Twist number two coming right up. Ok, part of this chapter will either work or be rubbish, and it isn't so much the twist as what leads up to it. I can change it, though it would involve chopping off a fair chunk of text. Please read and review.
Also, I found a rec for this story on CaerAzkaban (a rather nice Yahoo group), and found a couple of concerns that I am happy to address: To answer why Harry is more than a little emotionally unstable, prone to using Dark Magic (which was once. On Saruman. Who had been torturing Sirius for 7 years. And nearly killed Harry. You can see why Harry is a little bit upset) and crying afterwards, is that he's been fighting pretty much continuously since he was 11, the last 4 or so years in a completely different world. Any charity will tell you that soldiers are prone to things like PTSD, child soldiers in particular (seriously, imagining spending your teenage years fighting a war against overwhelming opposition with an entire world of people either hating your guts or worshipping the ground you walk on). Also, any father figures Harry has, Mr Weasley excepted, tend to die violently, e.g. Lupin, Sirius (well, not quite, but he was as good as dead) and Dumbledore.
Imagine Buffy growing up without Giles, with just enough to avoid turning into another Faith, and you might get an idea of Harry's mental state. Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Sirius and the Fellowship (part of the reason he's so close to Boromir is that Boromir reminds him more than a little of Ron) stabilise him and stop him going insane and eventually becoming another Dark Lord.
Ginny and Harry, who had been fighting back to back, paused temporarily as the signature screams of the Nazgul sounded, and a wave of cold flowed over the entire army. Harry snapped the sword in one of his by now signature semi-circular blasts, cutting down most of the Orc's close enough to bother them, creating a temporary lull.
"I'm up," Harry said in falsely casual voice, resizing his broom.
"Harry," Ginny said.
"I have to Ginny, someone needs to keep them off the army."
"I know, you dolt. You're not going without a kiss though." She replied exasperatedly, and pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss. The army, having mostly maintained its cohesion behind them alternately cheered and made wolf whistling noises. After what felt like a hundred years, they broke apart and she smiled, brown eyes sparkling. "Go get them."
"Stay safe." Harry said to her quietly.
"Me? Orcs are easy, I'll be fine. You're the one who's fighting 8 undead flying monsters and their mounts." Ginny scoffed.
Harry grinned, then kicked off. He hovered briefly and enhanced his voice once more to speak to the army, as the Orc's still refused to charge, "My friends, as King Aragorn said, we will not fail, we will not break! Our bonds of fellowship will hold and I tell you now, tales of our deeds this day will be whispered by Orc's in abject terror. As they look into the shadows, they will fear the fell light of our swords. And the Free Peoples will know our names, our bravery and our power, I guarantee you. Our deeds this day will never be forgotten. My friends, before we were heroes, today… We become legends. Why? Because of this: WE FIGHT FOR FRIENDSHIP! FOR FAMILY! FOR LOYALTY! AND ABOVE ALL, FOR LOVE!"
He looked into Ginny's eyes throughout, then grinned a ferocious fighters smile, all teeth and challenge, and with the cheers of an army of brave men, elves, dwarves, hobbits, witches and wizards following him, he saluted them with the Sword of Gryffindor which flashed in a small sunbeam, turned and arrowed towards the incoming Nazgul.
Boromir
Boromir looked up at Harry's speech and shared a grin with Aragorn. "The boy's grown up, at long last!" He crowed.
"He picked an interesting time to do it." Aragorn said dryly, then added, "Are you entirely sure that he's grown up completely?"
Boromir thought for a moment then said, "No, not really. But close enough."
As the two bantered, two enormous, agile and cunning trolls, Olog-Hai and part of what would have been Sauron's personal guard if he had been able to assume corporeal form, barged through the Gondorian Elite Guard, taking a few cuts for their pains. As one sought to get in the sucker punch with a swing of a ridiculously big sword, Boromir saw it out of the corner of his eye, and ducking away from the swing, bellowed, "Aragorn, get down!"
Aragorn did not hesitate, dropping flat and missing the ferocious blow by a hairs breadth. The two regained their footing and took several simultaneous rapid steps backward.
