Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Ten years ago, just after the war had ended, everything was settling down, and the world was turning right side up again, Harry Potter disappeared. Hermione had lost all hope of seeing her friend, when who should show up uninvited to her wedding party but two beautiful strangers with an interesting tale to tell. What path did Harry take that led him so far away from the wizarding world? And now that he is back, is he here to stay?

Pairings: Harry/Legolas; Hermione/ Ron

… The Long Road …

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Ch. 19

The Reckoning

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The Lone Warrior had come to call Saruman out, demand he account for his deeds, and make him pay retribution for the harm he had caused. And that retribution started with toppling Saruman's stronghold; this cursed black tower that was as twisted and dark as the corrupt Istar himself.

Having reached up with his magic, Harry pulled at the iron citadel to bring it crashing down to the ground.

Before anyone could even react beyond looking up to see what was coming, huge chunks of stone were tumbling down overhead with a concussive boom that shook the ground and the very foundation of the tower. Orcs were crushed where they stood, and the sound of screeching howls being strangled and aborted filled the air as bits of shrapnel flew and rocks continued to fall and crumble.

A thick dust billowed outward from the ground, constantly moving as though it had a mind of its own. Before it could settle, Harry reached up to grasp the bottom half of the fortress.

Just as he had gotten a hold and was ready to pull again, Saruman seized his chance. Lashing out violently with his staff, a blast of wind blew forth with a high-pitched keening, lifting up the heavy stones and pavement from underfoot, and knocking Harry off his feet and onto his back.

Winded, Harry scrambled, stumbling, to his feet. Peering through the thick curtain of dust and grit to find the Istar, his eyes suddenly widened in building horror.

The clouds of ash and debris had begun to swirl around faster and faster, in tighter and tighter circles, as a swelling tornado took shape. It weaved left, then right, then further right, forward and backwards, with no set pattern or sense of control, other than it was heading in Harry's general direction.

Harry felt Treebeard move to stand behind him and brace himself on the uneven ground. Squinting into the gale, he ignored the tornado for a moment and concentrated on subduing the wind that was feeding into the unnatural storm. Reaching out with his hands again, he pushed downwards as though subduing a swarm of wayward pixies.

Sweat began to pour down his temples, into his eyes, and collect at the base of his back as he strained against the Istar's magic.

The suddenly, Saruman released his hold and Harry nearly fell forward from the sudden lack of resistance.

With the wind gone and his vision clearer, Harry could now see how Saruman had used that tug of war to distract him from the tornado, now three times its original size, and coming back around to head straight at Harry.

Stabilising himself against Treebeard, Harry grabbed at the cyclone and held fast, twisting his entire body clockwise against its rotation. His hips dug into Treebeard's leg as he wrangled hold of the twister and fought with everything he had in him.

He could see the rage on Saruman's face as he refused to back down. Refused to cow to the mighty Istar who had chosen the path of evil over good because he thought Middle Earth's fate was sealed. But Sauron would not win, would not get his hands on the Ring, and Harry would make sure Saruman knew that by the time he admitted defeat.

And admit defeat he would because Harry's resolve and determination were stronger. He wasn't just fighting for his own survival; he was fighting for Frodo, for the Fellowship, and all of Middle Earth.

With that thought, Harry felt power swell in him again. From deep within his chest a fiery steel burgeoned and melded with his magic.

Surprisingly, this time he did not sense the Valar as its source, but something different. Something warmer, slightly familiar, yet still foreign. His mind briefly supplied the memory of drinking Ent draught, but then flitted away again before he could finish making the connection.

This was for the promise he made Frodo, he said, repeating the mantra in his head. Gritting his teeth and grunting with the effort, he managed to slowly, painstakingly, wrestle control from Saruman. With a shrill, guttural howl that set Harry's teeth on edge, Saruman stumbled forward as Harry finally forced the unnatural funnel to unwind.

"Ha," he breathed out heavily, confidence rising at his first real victory.

But no sooner had he regained his footing and let his muscles relax minutely, Saruman brought his staff round again and pounded it into the stone in front of him.

Suddenly, Harry felt the cracked stone shift beneath his feet as it crumbled and then instantly reformed into a monstrous hand that grabbed onto his legs and pulled him down into the ground.

With a soul-wrenching scream, nearly dislocating his jaw from the force with which he tore it open, Harry threw his head back in absolute anguish. He could hear his kneecaps cracking beneath the strong grip, his vision blurred, and the entire lower half of his body exploded with pain as every muscle, every nerve, was crushed against the hard stone of the earth.

Fierce rage that had momentarily been diluted by the sheer agony flared back up as Harry pried his eyes open and caught sight of the supercilious smirk gracing the corrupt Istar's face. Then from behind him, a furious, screeching howl, like a whole orchestra of out-of-tune violins being played at once, came from Treebeard behind him.

"Termites!" The ent cried, "You dare attack the Lord of Fangorn with termites! Vile creatures of this earth!"

Harry could see in his peripheral Treebeard thrashing around as he tried to shake the disgusting bugs from his bark-like flesh.

Saruman was quickly stepping up his game and unfortunately had many more centuries of experience than Harry. Still, that had never stopped the young wizard before, and it certainly wouldn't keep him down now.

Just as Harry started to be able to push past the pain and regather the magic in his hands, all the air was pushed out of him again in one fell swoop. A wall of solidified dirt slammed into him from behind, along with the great weight of the ent. Harry felt something snap in his neck as his entire back was forced into unnatural angles by the weight of a sentient tree.

Harry soon found himself falling face first into stone and earth, even as his legs stayed fixed into the ground, still being squeezed by the stone fist. There was another distinctive crack of something being displaced as his torso strained past the point his legs could follow, and then he was breathing in a mouthful of dirt as his entire head to his shoulders was engulfed completely.

A great cry of shock and horror reverberated in his ear just then, sounding like it was coming from inside his very own head. But before he could even think to acknowledge it as something other than his active imagination, his body and mind shut down and instinct took over.

