Volume 3 - Chapter 07

Not everyone rode on horseback or on a cart and no one seemed to be in much of a hurry to get anywhere. So, they traveled at a slow and meandering pace. The atmosphere of the group was relaxed, peaceful, and… while, not exactly excited, there was more of an air of anticipation, hope and joy that flowed among the people. It was as if they were traveling together for enjoyment's sake rather than to get to a specific destination. That's not to say there was endless laughter and music, but there was a calm, a definite camaraderie, and an accord that one usually didn't find when in mixed company. There were humans from both Gondor and Rohan, elves from Mirkwood, Rivendell and Lothlórien, a dwarf, four hobbits and two wizards.

It took fifteen days to travel from Minas Tirith to Edoras. During that time there were no attacks from bandits, beasts, orcs, goblins, or any other sort of adversary. Apparently, no one was crazy enough to assault what appeared to be a well-armed militia.

The only trouble, if one could call it that, that came their way was in the form of drums. The sound was a pounding, steady beat from somewhere above them: ominous, threatening, a prelude to an ambush.

Harry looked at the expansive hillside and wondered what sort of foe would announce an attack like some cheesy B-movie antagonist. Then Harry mentally reprimanded himself for making such a ludicrous comparison because only he would understand the reference. But ended up biting his lip to keep from laughing at himself, for he hadn't said any of those thoughts aloud. Some people traveling in the group already looked at the young wizard as if he was a bit barmy. Frodo said everyone believed all wizards were a bit… eccentric. Harry wondered just how far the other wizards of Middle-earth nurtured that image rather than dispute it.

During the drumming cadence, the troop didn't stop their trek forward, didn't arm themselves and didn't look frightened or concerned in any way by the noise. Even the knights surrounding the king and his new bride looked unimpressed by the drumming. Still Harry's eyes scanned the hillside warily.

The only sign of recognition from the group at large was someone heralding - shouting like a loon, if you asked Harry's opinion - from somewhere near the middle of the travelers. The words were lost on Harry. He was a fair distance away from the hollering man, and Harry didn't bother to tune into what was being called out to whomever was listening. The young wizard was too focused on watching for an ambush because as strong as his magic was, Harry couldn't shield them all even with Gandalf's help.

The declaration was made, followed by more drumming which grew louder and then… it ended abruptly into an eerie silence.

Harry was baffled by the entire 'showdown' but refrained from voicing his confusion since no one else appeared concerned. Unfortunately, he was left with the theme tune of 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' playing in his mind and a strong urge to do poor impressions of Clint Eastwood for the rest of the day. Also unfortunately for Harry because no one, including Luna and Celeborn, knew the movie, knew what a movie was, or who the actor was.

By late afternoon on day fifteen of their exodus from Minas Tirith, they had reached the plains of Edoras. Harry was fascinated by the differences in the two cities. Minas Tirith was white stone built into the side of a mountain. Edoras was built of wood atop the slope of a hill.

The Rohirrim were welcomed back with little fanfare, yet with much celebration and tears, while the visitors set up tents outside of the gates. That night there was a huge feast in the Golden Hall. They drank to the new king and queen of Gondor. They drank to the return of family and friends. They drank to the dead, hailing them as heroes. They drank to newly forged friendships, for warriors that fought together found they had a certain understanding that a bystander would find difficult to comprehend.

They rested for three days: feasting, drinking, and preparing. On the morning of the fourth day the Rohirrim began the coronation ritual of crowning their new king.

At dawn when the sun made its presence known, peaking over the horizon, a procession began at the Golden Hall at the top of the hill. At the lead were six men in uniform carrying the bier upon which Théoden lay. Next came Merry, the king's esquire, bearing the man's arms. The last of the king's family line, Éowyn and Éomer followed closely behind the hobbit. Last were the king's guard in full regalia.