"I take the one on the right; you take the one on the left." Aragorn said grimly, seeing that any potential assistance was engaged in battles for their very lives.
"Aye. It would be an honour to die beside one such as you, my Captain and Brother in Arms. My King." Boromir said sincerely.
"The honour is all mine, Boromir, my Steward and Brother in Arms. And I don't know about you, but I at least intend to take one of these with me." Aragorn said with a grim smile, then roared, "ELENDIL!" as he charged his chosen target.
Boromir smiled, roaring a wordless battle cry of his own as he swept his sword upwards in an enormous belly gutting slash. The troll blocked it and blinked, clearly not expecting such power from a human. Then it shouldered the concern aside, and bellowed, trying to crush Boromir with blows that would have cut through an oak tree. Boromir mostly tried to get round to the creatures under armoured back legs, and after a vicious exchange of blows in which Boromir matched the troll blow for blow, Boromir saw an opening and took it, feinting to his right and going to his left, pivoting on the ball of his right foot in short, violent quarter circle as he went past, nearly cutting the troll's leg off at the knee.
That done, he had the time to let the troll weaken through blood loss, then kill it with a contemptuously casual lunge that took the creature's throat and its life. As his foe made muffled and bubbling sounds of distress, he turned to look at Aragorn, who had taken the death of a thousand cuts approach, scoring many wounds of varying depths on his opponent, maddening it into an apoplectic fury, then eventually snarling and taking the creatures head clean off in one almighty cut as it staggered.
"Not dead yet." Aragorn said with a grin, white teeth standing out in a visage drenched in black blood, dust and sweat, looking across at Boromir, and the two laughed. Boromir took advantage of a lull in the fighting and chanced a look at the sky. He saw Harry engaged in a furious duel atop one of the Nazgul's Fell Beasts, glowing with a golden light in sharp contrast to his opponent's vague and shadowy aura of evil.
Boromir leant on his sword hilt and barked a laugh, still looking skywards. "He doesn't do anything by halves, does he?"
Harry: A few minutes earlier
He laid himself practically flat on the broom, and stuck out the sword, scoring a deep gash down the side of one of the Fell Beasts, which roared in distress and anger, and the Nazgul screeched, turning their steeds to meet this new threat. Harry let loose a raw war whoop and dived into the fray, dodging claws, fangs, slicing through wings and occasionally clashing swords with one of the nine Nazgul. Three had been downed, one by a particularly daring Wronski Feint, the creature ploughing into the army of Mordor with pulverising force, before Harry misjudged one turn by a fraction of a second and flailing a feel beast foot caught and snapped his beloved Firebolt. On pure instinct he reached out and grabbed onto the creatures scaly foot and held on for dear life, not having time to mourn his deceased broomstick. Then it jerked again, trying to dislodge him and sending him flying upwards. "Accio Fell Beast!" He bellowed, and was pulled harshly onto the back of the Fell Beast. Its rider turned and screeched, then somehow stood, balancing on its mounts back. Harry raised his eyebrows and muttered, "Well, nothing worth doing is ever easy." Then the two, darkness against light, began to duel.
The two fought for a long time, evenly matched as their battle platform pitched and rolled, the golden light of the Sword of Gryffindor easily combating the wraith's darkness. But Harry tired and the wraith did not, and after a fatal flurry of blows, Harry lost his balance. As he nearly fell, the wraith's armoured hand caught him. As he looked up in complete shock, the wraith removed its cowl. And there was the face that had haunted Harry's nightmares for years, the face he had seen in the Mirror of Galadriel. Voldemort, his face twisted even further as he descended further into depravity, more snakelike, with the suggestion of actual scales on his visible pale skin, blood-red eyes almost glowing.
"Oh, come on! This is beyond ridiculous! How many dead sodding Wizards have found their way here? What is this place, a routine pit stop on the way to the 'next great adventure'? A fucking reunion of arch enemies?" Harry yelled above the wind that rushed past them.
"It is not ridiculous, Potter, and I will slaughter you like I did your parents." Voldywraith (as Harry had inwardly christened him) replied, hissing. Still holding Harry, he hissed something in parseltongue to the Fell Beast which began to drop eventually landing. Voldywraith threw him off as they neared the ground with a mocking laugh, and Harry fell. Voldemort stopped his fall whilst stepping off the Fell Beast, tutting and saying, "You will not die that easily, Potter. Lord Sauron has given me leave to do whatever I wish to you before you die."