Harry went completely still for a moment, distantly processing the monstrous roars Treebeard was making as he tried to break free, all muffled by the tonnes of dirt burying them both.

At this point, Saruman probably thought he had won and was only biding his time before Harry and Treebeard's cries were snuffed out like those of the dead orcs surrounding him. But what Saruman did not know was that Harry happened to work best under pressure - quite literally. And just when you thought he was done for, that was the moment when he was most likely to come back with a furious vengeance.

Thrusting his hands - the only body part not yet broken - deeper into the earth, Harry released a burst of power, setting off an explosion that extended 360 degrees around both him and Treebeard.

Stone, dirt, roots, weapons and machinery that had been buried within the underground, hellish crevices, and other debris burst forth like a nuclear bomb. The giant shrapnel and wind pierced what was left of the obelisk fortress, forcing it to collapse in on itself until nothing but a pile of rubble remained.

It was absolute chaos.

Harry's ears rung violently, he could see nothing beyond the hand in front of his face, and he could no longer tell where his body was. Was he sitting, standing, lying down? He wasn't sure of anything at the moment.

Yet even as the dark tower continued to fall and crumble under its own weight, the world grew eerily quiet once more. And in that time, the remaining magic and energy from the blast began receding backwards to its source, unseen to the naked eye. Unknown even to Harry, the wizard started to reabsorb the residual power from the atmosphere as it went to work reknitting bone, healing open wounds, and re-aligning all the twists in his body before moving onto Treebeard to do the same.

When the dust finally cleared after several indefinite minutes, wizard and ent were standing upright once more, looking a little haggard and dirty, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

Magic rolled off Harry in bright bands of green, gold, red, and silver.

Taking a moment that he hoped he had, he reached into his bag - still mostly intact by some strange miracle, or magic - and took a few desperate gulps of Ent draught to renew his strength. He offered the flask to Treebeard before screwing the cap back on and stowing it safely away again. Then, he slowly started walking over the rubble, as though wading through water at high tide.

His eyes shone with an inner light and his face was a solid mask of impartiality. He was the judge. He was the jury. And he would be the executioner.

Drawing closer at last, it appeared that Saruman had attempted to shield himself from the blast. Though he was not completely successful, judging by several welts, deep cuts, and monstrous bruises that littered his body, as well as a few oddly positioned limbs that looked especially painful. His robes had fared little better, looking much more tattered and torn, unlike Harry's elven garb that had surprisingly held up quite well so far.

Harry didn't allow himself even the satisfaction of a small victory this time. He knew the sly wizard would retaliate the second he regained enough energy to open his eyes. And Harry wouldn't allow himself to be caught off guard like that again.

Instead, Harry concentrated his energies on building his magic for his next attack and trying to come up with a feasible plan to win. He would not give up until Saruman was down and there was no doubt that he would never be getting up again.

But Harry was determined to face him in battle, and triumph by strength, not some underhanded manoeuvre while his enemy lay unaware at his feet. That was not how he would prove himself to the Valar, the Fellowship, or himself.

All too soon, however, the Istar finally did awake from his semi-conscious state. He levelled Harry with a look the wizard had seen only once before. During the Final Hogwarts Battle in the Great Hall, Voldemort had eyed him with unmitigated loathing and disbelief when he realised that he had finally met his match and that Harry actually was his equal.

This gaze too was one of shrewd, calculating malice, and slight, almost indiscernible uncertainty and nervousness.

But Harry didn't let himself dwell on it. Learning from his last mistake, before Saruman's eyes had even started to move beneath his eyelids, Harry had already started erecting a strong magical barrier around himself and Treebeard, who was still dogging his steps. While it was true that the best defence was a good offence, some situations called for a balance of both.

So though it wasted precious time in allowing Saruman a moment to recuperate and counter, Harry was banking on the fact that it would protect him and Treebeard in the long run and assure they were able to keep their next victory.

As predicted, Saruman took advantage of Harry's momentary lapse while he worked on strengthening his barrier. The Istar raised his staff and swiftly conjured colossal, dense, pitch-dark thunderclouds that looked to be made from the ozone of hell itself. They rolled in ominously from behind the looming mountains and stopped once they floated above where Harry, Treebeard, and Saruman stood. Waiting.

Lifting up his white staff, Saruman incanted a low, throaty chant, finishing just as Harry's final shield slammed into place and a blindingly bright bolt of lightning flashed from the sky, straight towards Harry. It bounced right off the wall of warped air that looked more like a wall of heat than your typical Protego. The shield flashed silver where it was hit for half a second before absorbing the energy from the charge and turning translucent once more.

Harry jumped back reflexively despite the fact that the barrier had held strong, his previous half-baked plans wiped from his mind for the moment. Looking up, he held his breath as another flash of lightning leapt from the sky, this one even more powerful than the last. It exploded in a shower of lights and bolts that made the world around him quake and the atmosphere crackle with electricity.

Seconds later, twin claps of thunder woke the skies and all but blew out Harry's eardrums and rattled his brain, disorienting him while the ground continued to shake beneath him, and the air vibrated around him.

Blinking furiously, he shook his head clear and moved his gaze back to the shadowed remains of the tower that he could still perceive through the thick, dirtied air. Angrenost, Treebeard had called it. A sound that rumbled gutturally in the back of your throat, making you want to spit it out. He could just make out Saruman's blurred image through the smoky haze and small fires dotting the grounds around them. A tarnished white cloak beneath a pale, gaunt face that was twisted grotesquely in a nasty sneer. And in his hand, was the distorted outline of a thin ivory staff.

That was the source of the Istar's power. That was his wand. And unlike Harry, it seemed that Saruman relied on it to power his spells.

Harry filed that information away for a time in the near future when he could use it. If he was truly going to defeat Saruman, he needed to break that staff; one way or another.

