Third P POV
Legolas and Harry burst into the room that the fellowship had been given for the night. Aragorn was hot on their trail, whom they passed by on the way. He didn't waste a single second when he saw Harry and Legolas, assuming correctly that something had gone horribly wrong.
What they found was somewhat chaotic. Gandalf was not too far from a bowed over Pippin, whose eyes are squashed so tightly shut it looks painful. The others were in a panic, unsure what to do, eyes wide in shock. Gandalf is attempting to retrieve the Palantir from the hobbit, but unable to get a grip on the flaming orb with Pippin's aggressive twitching movements. The bedsheets have been hastily moved around in a panic, and it's a surprise no one has tripped over anything. Harry and Legolas are watching from the doorway, shocked when Aragorn slips past them into the room. Aragorn quickly snags the now glowing sphere from Pippins unusually strong grip, tossing it carelessly to the side in his haste to be rid of the evil artefact.
Pippin collapses as soon as the sphere left his hands. Everyone focuses, watching in stunned silence as the Palantir continued to cause havoc. Gandalf was alert and his face furious, Aragorn was shocked and just as frightened as Legolas and Harry. Many things happened within several more seconds, and seemingly all at once. Merry was already rushing to Pippin, panicked, and Gandalf thrust the poor hobbit off to the side as he desperately rushed to reach Pippin. The hobbit looked so small and frail where he had collapsed, and was still in a sort of dull shock, his eyes glazed over.
"What did you see?" Gandalf asks harshly, but that was a contradiction to the way he treated the poor hobbit; his hand cradled his face, and his expression was caring and soothing.
Pippin blinks to focus on the Gandalf, a figure so much larger and had so often been quick to anger. Still, now the Istari in front of him had soft eyes and concern for the foolish Took. Gandalf repeats the question and musters up the courage to finally Pippin answer.
"I— there was a tree," Pippin stuttered, "in a courtyard of stone! A–and it was dead! I think i– i– it was white... and th— there was fire all ev– everywhere."
"Minas Tirith..." Gandalf murmured almost as though a harsh curse. "Did you tell him anything? Did you?" Gandalf spoke a little more harshly now, eager and urgent to find the truth. The room was still tense, and everyone was frantic with worry and many questions.
"No, nothing!" Pippin finally spoke.
Only then did Gandalf's shoulders finally relaxed, he stood back up and lay a comforting hand on Pippin's shoulder, helping him up. He looked carefully into the hobbit's mind, as though trying to see something more than what he was saying.
"There is no lie in Pippin's eye, in fact, we have had a strange stroke of luck in seeing Sauron's plans. He must ride to Minas Tirith, and he will not be going alone! The rest of you will remain here until I give the signal. If the Beacon Amon Dîn is lit, Rohan must answer."
There's a series of rumbling accents from the room accompanied with disjointed nods. Harry nearly offers to go with them but realizes that he would only slow them down. There was also, in the back of his mind, the knowledge that he would have to leave Legolas. It was a thought that he didn't like. Harry knew from his experiences lately that he would rather avoid being separated from Legolas for any amount of time. The distance they had experienced had been more than enough, and they both feared to lose the other.
At dawn, Gandalf takes Pippin, and they rode out immediately. The horse, Shadowfax, burst forth at top speed in their haste. The rest of the fellowship were to remain behind. Harry was feeling once again that the fellowship had failed, split and broken apart. Harry, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn and Merry knew what their task was, to ensure that Theoden had support in answering the call to war, even if none of them like the prospect.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadow shall spring.
Renewed shall be the blade that was broken,
The crownless shall again be King.
Unknown to the Fellowship, not too far away, Arwen had successfully gotten her father to reforge the sword of Elendil for Aragorn. She had made her way to the harbours, but as her visions forewarned of her loves coming need, she abandoned the safe haven. At the same time, Aragorn speaks with Theoden, making plans for the defence of Minas Tirith. They know than an army will be needed, though what men they currently have will not be enough, and Theoden didn't know how many would answer the Kings call.
Occasionally, Aragorn would check in on other members of the fellowship, making sure they were all doing fine but not getting too comfortable. His main focus was ensuring that they were ready for battle at a moments notice. Once he even caught Legolas with Harry, a bow in his hand and a target a few feet away. Legolas stood behind, arms around Harry guiding his hand. Aragorn hid his smile as he stood watching them together, before walking away rather than interrupting.
Harry had reminded Legolas about the agreement to teach him how to use the bow and arrow, and Legolas was more than happy to comply. It was a slice of alone time, and something that he treasured; being close to Harry.