"Sorry Voldywraith, but I'm in a committed relationship. And the undead are a real turn off." Harry said, brushing off his surcoat and hefting the sword of Gryffindor in his hand. He glanced around, seeing a circle forming, half formed of the men of the west, half of Orc's, trolls and other dark creatures.
"Stay back, this one's mine." Voldemort said, in a lofty, sibilant voice.
"Funny, I was about to say the same thing." Harry quipped, and the two began to circle one another.
"So Tommy, when did you become a wraith?" Harry asked, firing a stunner at Voldemort who blocked it easily.
"Around 3 years ago. I was dead, trapped between the worlds in agony, a mere fraction of what I once was thanks to you, when my saviour came. Lord Sauron. Like a god, he reached between the worlds and saved me, giving me a second chance, a chance to serve him." Voldemort shuddered in ecstasy, ignoring Harry's use of his muggle name. "And Lord Sauron rewards his servants. He made a tenth ring of men, and gave it to me. The power… you couldn't understand it Potter, what with your emphasis on love." He spat that last, firing a string of curses at Harry.
"You do not know how many fucks I do not give about your Sauron fetish." Harry replied casually, flicking the dust in front of him up into a shield. 10 wraiths for 10 walkers. Makes an annoying kind of sense, he thought, as he looked for an opening in his strange opponent's defences. He tuned back in to hear Voldemort rhapsodising about Sauron, which was a tad ironic to Harry's mind, considering he had once wanted to be an immortal god and had bowed to no one. That could be explained by the fact that normally the Rings of Men took years to act, and Sauron could just have forced his will upon Voldemort's to speed up his transformation.
"He judged me a worthy vessel of some of his power, a power that exceeds that of any Witch or Wizard who ever lived. And it is glorious. Power is all that matters. There is no good, no evil, just power. You should try it, Potter." Voldemort said, in a tone of absolute and creepy devotion. It was like how Bellatrix had acted towards to Voldemort himself, which added a whole new layer of creepy to the situation, Harry thought with a shudder.
"Spare me the recruitment speech. It always goes, 'Power blah blah Power, blah Immortality blah eternal rule together blah'." Harry said contemptuously, dropping and rolling to avoid a killing curse which struck an Orc behind him. Harry turned and laughed as he fired off fireball and a stunning curse in reply. "You might want to cut down on the collateral damage, Tommy boy." Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Sirius had constructed a magical shield, preventing the worst of the curses getting through, but the Orcs had no such defence.
"What's happening? Who is Harry fighting?" Aragorn asked Gandalf grimly. The entire battle seemed to have stopped, all watching the duel which continued below, hails of knives, storms of fire and innumerable flashing lights came between the two combatants, Harry cracking off as many jokes and insults as he could, which were slowly beginning to affect Voldemort, who suddenly lunged forward in a roar of anger, sword raised over his head, slashing enormous haymakers of blows, while Harry was singing a made up ditty, "For he's a second rate villain and we all laugh at him," to the rather off key tune of 'He's Jolly Good Fellow', and "he's Sauron's bitch," to no identifiable tune whatsoever, at the top of his voice, whilst dodging the clumsy slashes and tripping up Voldemort as he passed, derisively saying that at least Saruman had been a challenge.
"His old nemesis, who apparently was not quite as dead as was thought." Gandalf replied.
"Why doesn't he finish him?" Boromir snarled, frustrated.
"He seeks to humiliate Voldemort, to show the disparity in their current ability and thereby demoralise Sauron's army." Gandalf said calmly.
"And because he enjoys it." Eomer muttered.
"That too." Gandalf conceded.
The duel carried on for another whole hour, curses flying back and forth, neither side gaining the advantage, occasionally degenerating into a contest of swordsmanship. Harry was the superior in sword skill by a long way, but physically weaker and the duel was further confused by the regular use of apparition by both parties. Eventually, it ended.