Regrouping, Harry dug deeply into the power that was still jumping erratically in and around his body. But this time he didn't just feel that strange mixture of his personal magic combined with the power from that familiarly foreign presence from before, as well as whatever the Valar had gifted him. No, this time it was so much more. His own magic had truly merged all three sources of power and become one. And it was much stronger.

Breathing deeply, he scanned the battlefield for ideas, feeling a sense of calm certainty flow over him.

"You can win this, lad! And the forest stands behind you!" Treebeard declared, leaning down to place a gnarled, twisted bark-covered hand on his shoulder. And with it, Harry felt something snap into place, like a string being pulled taut.

And then he… heard it, felt it, saw it in his mind's eye.

It was the very essence of Fangorn Forest greeting him. And it was coming from each and every living creature; ents, trees, birds, snakes, and all manner of tiny critters. All waking up as they felt his mind inadvertently reaching out to theirs, asking for their help, entreating them to come to his aid. For the sake and survival of Fangorn, the Misty Mountains, and Rohan as well.

He continued his call to arms, pouring his magic over the connection and feeding life into the forest itself, until finally, he felt a reaction.

A muted explosion burst forth from over a hundred miles away in the very heart of Fangorn and spread rapidly outwards in a flurry of movement towards Isengard.

And then the forest, still visible over the low hills in the east at the base of the mountain, began to move.

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Unbeknownst to Harry, whilst he engaged Saruman in battle, back on the green plains of Rohan, Legolas had gone perfectly still. Completely unaware of his physical environment, his mind was currently linked to Harry's, seeing through the wizard's eyes, using the tenuous connection made between Lone Warrior and Companion.

Aragorn, Gimli, and the Rohirrim stood in tense silence as they watched over the seemingly frozen elf with varying looks of trepidation.

Gimli laid a hand on Legolas' shoulder in solace, believing him to be struck with grief, but received no response. Clearing his throat, he turned back Éomer. "Are you sure? Are you sure you did not see –"

"We left none alive," Éomer repeated, hanging his head as he avoided Aragorn's stare.

The squeak of shifting leather and the snick of sword holsters bumping against armour further underscored the silence and sense of hopelessness that permeated the air.

"We will go to the battle sight and make sure it is true with our own eyes," Aragorn softly declared. He paused to grab at Legolas' arm and help him stand. The elf complied as though he were a simple rag doll, and nothing more, his eyes completely glazed over and unresponsive.

Aragorn cast his friend a worried look but refrained from commenting further. Turning back to the horsemen, he continued, "We know the hobbits to be resourceful and clever; if there is even the slightest possibility that they have somehow survived…" he trailed off.

What went unsaid was the urgency to search for the Ring as well. If the Uruk-hai and the hobbits were truly dead, then they could only hope to find the Ring still among the bodies. It did not bear thinking the probability of the creature Gollum having gotten there first.

"We shall not abandon hope yet," Aragorn finished, and Gimli was quick to verbalise his own agreement, willing to see their chase to its end.

"My men and I will accompany you," Éomer offered, already climbing back into the saddle. "We can take you to the battle site and help you in your search." He gestured behind him to some of his men. "We have three horses who have recently lost their masters. They are yours to help speed your journey, no matter which way you choose to go next. Either way, my men and I are at your service, should you so wish it."

Though Éomer's gesture likely stemmed from the man's hero-worship for Captain Thorongil, Aragorn was thankful for the aid, nonetheless.

There was a bit of a predicament when Gimli flatly refused to ride anything bigger than a pony. Normally, they would have led with the assumption that Legolas would ride with Gimli. But the elf remained lost in his own world, seemingly unfit to control his own movements, let alone a horse.

"Is he well," Éomer queried as he helped Aragorn manoeuvre Legolas behind his second-in-command, strapping him to the warrior's back for his own safety.

"I cannot say I know for sure; the mysterious power of the Elves is forever escaping me. But I have no doubt that eventually he will wake. Whether, at that point, he will be able to explain himself in a way that we mortals will understand is another issue entirely."

Aragorn than moved to help Gimli up into the saddle before mounting the horse himself and taking up the reins.

Soon after, the Fellowship plus the Riders of Rohirrim were on their way at a swift canter.

"It is less than 12 leagues northwest from here. We have since circled back from where we found them," Éomer explained, given the fact that they were moving perpendicular to the directions from which the riders had come. "We thought it odd to find only seven in their group and were sure there must be others about. We have been scouring the area all morning, but if it is as you say and you had already slain the rest, we can cease our search."

"For now," Aragorn replied apprehensive. "Saruman created those Uruk-hai to act as an army worthy of the forces of Mordor. They were built to quash any resistance from the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.

"Though there do not seem to be many willing to resist at present," he said dubiously, looking around at their paltry numbers of just over a hundred warriors. "All the more reason to create an army large enough to subdue even the smallest bit of hope from numbers alone."

"That is a sobering thought indeed," Éomer said, his face paling. "How much time do you think he has had to create such forces? Was that group not the first ones sent out to see how they fared?"

Aragorn hummed, "I would like to believe that to be the case, but it is more than likely that Saruman has already built his army. At least several thousand strong."

"Several thousand!" Éomer gulped as Aragorn's warning and estimates trickled back through the rest of his men.

Gimli huffed in agreement, scowling darkly. "We're going to need a bigger army than just the Fellowship and a group of banished Riders to contend against a whole army of those behemoths."

Aragorn said nothing for a while, concentrating on the path ahead and willing the miles to pass faster. But like most things in these dark times, his prayers were in vain.

"Unfortunately," Aragorn sighed, speaking more to himself than the group at large, "Though there are many good people on Middle Earth, not nearly enough possess the courage of conviction to act. And goodness without courage is useless. Evil will continue to prevail so long as good people continue to do nothing."

With their hearts hanging heavy in their chests, the company spurred on their steeds, hoping against hope to find some good news at the end of their journey.

