather was definitely older than my grandmother, but I can't for the life of me remember his name. I think I can remember her name, however. She was called…" Emrys paused for thought, and narrowly avoided decapitation.
"Nimue. Yes, Nimue, that was it." Emrys said after a few moments, with a smile of recognition.
Hermione's eyes practically bugged out of her head. Ron's eyebrows shot up into his sweat slicked hairline and he shared a dumbfounded look at Hermione.
"No way." Ron breathed. "You have got to be kidding me!"
Emrys looked puzzled. "I have no doubt that whatever you recognised about my grandmothers name is very interesting, but perhaps it can wait? Until after we have finished fighting for our lives?"
"Oh, yes of course." Hermione said distractedly, summoning water from deep within the parched earth, creating a small lake of mud and successfully bogging down the surrounding Orcs and at least one troll and three wargs, which all began to sink to a slow death in the mud with howls of protest.
Emrys looked on wide eyed, then directed a mock glare at Hermione. "That's cheating." Then he launched on an even more ferocious attack than ever, hands blurred, performing acrobatics that would have any human groaning in agony before long.
Ron and Hermione just stared after him, utterly dumbstruck.
BlueRoseUK, and all other Arthurian scholars, I think that answered more than a few questions, don't you? And left a few new ones, of course.