"You've gone downhill, Tommy, my boy, I'm disappointed. I would offer you a chance to repent, but when was that ever going to happen? You're an unrepentant fool who's yesterday's news and doesn't know it!" Harry taunted disapparating away and firing an incarcerus at Voldemort. Voldemort snarled in rage, and changed into black mist, flowing like a shadow across the gap between them, grabbing Harry by the throat and taking him up into the air. When they stopped, high above the battlefield, Voldemort held Harry by the throat in a vicelike grip, and shoved his sword between Harry's ribs. "So it ends, Potter, at last. You will be remembered as the fool who dared to cross Sauron and Voldemort." Voldemort said triumphantly. Harry wheezed. "What was that?" Voldemort said mockingly, placing the side of his head next to Harry's mouth.
"Look… down… Bitch," Harry whispered.
"Wh-" Voldemort was interrupted by the sword of Gryffindor being shoved into his stomach, and flaring brighter than the sun it began burning into the corrupted Wizard's wraith essence, the power of the Valar flowing through Harry to cleanse Middle Earth of a great evil.
"You got that right, bastard." Harry snarled, wrenching the sword clear. Voldemort did not reply, as he was too busy burning into ash, too fast even to perform a cliché scream of 'NO!' or 'Inconceivable!' Unfortunately this meant Harry now had nothing keeping him in the air, and like most wizards, couldn't fly minus a broomstick.
The armies of the west, cheered as the newest wraith of Sauron burnt to cinders, then froze in horror as one of their brightest hopes fell agonisingly slowly from the sky, the light around him dimming as he hit the ground with a final thump. Sirius who had been fighting nearby as Padfoot, the battle having recommenced when the two took to the air, bounded over and held off all comers with ferocious snarls and flashing fangs. When a guard of soldiers formed around him and Harry, he began to howl mournfully. Ginny ran over, and when she saw Harry, barely breathing, she knelt down beside him and removed his helmet.
"Ginny… you're here… I always… feared… you wouldn't… be here… when I died…" Harry whispered, coughing up some blood.
"Don't talk, it's too much effort. Stay with me Harry, please, please don't go." Ginny said, tears forming in her eyes.
"I'm dying… Ginny. My… time is up. I'm… sorry. I would… have loved to… settle down with you… raise a family…" Harry smiled weakly. "I… would have… called… the first boy… James Sirius… the first girl… Lily… Luna… A bit…silly… really." Ginny blinked and squeezed his hand reflexively.
"And you still will! Please, don't die!" She said, desperation in her voice.
"Don't be daft Harry, you're not dying! It takes more than a sword in the guts to kill a Potter, especially from a pansy like Voldemort." Sirius said encouragingly, having changed back, grabbing a hold of Harry's other hand, then added slightly puzzled, "He barely lasted any time at all actually. A bit anti-climactic really, especially compared to last time he was around."
"He's right mate, you survived a Basilisk! A puny sword has nothing on a Basilisk!" Ron said, he and Hermione having fought their way over.
"Good thing too… persistent bastard… will get what… he deserves….He was a… young… wraith… and very stupid. Easy… to kill. Cut price… ring of power." Harry muttered.
"Harry means that a ring of power made when Sauron was in this diminished state would be far weaker than any of the original Nine Rings of Men, and that this Voldemort was young for a wraith, and weak with it." Gandalf explained to a puzzled Sirius.
"Come on Harry, you're the hero! Make like Westley! Please…" Hermione said, voice trembling.
"Call… Miracle Max… Failing that… a Phoenix… and an onion" Harry mumbled, and Hermione let out a laughing sob.
Gandalf and the rest of the Fellowship had fought their way over, Theodred and Eomer close behind.
Aragorn glanced at Gandalf who shook his head slightly. It was the way of the Maiar to know of impending death, and Harry's was coming as surely as the world's ending.
"Come on Laddie, we'll need ye to mediate in the orc killing contest. And the drinking matches!" Gimli said, voice strained.
"Easy… I won… again… and… you're… never… going to… outdrink Legolas…" Harry said, smiling slightly.
"Harry, you saved my life, it would be a poor repayment if you died right in front of me." Theodred said in a painfully false jocular voice.