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Ents, birds, and beasts of all sizes began pouring over the mountain. Slowly at first in a gentle trickle, and then it turned into a veritable deluge as those that could not walk fast enough were being picked up and carried on backs or flown in talons until the mountain was completely covered in a moving black mass.

The ents stood the tallest among the multitudes, shepherding the birds in the sky to fly low and avoid the lightning still streaking from the sky, directing the small rodents on the ground to attack the tower and take down what Harry had left of the crumbling edifice, and guiding the larger animals to start attacking the last of the orcs.

A spasm of fear flashed across Saruman's face, but it was soon replaced by a look of anger and malice. The Istar called to his minions in a foreign tongue that sounded like it belonged to the devil himself, or Morgoth, his mind supplied. He certainly couldn't distinguish any words, but it must have been effective, for the remaining orcs and Uruk-hai that had not been crushed suddenly erupted from the ground, pouring out from the fiery crevices that surrounded Harry, Treebeard, and Saruman.

There were hundreds and hundreds that must have crawled out from the deepest depths of the earth. They spotted their prey straight away and made a beeline towards the Fangorn army. Harry watched as misshapen cats covered in bits of bracken, hog-like creatures with fur that looked more like moss, and proud elk with impressive antlers that were spun with what appeared to be nests of gypsy moths came barrelling at the Isengard army, taking the monsters out in droves.

Knives, teeth, claws, talons, and all manner of limbs and hard heads clashed in a cacophony of roaring, screeching, hissing, and wailing. It was hard to see beyond the slamming of bodies and spray of blood, as the battle ebbed and flowed around the three of them. For just as Harry had cast a shield around him and Treebeard, Saruman had quickly raised his own at the sight of the stampeding animals. It rippled and shone around him like a thick goo mixed with black flames.

"You think you can win by toppling some buildings and releasing a few rabid animals? I have created an entire army!" Saruman bellowed, "Even now my Uruk-hai are hidden in the mountains, waiting for my master's command to march out and conquer all of Middle Earth.

"Sauron is more powerful than you can even imagine. His Eye sees everything! And not even the combined strength of Galadriel and Elrond can stand up against Him when the Ring is returned to its rightful lord. He will scourge the lands, everything you hold dear, and take back what is His!"

"Just because you were too much of a coward to stand and fight against Sauron, doesn't mean the rest of us will roll over so easily!" Harry rebutted.

Saruman sneered in contempt at Harry's words, scoffing, "What false bravado from a mere child. Who are you to think you can stand up to the greatest, most powerful Maia there ever was and ever shall be?"

Harry's eyes flashed in defiance. "I am the Lone Warrior of the Aratar." Harry watched Saruman's eyes widened imperceptibly, quickly covering it with a deeper scowl. "I have been chosen to protect the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and I will see Sauron destroyed. But first, you will see retribution this day!"

Before the last words had fully left his mouth, Saruman was lifting his stave to the heavens and calling down his next attack. Another lightning bolt, this one as thick as Treebeard's trunk, came charging downs towards Harry in an instant.

With less than a second to react, Harry instinctively raised his hands and caught the bolt. By some miracle and depths of power he hadn't known he possessed, the mass of pure energy froze in place. Not 20 feet above his head, it still managed to raise the hair on his head and make his skin prickle unpleasantly.

The fighting continued to rage around them, ebbing and flowing without pause and no clear winner emerging. Harry and Saruman were immune to it all, frozen in that one moment; another battle of wills breaking out.

Harry could see a clear difference this time. Saruman's face was turning blood red, the shadows around his features darkening as he strained to put all his power behind forcing the gigantic bolt down, smiting Harry once and for all. But Harry refused to give up that easily. Even as his arms strained from the weight of simultaneously holding up and squeezing together the chaotic mass of positive and negative charges that writhed in his hold, begging to be released.

Sweat poured down his face and back once more, falling into his eyes and drenching his hair. Priori Incantatem was a cinch compared to this. At this point, Harry felt like he could have beaten Voldemort five times over with one hand tied behind his back.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure how he was still standing, let alone holding his own. But just as his parents had once stood as shades by his side, lending him their strength and love, Harry felt a similar certainty that he was not alone. Whether it be the Valar or some other presence, he could sense their encouragement; cheering him on, bolstering his courage, and galvanising his spirit to not give up.

Emboldened, Harry found the energy to slowly direct some more of his magic upwards, steadily reinforcing the volatile mass. He surrounded it, subtly loosening Saruman's hold on the powerful currents until, finally, he could hold it no longer. With a forceful grunt, Harry threw down his arms and launched the attack back at Saruman.

The Istar didn't even have a millisecond to think before he felt the product of his own magic, mixed with Harry's, strike at his chest, right into his heart. It electrocuted him in one powerful shockwave that tore through his body with a vengeance. Saruman shook in fitful spasms where he stood for what felt like several minutes before crumpling to the ground, where he finally lay twitching and shaking; impotent.

Quiet disbelief washed over Harry as he bent forward, hands on his knees, trembling from head to foot and breathing in pained lungfuls of air.

It was over. It was finally over. He had done it.

After a good minute or so had passed and, amazingly, he felt like he could walk again, Harry straightened up and began to stalk forward. Hands up, ready to attack, just in case, he drew nearer to Saruman with Treebeard still in tow.

The moment he reached Saruman he stumbled back in shock. The old Istar's eyes were still open and flicking about in a pattern only he could see. It was then that Harry saw the white staff, still barely in the old man's grip, looking like it was bending and warping under some unseen pressure.

At that moment, Harry felt the somewhat familiar presence of what he recognised as the Valar speaking to him.

Opening his mouth, he cried out in concert with several other powerful voices, "Saruman the White, you have disobeyed your oath to the Valinor, broken your promise to the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, and failed in your task against Sauron. You are hereby banished from Heren Istarion and exiled from the Lands of the Valinor forevermore (Quenya: 'Order of Wizards'). Your gift of wielding and possessing magic is rightfully stripped from you and is to be given back to the lands of Isengard as reparation for what you have taken from it.