It was a small parade walking in a respectful silence through the village down to the burial mounds. The path the procession strode through was lined with mourners that took up the procession as the last person passed them, until the entire village was bare making their way through the tents. Soon the visitors - human, elf, dwarf, and hobbit - were joining the march, and all gathered at the resting place of the kings of the past.

Harry hadn't met the King of Rohan, so he had offered to stay out of the way - perhaps on the wall to watch the proceedings and stand guard - but being the son of Galadriel and Celeborn, honorary or not, the young wizard was expected to be at their side along with his sister and her new husband.

Everyone was tranquil, solemn and respectful. There was no laughter, and no idle chatter. The only sound was the shuffling of feet and the distant sound of hooves crashing hard against the soil. No one looked alarmed or surprised as the thunderous noise grew closer.

Riders of the Mark, clad in full uniform, came riding towards the group. There were over a dozen men that rode their magnificent steeds. By the time they had reached the barrow, the uniformed riders had slowed their pace considerably. The horses high stepped in a circle around the final resting place of their fallen monarch while the Riders of the Mark sang a dirge. Harry hadn't a clue what they were saying, but the tune was haunting, and it stirred his soul.

As the men carrying the fallen king neared the barrow, the Riders came to a stop away from the mourners, but their song continued. First to enter were those carrying the bier, next was Éowyn, but Merry and Éomer stopped at the entrance. Éomer looked at Merry, the esquire looked up at the future king. The blonde man nodded at the hobbit and was given Théoden's arms.

Merry was wearing his Rohan esquire uniform staring into the darkness. Never had the halfling looked so regal and commanding, yet vulnerable and alone as he did while standing at the entrance to the barrow, openly and unashamedly weeping. Merry said something that Harry was too far away to hear before the hobbit cried out to the sky above.

The squire's pain was clear in the hobbit's actions. Harry watched as Gandalf put a hand on Pippin's shoulder to keep the hobbit from going to his friend. Pippin looked up at the old wizard with a flash of irritation, but settled down when Frodo whispered softly to his cousin. Pippin dropped his gaze and nodded. Harry understood the need to comfort a friend. He too would have liked to go to Merry, but now wasn't the time.

Merry remained before the barrow standing guard for approximately a half hour before the king's guard came out followed by the rest of those that had entered. The entrance was enclosed as the Riders retreated and the parade made their way once more through Edoras - this time in reverse - led by the same people.

That night the masses gathered once again within the Golden Hall at the top of Edoras for a feast. There was plentiful food as the hunters returned with game caught for the occasion. As the evening wore on, each attendee was presented with a goblet or tankard. No one drank. Each waited with anticipation for the last person to be served.

At the front of the room stood Éomer in his Riddermark uniform positioned at the top of the steps before the throne. On the second step stood an elderly man named Eldor (12). Eldor stood silently, hands wrapped around his own goblet. All eyes were watching as Éowyn, Lady of Rohan, walked solemnly forward with a golden goblet held carefully, reverently, cupped in both of her hands. When Éowyn reached her brother, the maiden held the goblet aloft as an offering.

Once Éomer accepted the proffered goblet from his sister, Eldor began speaking and Éowyn slipped away to stand with Aragorn and Arwen. Eldor's voice rang out throughout the hall, it was the only sound that could be heard. The old man's voice was strong and sure, as he named the kings that came before. The man spoke so melodically as each name trickled off his tongue as a long litany of nobility. When the recitation at last came to Théoden, Éomer raised the golden goblet in a salute - to his uncle, to the memory of each king that came before him, to the people he would rule over - and then he drank.

As the goblet met Éomer's lips, the crowd went wild. It was as if the entire room had been holding its breath waiting for that exact moment and exhaled in unison. Everyone was swept up with the outpouring of emotions and cheered loudly. The noise was thunderous within the walls of the Golden Hall. Even Harry felt the pull of excitement. Harry raised his own tankard and cried out with the masses, "Hail, Éomer, King of the Mark!"