"Mine too!" Pippin chipped in desperately.
"Sorry… can't help… there." Harry said with a faint grin, his eyes half closed. "Goodbye… Ginny… all of you… Say goodbye… to everyone… for me… Ginny… I… love…you." Then he frowned slightly, and coughed up some more blood. "I feel… so… cold…" He added, sounding confused, then his eyes shut, his heart beat its last and his final breath escaped him. And Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the saviour of the Wizarding World and the Lord Moristar, was dead.
Tears rolled down people's faces, and despair spread over the army. Their most powerful asset had been smote down by the forces of darkness, which let out mocking laughs and screeches, laughing and revelling in their grief. Hermione rested her head against Ron's shoulder, her shoulders shaking with sobs as he stared at his friends corpse in numb disbelief, Theodred and Eomer bowed their heads, Gimli's beard was matted by tears, Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir said prayers in Sindarin, tears on their faces, Emrys' white aura dimmed to a flickering light more reminiscent of a weak LED than the strong glow it had been earlier, revealing inexplicable dark golden hair and an inhuman cast to his face that made him look disconcertingly like Legolas minus the point ears and with a certain additional sturdiness that spoke of the race of Men, and Aragorn looked… his expression was a mix of rage and sadness that defied the written word. Sirius' face went white, and he let out an inhuman howl of sorrow. Gandalf suddenly looked a lot older and very tired as he lent on his staff and Pippin just cried, and cried.
"Maybe… maybe he's playing dead. He did that once, to deceive Voldemort." Ron said, grasping at straws.
"No, not even Harry's sense of humour is that sick." Theodred said with a watery chuckle.
"Can the sword do anything?" Théoden asked half-heartedly. In answer Ron picked it up and hefted it experimentally.
"No. There's power there, enormous power, but I think only Harry could access it. To everyone else, it's just a slightly magical sword." Ron said grimly.
A small moth fluttered in front of Gandalf's face, and then the cry went up, a wild, hopeful cry. "The eagles are coming!"
The great eagles hammered the remaining Nazgul, tearing at their beasts and causing them to fall, while two of the remaining beasts retreated to Mordor. The Eagles then peeled off for some reason, as the middle of the three fallen Nazgul stood and pointed at Harry with an armoured finger.
"Something of ours is buried in your friend's body," It hissed mockingly, intelligible even from so far over the roar of battle, "and we will take it as we take your lives."
Everyone drew their swords and levelled them without hesitation at Nazgul. "Come and take them," Aragorn said quietly.
This display of bravery and loyalty was, however, immediately rendered unnecessary.
Ginny, who had been silent until then, picked up the sword of Gryffindor and said quietly, "No."
Then she pointed it at the sky with an utterly primal scream of rage and grief. The sword pulsed once with a deep ruby light as her cry rang out over the battlefield, echoing and reverberating deep within the clouds. And the skies answered her. There was an ominous rumble, and at her behest three massive tornadoes descended from the sky, and began tearing the dark army apart, picking up dust and steel as they went, scouring and slicing all their hapless victims. Sweat beaded on her forehead as the Nazgul hissed and screeched, taken aback by this turn of events.
She stumbled, then Gandalf stepped forward and helped her stand, then put his hand on her shoulder and Narya flashed with deep red fire, the magic imbued in it by the Silver Fist, Celebrimbor of Eregion - a smith second only to his grandfather Feanor in the entire history of Arda - reawakening and responding to his grandfather's similar enchantments in the Sword. Emrys hesitantly put his right hand on her other shoulder, his white aura flashing like a second su,n as otherworldly power poured from him into Ginny. The Sword of Gryffindor responded with another pulse of light, outlining Ginny in a red gold glow, her eyes flashing a bright gold that seeped into the tears that still fell. Ginny stood tall once more, lowered the sword to point at the middle one of the whirlwinds she had created and whispered, "Burn."