"The time of the Istari is coming to an end, but you will nevermore be welcomed home. May your soul remain ever restless in the mortal world you sought to dominate, never finding strength enough to impose your will again!"

Harry staggered back once his proclamation had concluded, feeling like a gargantuan weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Swallowing thickly, he felt the pressure recede from his mind.

"His staff," Harry said with a gesture, finding some comfort in hearing his voice had returned to normal.

Treebeard reached down to take the ornately decorated piece of wood and pointed it back at Saruman threateningly. "You, Saruman No-Name, will never darken the Forest of Fangorn with your vile, twisted, corrupt shadow again!" Then without further instruction, the ent snapped the stave in half with ease.

As soon as the rod broke, a blast of magic exploded outward. Invisible waves of rippling power distorted the air, passing back into the land, the mountains, the hills, and Fangorn itself.

Harry watched in fascination as the yawning hellish chasms, which had been glowing red and emitting smoke and demonic cries from their hollowed depths, began to knit themselves back together. Whatever hell spawn that had not already emerged in the battle would be forever trapped as the serrated edges reconnected until all that remained was seemingly untouched soil.

Harry waited a moment, watching in trepidation, wondering what more he was meant to do with Saruman. The Istar was weak, powerless, and defeated. Harry was content to leave him where he lay, but he had learned the hard way to never turn your back on an opponent, no matter how pitiful they may seem. Even a fangless snake can still strike out and strangle its prey.

Contemplating the best way to deal with the Istar, Harry didn't notice the sudden change in the surrounding battle until Treebeard abruptly scooped him up with one hand and placed him back on his shoulder.

"Hrum now, you have done your part, master wizard, and for that I thank you. Hm, hm, hm. But now your part is done, so let us do our part."

Confused, Harry looked around to see the Fangorn army had begun to fall back. They were rushing up over the mountain towards the cover of the trees as though the Eye of Sauron himself was upon them. Yet the remaining Uruk-hai and orcs did not give chase past the base of the mountain. The foul beasts roared at the animals' retreating backs, pounding their chests and raising their weapons in victory.

Harry frowned in confusion. Hadn't they won? Why were they sounding the retreat?

"What's happening," Harry inquired, leaning forward to ask if Treebeard had been the one to call them off.

In answer, Treebeard lifted a long, branch-like arm and directed Harry's attention beyond the rubble to a great stone wall built in between two mountain cliffs. It was there Harry saw that while the animals had left, the ents had stayed behind and were currently attacking the wall itself. They were pounding away at the structure with all their might, throwing rocks, and digging their twig-like fingers into the nooks and crannies to pull out the nails and other plugs keeping it together.

"What are they doing, Treebeard?"

"Releasing the Ford of Isen!"

"A ford?!" Harry's eyes widened as he realised what that structure was - a dam. Alarmed, Harry wrapped both arms around the branch sticking up on Treebeard's shoulder and held tight.

"Brace yourself!" Treebeard warned as the water started to erupt in bursts from random holes. First, it spurted like small streams, one after the other, until the integrity of the wall was gone, and the water surged forward in great waterfalls as the entire structure fell in upon itself.

Treebeard widened his stance and dug his root-like toes into the earth, holding fast. It was just barely enough as the force of the tide pushed him back, reaching halfway up his chest and battering Harry's toes about before he had the presence of mind to lift his feet up.

Back on the ground, Saruman had barely lifted his head and turned his face towards the rushing sound of water before he was swept away by the deluge, along with his army of orcs and Uruk-hai. His white robes were visible for all but a few seconds before he was dragged under and Harry lost sight of him. Even without his magic and power, though, Harry wondered if that was truly the last he would see of Saruman.

Either way, he had accomplished what he had come here to do. Saruman was defeated, and Isengard was no longer a stronghold of the Enemy. Like the Great Flood, it was being cleansed of the evil that had been wrought here and the land was being christened anew.

The water continued to flow for a good quarter hour more, with Treebeard and the other ents struggling to hold their ground. Eventually, though, the torrent slowly dwindled until it just brushed past Treebeard's knees at a sluggish trickle.

When the deafening rushing sound had finally abated to a rough whisper, Treebeard spoke again. "Hm, now! That was some very powerful magic. Very powerful indeed!" He crooned admiringly, looking at Harry in awe as he began to walk towards a piece of the tower that was stuck sideways in the ground. Tall enough to be well above the water line, and wide enough to allow Harry a place to lie down. "There is no doubt in my mind, ah hmm, hmm, hmm, that you, dear wizard, you are here to save us all. Fangorn Forest answers to my call alone. Oh hoo! Mine and the Protector's. And you, master wizard, are a Protector."

Harry nodded wearily, soaked to the bone, sore beyond belief, and feeling like he could sleep for days. He unfastened his damp cloak, which was still intact, and brought his wand out for the first time all day to cast a drying spell on the cloth. He then wrapped it around himself like a blanket. He supposed he could take a short nap. Just for a moment.

"Rest now," Treebeard declared as Harry positioned his backpack behind his head and let his eyes begin to close. Treebeard turned around to stand sentinel and looked out at the rubble and floating bodies that even water could not cleanse.

As the world around him began to fade, Harry felt a gentle caress brush against his mind, and he swore he could almost hear Legolas' voice whispering, 'Rest well, Harry'. But perhaps that was just a dream.

. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

The images of Isengard disappeared like a curtain softly falling down when Harry closed his eyes. With the connection broken, Legolas felt the world pull away, tilt on its side, and then go completely dark.

For a moment, Legolas sat there dazed, not sure if he was still sleeping off the battle in Isengard, or somewhere in Rohan with Aragorn and Gimli. And what was the difference? Was he kneeling, sitting, lying down? He could still feel the lumpy pack under his head - no, that was Harry's head. And Harry had just performed some awe-inspiring magic, not him. He was just an elf, after all, not an Istar or wizard.