Harry was fascinated at how different the two crowning ceremonies were. This custom, while brief, was as full of tradition as Aragorn's was. The people of Rohan and Gondor were both humans yet so vastly different in their culture.

With the ceremony over, the feast continued. There was more food, plenty of drink, lively music and various songs sung by any person that cared to grace the masses with their talents… or lack thereof. When the food was taken away, more drinking, more songs, and more music followed. At one-point in the evening Pippin and Merry were asked to sing and the pair hopped on a table, more than willing to oblige. The song sounded like a tavern ditty: a happy, catchy tune that had folks clapping along.

Harry stood away from the others, watching as the people celebrated life and sipping at his ale. The young wizard had grown accustomed to the taste and found he was rather fond of it. He had tasted beer and firewhiskey when he was younger and wasn't impressed, but the ale from Middle-earth was more to his liking. Still, he'd rather have had a butterbeer. Harry was just starting on his second ale when Faramir came to stand beside him.

The wizard watched the newly crowned prince curiously. Faramir grinned. "I have news."

"News?" Harry's interest was piqued. "Good news I wager or you wouldn't be grinning like a loon."

Faramir laughed, raised his drink in a bit of a toast, and leaned closer, Harry took the cue and quickly threw a privacy ward around them. Faramir apparently didn't take notice because he continued speaking as if he didn't want to be overheard. "I just asked, and received, the hand of my Lady in betrothal."

Harry smiled, even though he couldn't fathom why the man felt the need to tell him. Yes, they spoke a few times, but Harry wasn't and Faramir weren't exactly friends. Still, Harry dutifully said 'Congratulations' and meant it.

"Thank you." Faramir sighed happily and his gaze drifted to Éowyn. Harry's eyes followed and the young wizard let out a small whistle of appreciation. Faramir chuckled. "Indeed. Which brings me to my dilemma."

And there it was. The reason why Faramir sought Harry out. "What seems to be the problem?" Harry asked before taking another sip of his ale.

"When you went to Minas Morgul, did you make it inside?" Faramir's question took Harry by surprise.

"Yes." Harry said. "We weren't there for long, and we didn't go through the entire keep, it's huge. It's a bit minimalistic and the grounds are covered with a questionable green miasma, but I left it well protected."

That news caught Faramir off guard. "Protected from what, pray tell?"

"From evil intent. I put up protection wards at the entrance to the bridge before we left for Osgiliath…" Faramir looked even more confused so Harry explained how they had popped back there when the volcano began erupting, about the wards he left in place and explained how they worked. Harry glanced over at Luna and suggested, "Gwathel is well versed in runes and warding. If you speak with her on the subject, I'm sure she can whip together better spells that will suit your needs and then I can pop over and fix them."

"Gwathel?"

"My sister," Hary explained, "Lady Linovahle, the new Princess of Mirkwood. I can introduce you two if you haven't met her yet."

"Lady Linovahle knows your kind of magic? We met at the tents at the gates of Gondor." Faramir's eyes searched for Luna. "The princess is an elf. We were taught they have their own brand of magic. How is that possible?"

"Gwathel knows a lot about my magic: theory, application, spells, runes, history… but can't cast it. She studied with me for years, she's quite brilliant," Harry said with pride in his voice. Harry returned his gaze to Faramir. "Minas Morgul is currently vacant and awaiting your arrival. Though it'll need a lot of work. I have no idea what that green miasma is or how to get rid of it."

"Well let's hope it doesn't kill me before I can figure it out." Faramir snorted in bemusement. "Thank you for the advice regarding the warding. I will seek out your sister before she leaves."

"Cheers," Harry said. The two men toasted to life before Faramir made his way to his betrothed.