The whirlwinds became firestorms, the dust that had been sucked into them catching alight, blazing with a ferocious red and gold flame, scorching all that strayed too close to ash and melting all the metal to molten slag. The Nazgul's screams became panicked, and then cut off as all three were sucked into separate vortices of fire and light, which briefly flashed with a blinding white heat that fried many of the remaining Orc's. Warg's, Orc's, Trolls, Haradrim and Easterling's were all sucked into the greedy flames, screeching horribly. Ginny's face remained a mask of controlled fury, eyes flashing, hair flapping like a battle standard, as she guided the conflagration of destruction at the army of Mordor. The air around became so dry that static electrical charges formed, arcing lightning bolts to rain yet more destruction on the armies of Mordor. Any water in the clouds that was caught up immediately turned to steam, inflicting further agony on those who felt her wrath. It was an army's nightmare, to be faced by a manifestation of all four elements controlled by one at the height of their fury. Artist's would have killed to paint her, many would have worshipped her as a reborn goddess of War, hair the colour of fire sparking with static electrical charges, armour the colour of blood and steel, a cold, harsh beauty animated by her fury. The Morrigan and all the other Goddesses of Death and War throughout the ages had nothing on Ginny Weasley in her moment of grief. She was Death incarnate, and death came at her call and the armies of men knelt before her.
Finally she fell to her knee's, utterly spent, the sword falling to the ground with a clank and she began to weep, a small and utterly heart wrenching sound.
Hermione knelt down next to her and hugged her, while the rest looked utterly stunned at the sheer destruction unleashed by Ginny Weasley's elemental fury. Even Gandalf looked shocked.
"I never saw anything such as this… not since the First Age and the War of Wrath." The White Wizard said quietly, for he and Emrys had only sustained and helped her channel the power that had flowed through her in a vast torrent. He looked carefully at Ginny. In truth, when both Harry and Ginny had loosed their power to its greatest extent, he felt the slightest touch of the sort of power he associated with the Ainur, and wondered if they had Maia ancestry. Certainly there was something odd about Theodred's young bodyguard, Emrys, whose very being sung a familiar song of thoroughly immortal and recently awakened power, interwoven with the alien harmonies of the power Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione and Sirius, albeit relatively dormant.
Mind you, much of the raw power he had felt in Ginny had come from the sword itself, which was infinitely more powerful than any mere weapon had a right to be. All three would certainly explain a lot. He dismissed the idle thought as the tower of Barad Dur fell, its foundations crumbling as they were no longer sustained by the One Ring, the Great Eye burning furiously, then imploding with incredible force. Sauron, the terror of the Third Age of the world and Morgoth's chief lieutenant, was dead or as good as. Frodo and Sam had destroyed the Ring.
He smiled as the army cheered, yelling their throats out, joy mixed with sadness. The only one who didn't share in the jubilation was Ginny, who just cradled Harry's corpse and cried. Mount Doom suddenly erupted, making Ginny's tornadoes looking puny by comparison, and the armies of Mordor fled, falling into the cracks in the earth caused by Sauron's destruction. The hearts of the Fellowship collectively stopped. Frodo. Sam.
Gandalf commandeered several of the eagles, and soon returned with their bodies, alive, but terribly weak. He flew them on to the city to receive treatment.
The rest of the army arrived back at Minas Tirith a week later, tired but triumphant, and received a collective hero's welcome. Harry was transported frozen, and his tomb was made of white marble, lions and flowers carved into it by a tearful Hermione and Gimli. With Ron's help, she constructed a marble statue, standing by the tomb, Harry in armour, surcoat and hair flapping in an unseen wind, sword and wand in hand, helmet by his feet and a devil-may-care grin on his face, eyes fixed on some distant horizon. Hermione also managed to cast a flame of Gulbraithian fire, albeit a small one, a flame that would burn forever as a monument to his courage and pyrotechnic, kill-it-with-fire tendencies. He was entombed less than two days after - dressed in full armour, sword at his hip and the blood cleaned away- in a moving ceremony, his coffin carried by Ron, Aragorn, Boromir and Theodred, where Legolas, Eowyn, Sirius and surprisingly Pippin sang in a spontaneous and haunting refrain, disparate voices somehow melding into a perfect harmony, a wordless goodbye to the best of friends.
Other heroes were buried and the Free Peoples of Middle Earth held a wake for the victorious dead. And at last, Harry James Potter was at peace.
A couple of already written chapters to go. Please Review.