His head was still reeling from what he saw Harry do! He had stood against Saruman, an Istar Gandalf had respected as his superior!

Not much was known about the Istari, but it was rumoured that they had been around since the creation of Arda itself. That implied power, skill, and experience Legolas could not even begin to fathom. And yet, with some help from the Valar - who Legolas had actually sensed in his connection with Harry! - Harry had defeated the most powerful Istar and barred him from ever returning to the Valinor.

Any lingering doubts he might have had about Harry and his ability to fulfil his role were now utterly obliterated. Legolas had felt the magic, the power, the control Harry had wielded with such skill. Let no one, least of all Legolas, ever question again Harry's presence in the Fellowship and his ability to become the Lone Warrior of the Aratar.

With that sobering thought, Legolas began to mentally untangle himself from Harry and regain conscious awareness of his own body. It took a good long moment to fully banish the haze from his thoughts and firmly tell himself that he was not the one that needed sleep. He instead needed to find out what had happened while he had been incapacitated.

The first thing he noted was that his limbs were leadened down and did not feel like they were his to control. The second thing he noticed was that he was currently being jostled and bumped around in a steady, constant rhythm, and was sitting slumped up against another person. And it was still dark. Hadn't it been day time just minutes ago?

Shaking his head, Legolas quickly came to the realisation that he was looking into the back of his own eyelids, and that the movement he was experiencing was from a horse.

Opening his eyes, he saw the chainmail shirt of one of the Rohirrim, upon which his forehead was pressed. And some type of rope was wrapped around his waist, keeping him in place and making it difficult to sit up.

From his peripheral, he could see Aragorn riding close by, with Gimli at his back.

Lifting his head and blinking up at his friends, he was greeted with cries of relief and concern.

"Legolas," Aragorn steered his horse closer to come and grip the elf's shoulder in a tight, steadying grip. "Are you alright? What happened?"

"Blasted elf! You gave us a ruddy good scare!" Gimli interjected before Legolas could even think to respond.

But once given the chance to speak, Legolas only nodded absently, still somewhat confused as to why he was no longer wet and where the ent had gone. Not sure what to say just yet, he concentrated his attention downward on freeing himself from the restraints. Once free, he leaned over the man in front of him to shake his hand in thanks before nimbly jumping over to the horse Aragorn had brought around to run between them.

Taking control of the reins and not once missing a beat in the group's swift canter, Legolas manoeuvred his horse to the edge of the company. Hopefully there the three of them could have some semblance of privacy.

"I'm fine," he assured the other two, beckoning them a bit closer. Once he was sure he had their attention, he quietly declared, "Harry has just defeated Saruman in a battle of sorcery and taken control over Isengard. Orthanc tower is completely demolished, the area flooded, and he has helped awaken the Ents and called forth the forest to fight back against the Enemy!"

Stunned silence met his unexpected announcement. Silence and dumbfounded stares that lasted for all but half a minute.

"Ha!" Gimli finally guffawed in disbelief, laughing uproariously and slapping at his thigh. Legolas reached over to grab his arm before the dwarf slid right off his and Aragorn's horse in his gaiety.

"By Aulë," Gimli rasped, "The dreams of the elves must be something grand, to have come out of a slumber believing all that! To think that spidery wisp of a boy could accomplish something so impossible! Ha!"

Legolas let go of his friend in disgruntled disgust. "I do not speak from the depths of reverie! I saw through Harry's own eyes as he confronted Saruman with an ent at his side. I watched as he battled and defeated the White Wizard, spoke as one with the Valar to take away Saruman's powers. They spoke through him and proclaimed the coming of the end of the Istari." He looked out into the distance where he knew Isengard to be. "Did you not feel the surge of power; the explosion that was Saruman's staff being broken and his very soul being banished for all eternity?"

Aragorn followed Legolas' gaze, introspectively. "We could not see much, but the forest seemed to move from within." Aragorn bent his head closer to his companions, mindful of the eyes and ears of curious men nearby. "The trees themselves shook, but we could not see much more from our distance. And there was indeed a great blast. It felt as if the earth itself was moving and an unseen force rippled the very air around us. Everything fell silent not long before you woke." Aragorn lowered his voice even further. "How have you come to know this?"

Legolas glanced back at the dwarf, somewhat pleased to see Gimli's expression no longer held the same scepticism, but rather shocked confusion. That would have to do for now.

"As I said before," Legolas confided, "We were all wrong to doubt Harry, myself more than anyone. My eyes have been opened. Our connection, though nascent, was strong enough to pull me to him when he needed help. He has taken up the mantle of Lone Warrior of the Aratar, connected with the Valar, and been decreed to be one of the deciding forces in this war."

Another stunned silence fell among the three friends, broken only by the horses' heavy breathing and pounding steps.

Aragorn gathered himself first, his voice hushed in awe and newfound respect for their wizard companion. "You never said anything about him being a warrior of the Aratar." At Legolas' meaningful nod, he sat back in the saddle, looking somewhat dazed.

"The who, now?" Gimli looked from Legolas to Aragorn in confusion. "Are you saying that that boy was responsible for that unholy blast," he asked, shaking his axe at the forest, which looked peaceful for the moment, though Legolas knew better, having seen it come alive less than an hour earlier.

"I heard stories as a boy, sitting alongside Elladan and Elrohir," Aragorn continued to mutter, referencing his foster brothers and blood sons of Elrond. "The Aratar," he repeated in a whisper.

"Who are the Aratar," Gimli pressed, his frustration at being ignored bleeding into his words.

Legolas finally took pity on him and answered, "The Aratar are the most powerful beings among the Valar, known as the Eight Holy Ones of Arda. They are Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Mandos, Nienna, Oromë, and your Aulë. And they have chosen Harry to be their champion on Middle Earth." Legolas could hear the pride he felt for Harry clearly ringing in his voice.