The evening was finally winding down by the time Haldir sought Harry out. The duo stood silently for a brief time, both sipping on a drink. Haldir raised his tankard towards his lips before he spoke, "[He has been spotted in the North. We leave on the morrow.]" The elf drained his tankard and then he was gone, slipping into the crowd like a shadow. Harry's tankard stilled at his own lips and his eyes tracked his mentor until he couldn't see him any longer. The tankard was slowly lowered before a drop could be drunk and it was soon left forgotten on a nearby table. The knot of anticipation coiled in Harry's belly, as he too slipped into the crowd.

As he made his way towards the exit, Harry felt someone watching him. The closer he got to the door, the more intense the feeling was and soon he felt as if someone was actively pursuing him. Harry's senses were screaming at him to react. Once he cleared the doorway, Harry flicked his wrist to release his wand and side-stepped, allowing whomever was dogging him to exit. But no one came.

Harry stood with his back pressed to the wall next to the doorway, gripping his wand tightly and refused to move until his adrenaline calmed. Two Riddermark guards stood near the steps, one watched the wizard with curiosity, the other watched the door wondering what they should be wary of, if anything. The second guard's hand slowly moved to his sword's hilt but stilled when Harry shook his head at the pair. The two went back to standing as if there was nothing amiss, yet they were obviously still on high alert.

Seconds later he came hurtling out of the door at top speed. The two guards were quickly armed and brandishing their swords ready for a fight. Pippin's eyes were wide with confusion which turned quickly into fright and his momentum had him moving straight towards the armed guards. Harry slowed Pippin's approach with magic, causing the hobbit to move in extreme slow motion. Pippin was moving so slowly that the guards had enough time to put their weapons away long before the hobbit reached them, but still Pippin's momentum was moving him forward.

With a sigh, Harry released Pippin from his magic and watched the guard catch the hobbit before he toppled the man over. The guard chuckled and set Pippin on his feet. "Careful now, little halfling. Falling from the steps of the Golden Hall can take you tumbling down to the village proper at the bottom of the hill. Not a pleasant way to travel."

Pippin grinned sheepishly at the guard. "Thanksh!"

"Are you looking for me, Pippin?" Harry asked.

The hobbit whipped around, still leaning heavily on the guard for support, and his confused, drunken stupor immediately cleared into a huge, crooked grin. Pippin flung his arms into the air in an exaggerated gesture, knocking into the guard's chest. "Harry!"

"Yes, Pip," Harry agreed with a chuckle, "it's me."

"I was lookin' for ya." Pippin looked up at the guard that still held him steady, and the hobbit gestured vaguely at the wizard. "Tha's Harry," Pippin explained. "He's gotta impor… impornent…" Pippin squinted at the amused guard for a moment, then his face cleared to show another crooked grin as he said, "He's gonna take me with 'im."

"Is that right?" The guard asked, humor laced his words.

"Aye," Pippin said earnestly, "he promisssed."

Harry stepped forward and relieved the guard of his burden with a soft spoken thanks. Harry kept his tone gentle and even the entire time to the hobbit, "That's right, Pip. We're going to go on an adventure, but first we need to get you to bed to sleep this off. We're leaving in the morning."

"Mooorning?" Pippin squinted into the night sky and said, "but is dark…"

"That's because it's still night. Where are the others?" After the third time Pippin stumbled over his own feet, or Harry's, the wizard chose to levitate the hobbit with a mobilicorpus and float him down to the tents. Harry repeated his question, "Where is Merry, Sam and Frodo?"

Pippin didn't answer. He just hummed a nonresponsive vague note of contentment and rolled to his side midair, fast asleep.

The sun would be up in a matter of a few hours and with it the beginning of the second half of the prophecy. But tonight... tonight the hobbit was snoring before they made it halfway down the hillside. Harry just shook his head in amusement.

Timeline:

TA 3019, May 29 Arrive at Edoras

TA 3019, June 2 King Théoden is buried, Éomer is crowned king

Footnote:

(12) Surprise! Eldor is not another made up character... not really. I found Elfhelm Son of Eldor, so I used his father's name.