"It is indeed extraordinary," Aragorn mused. "We have all underestimated the lad. Hopefully his presence here will not be all for naught, then." He paused before asking, "Did you find out anything about Frodo and the others?" His gaze flickered to the forest in the nearing distance. "What of their fate?"

"Nothing," Legolas replied softly. "We will have to wait until we reach our destination. I can only hope that the Valar would not have gone to such trouble in bringing Harry here, only to see all hope destroyed and this war lost before it has hardly begun. We must keep faith that the halflings are still out there. Perhaps even under the forest's protection, now that it responds equally to Harry's call."

"Hmph," Gimli gruffed, a mixture of lingering scepticism and worry, "We shall find out soon enough."

. … . …. .. …. .. …. . … .

"No!" Hermione cried, standing up abruptly. Her sudden movement caused Ron, who had had his teaspoon of sugar suspended over his mug, to jolt forward in alarm, sending the tiny grains flying across the table and onto the rug.

"What! What?" he shouted worriedly, looking in panic from Hermione to Harry, and then Legolas. "What's wrong?"

It had been several days since the newlyweds had returned from their honeymoon and welcomed Harry and Legolas into their home once more. The elven couple had been more than happy to accept the extended invitation to stay, not keen on ever returning to Grimmauld Place. And Hermione had been the consummate host; making sure they were fed, comfortable, and wanted for nothing, even transfiguring the couch into a comfy bed for them during the nights.

And so far, all had been going well. It almost felt like old times, as Harry had recently set down the rule that over meals he wanted only to hear about his friends' lives. But by and large, their days had been mostly dedicated to storytelling. With Harry and Legolas thoroughly captivating their audience and keeping them glued to their seats, hanging on their every word, until Ron and Hermione grew too tired to concentrate and stay awake a moment longer.

Just this morning, Harry had taken up the story after breakfast, and then Legolas had taken over just before lunch. He had been in the middle of telling things from his point of view when Hermione had interjected.

Ignoring her confused husband, Hermione started to pace the length of the living room. "This isn't how any of this happens! That's not how Tolkien wrote it; you're completely messing with the timeline.

"Frodo did not destroy the Ring by going through the Wold. He went to the Falls of Rauros, where Boromir tries to steal the Ring, spurring him to go off to Mordor alone. Sam follows him and almost drowns as he attempts to swim after Frodo, and then, and then –," she seemed to be fighting against the need to breathe as she searched for the right words, indignation colouring her face a bright, unattractive red. "It's all wrong!"

"Hermione, it's okay." Harry stood from his seat to stop her flurried steps, placing gentle hands on her shoulders. "I don't know anything about the books or what Tolkien Saw, but this is how it actually happened. Me being sent there changed things." He shrugged. "I don't know what else to tell you."

He slowly guided his friend back to her seat and into the arms of her husband.

'I don't know her as well as you do,' Legolas said softly as Harry stood over her, waiting for her to calm down her ragged breathing. 'But to me, she sounds… scared.'

Harry whipped his head around to stare uncomprehendingly, wondering what he was missing.

Legolas suddenly began speaking aloud, looking directly at Harry. "You always told me how integral Hermione was in making sure you passed all your classes. And how you never would have defeated Voldemort without her and Ron's help.

"Having seen you square up against the most powerful Istar of Middle Earth, for a while it was hard for me to understand how you could ever have needed to rely on someone else so much to succeed. Besides the small bit our connection does in helping ground and support you," he added modestly, already reading Harry's objection on his face.

"But I understand now, it wasn't until after you defeated Voldemort that you really came into your own. The Valar must have seen something in you then, to know that you would be the perfect champion. That you had potential to be a real leader. And even then, you didn't become the Lone Warrior until you set out from the Fellowship and were forced to face Saruman by yourself."

Legolas turned his gaze to Hermione then and added, with a kind smile, "So perhaps you two were just what he needed to fight Voldemort as a boy. You were all children then, after all. But you've since matured so much. And Eris- ahem - Harry here has since been exposed to a world that you may never understand. And taken on a role that has far-reaching implications you didn't consider until now, but-"

"But," Harry cut in, sending a silent thanks to Legolas for setting him on the right track, "Just because I may no longer need you like I once did, doesn't mean I don't still treasure our friendship. And really, is my being more independent and capable really a bad thing?" He smiled, hoping Hermione would appreciate his humour.

Hermione, though, remained silent, looking forlornly down at her clasped hands, Ron's arm around her shoulder.

Harry understood that in all the excitement of reuniting and catching up, there hadn't been much time to fully process how much things had changed. Or to consider the resulting consequences of those changes. And with the story now all but confirming that he had taken on the momentous role of Lone Warrior, an even bigger unspoken issue that had been stewing at the back of their minds was now being addressed.

Between his marriage to Legolas, position as a prince of Greenwood, and his responsibilities as Lone Warrior, it was no doubt becoming clearer and clearer to his friends that Harry had committed himself to Middle Earth for good.

"You know," Harry started light-heartedly, once again attempting to add some levity to the situation. "At least you don't have to worry so incessantly about me anymore. Not only have I gotten better at taking care of myself, but with being an elf, I'm a lot harder to seriously injure too. Haven't been in a hospital bed for ages now," he joked with a shrug.

Neither Ron nor Hermione reacted, and he could feel Legolas' pitied exasperation being directed at his back.

Harry bit his lip, belatedly realising that reminding his friends that he was no longer human was not the way to lighten the mood.

After several excruciatingly tense minutes, where no one spoke, Hermione eventually raised her head to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. "Oh, Harry," she sighed. Standing once again, Hermione threw herself into Harry's waiting arms. "We've just really missed you," she whispered, her voice thick with tears.

Rubbing her back, Harry returned the tight embrace, reminding himself again how much he missed Hermione's hugs. "Me too," he agreed.

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, just savouring the moment and attempting to pretend like they were back at Hogwarts. Just catching up in the common room after a short summer apart.

But Harry couldn't ignore the oliphant in the room forever. And as much as it pained him to do so, he was the first to break the silence. "We don't have to finish our story, if you'd rather we didn't. I don't want you stressing over all the divergences, as they're not really all that important," he shrugged unpresumptuously. "I just wanted to extend our time here for as long as possible and make sure you understood everything before we leave-"

"Leave!" Hermione tore herself from his arms and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, keeping him at arm's length and in her grasp. "What do you mean 'leave'?" she cried out in indignation, eyes wide and boring into Harry's with a look of shock and betrayal. "We only just got you back, you can't leave, you have to stay!" she exclaimed, the words running into one another as she pushed them out all in one breath.

With a silent sigh, Harry's shoulders sunk imperceptibly as he had his original suspicions confirmed. He knew this wasn't actual news to Hermione; she had likely sussed it out the moment he had formally introduced Legolas. But the fact was, none of them wanted to acknowledge that eventually his and Legolas' time here would come to an end. And they would not ever be able to return.

Carefully extracting himself from Hermione's grip, Harry took a step back and spoke in calm, even tones. "You two are my best friends. The closest thing I've ever had to family growing up, and I'll cherish that forever." He paused, gathering his breath as he looked meaningfully at the two, conveying as much with his words as with his eyes. "But I've another family now, one that's all my own. And it's on Middle Earth." Despite the bare truth of his words, he still felt guilty for saying them. "This was just meant to be a visit. To let you know I'm alive and well, and happy. And to tie up any loose ends before I left for good."

Hermione still looked to be in a state of shock, not having moved a muscle since Harry started talking. Worried, he reached out to take the hand laying limp at her side. But as soon as she felt his skin against hers, she flinched away and pulled back.

Sending Harry a woeful glare, she turned and stalked out of the room. A few seconds later a door slammed shut and muffled sobs could be heard coming from the bedroom.

Ron stood and made to follow her, but froze, his face turned away. Harry could see the iconic Weasley blush travelling up his neck and to the tips of his ears in anger. His fists clenched and unclenched themselves at his side, but he remained silent and unmoving.

Harry waited, not sure how to react. He had known they wouldn't be happy with him. Yet he'd held out hope that they would be happy for him. He'd finally gotten the family he had always wanted and had found his place in the -well - a world. He was comfortable in his own skin and with who he was. He had actually earned the fame and respect he received in Arda, all on his own. And that meant more to him than he could ever fully convey.

With a resigned grimace, he turned towards the door, preparing to give the newlyweds some space and time to think. Hopefully they could get past this. He didn't want to leave Earth for the last time with his friends' disappointed and distressed faces forever stuck in his mind.

He and Legolas had just made it to the door when Ron spoke.

His anger had faded somewhat, replaced with a look of pained desperation. "You don't know what it was like - what you vanishing like that did to her. To all of us, but especially Hermione. She took your disappearance the worst of all of us. I even thought for awhile," he trailed off, but Harry caught his meaning well enough. It was the Slytherin Locket all over again. But obviously they had gotten past that if they were married.

Harry wished he could say something that would put their worries at ease. Unfortunately, this particular discord could only be conquered by time and the willingness to accept that which could not be changed.

A pregnant pause stretched on awkwardly, increasing the tension in the room until Harry could practically taste it in the air. He had never felt so at a loss on what to do or say with his best mate before. And that, more than anything, seemed to highlight just how much they had grown apart.

Suddenly, the sound of a door opening and footsteps hurrying down the hall broke the moment.

"A year," Hermione said, slicing the air sharply with her demand as she stood in the doorway, looking pale and unsteady on her feet. "I want you two to stay at least a year. You owe us that much."

Harry shook his head and closed his eyes wearily. "It doesn't work like that, Hermione." He opened his eyes and pinned her with a guilty stare. "The Valar have granted us time here to tell our story, get our affairs in order, and depart. Nothing more."

"You make it sound like you're dying," Hermione retorted angrily, gulping back the tears in her throat. "Why come back here after all these years only to basically die and abandon us again?"

Harry stumbled back, falling against the doorway, as though she had physically slapped him.

Despite himself, knowing better of exactly what incited her words, Harry could feel his own anger and indignation rising at the accusation.

Before he could stop himself, he answered, "But that's just it, isn't it?" He brought one hand behind his back to grasp at the doorknob to the foyer. "I'm not going to die, not really in the strictest sense, am I?"

Hermione gulped and Ron's face grew redder, confirming he had hit the proverbial nail.

"If I stayed, I would not only be abandoning the people of Middle Earth, who I've sworn to protect as the Lone Warrior and Prince of Greenwood, but I would be resigning myself to a fate of watching those I love grow old and die around me.

"I'm not human anymore, Hermione. I can't live like that," he confessed. "Don't you understand what you're asking of me?"

Hermione stood stock still, her bottom lip trembling as she gazed at him with uncomprehending eyes. She seemed adamant not to open her mouth, whether that was to keep herself from crying or because she was too angry to speak, Harry wasn't sure. Still, he could see the tears continuing to fall down her cheeks, following small, barely-there, creases in her face that hadn't been there ten years ago.

Harry knew he was being harsh, but he also knew it was necessary. Unlike him, Ron and Hermione didn't have 30-some years to acclimate to the idea of Middle Earth becoming his home, accepting Legolas as his companion and mate, and resigning himself to the fact that he had chosen to go somewhere his friends could never follow.

Knowing they should leave before anything more was said; Harry turned the knob in his hand and opened the door. Turning his face away, he ushered Legolas out onto the quiet street of suburban London.

The beautiful, warm sunshine of that morning had given way to a light drizzle, quickly dampening their clothes as they walked away from the small flat.

A bird was marrying a fox, or so the saying went for sun showers in Greenwood, but Harry felt it more befitting to believe that it was really tears being shed at a proverbial parting.

And he would challenge anyone who dare told him otherwise.