"You want to keep your stance steady, and breath in as you pull the string back breathing out as you release the arrow," Legolas said softly.
He then pushes his foot between Harry's to alter his stance, and his hands are laid gently on Harry's to fix his hold on the bow. "You want to have your non-dominant hand to hold the bow and your dominant hand to pull the arrow back with the string." Legolas' chest bumped faintly against Harry's back, both of them reddening from the warmth of their bodies pressed together.
"Like this?" Harry asks, his voice barely above a whisper. It's almost as though he is afraid to ruin the moment between them.
"Here," Legolas continued, "raise your hand a little farther up on the bow. That's better." Legolas' breath tingled against Harry's neck, causing a shiver to run up the wizard's spine. "Now, pull the arrow back, slowly. Keep it close to your chin."
Harry breathed in as Legolas' hand guided him as he pulled the string taut.
"Aim for the center of the target, but don't be in a rush to release the arrow," the elf whispered. "Remember to breathe out as you release it. Go ahead, once you believe that you are ready."
Legolas let go and stepped away from Harry, who frowned at the sudden loss of Legolas' body heat and the scent that clung to him; it was like a fresh green wood and a summer breeze. Refocusing on the task at hand, Harry aimed the arrow as instructed, and released it as he let out the long-held breath. It soared too high above the chosen target, missing it completely. Harry spun around at the sudden sound of a barely held back snort of amusement. Raising an eyebrow at the elf, another huff of laughter escapes between clasped fingers.
"Sorry, I don't mean to laugh," Legolas said in defence, though he is still grinning.
Harry responds with a sigh, though there's a small smile twitching at the corner of his lips. "Let's try again," he says determinedly. "I want to at least be able to hit the target." Harry then pulled his wand out, and with a sharp flick, the arrow soared back over to them and notched itself back into the bow.
The next day, Gimli couldn't help but watch them as they were sparing. Harry had his sword, and Legolas used his long white knives. It was fascinating to watch, as though they were dancing around each other. Gimli had been impressed with the east that Harry had learnt these new skills, and in battle, he incorporated it seamlessly with magic. Legolas would occasionally pause, giving Harry some suggestions on how to perfect elements, such as his footing and handwork. Always he focused on getting Harry to better to avoid leaving himself open for an attack or potentially tripping up. Harry did not use magic when they spared, though occasionally Legolas was stung by some unseen force, this brought a smile to Gimli's face too.
On the third night, they see the light of the beacon of Amon Din. Immediately they know that it is a sign from Gandalf that Gondor needs their aid. They gather together to prepare to head out for Minas Tirith. Legolas and Harry don't immediately notice, being in the middle of yet another spar. Aragorn was rushing toward them, and nearly out of breath as he shouted, "The beacons are lit! The Beacon of Amon Din is lit! Gandalf calls for aid."
It was a unanimous decision to leave Edoras at first light. After the confirmation from King Theoden that they will rally an army and head out on the long journey to Gondor, the Fellowship begin their own preparations.
Edoras manages to summon a vast army of their able-bodied men, eight thousand spears to break the lines of Mordor. They had wanted more, they needed more men.
Harry gathers any provisions the Fellowship may need during their long trek across middle earth, they leave. King Theoden, Lord Eomer and the Fellowship take the lead of the army, heading towards Gondor.
They do not have to travel long before they arrived at Dunharrow. They had planned to raise more men here before continuing their journey. In a matter of hours, there is a vast army camp already set up. It seems to be on the border of a range of dark and foreboding mountains. Before Harry, Legolas and Gimli can turn in for the night and rest, they spot Aragorn leaving a large tent and heading towards a lone horse. He begins fitting it with a saddle and packing provisions. Immediately they are suspicious; they walk up to him before Aragorn gets the chance to potentially leave them all behind.
"Where are you going?" Harry asks, his gaze landing on the strange sword that Aragorn did not possess before.
"Did you think you could leave without us? We shall be joining you," Gimli says, leaving no room for argument, his axe already raised.
Legolas, however, was more focused on the sword. "is that -?"
Aragorn gives a sharp nod. "This is Anduril; The Flame of the West. I have been advised by Lord Elrond to take the sword and head up Dimholt Road towards the undead army."
"That army answers to no one," Legolas cries. "Aragorn, they will kill you."
"There is one that they will answer. They swore an oath to Isildur, and I am Isildur's heir. I do not recommend anyone else coming."
Gimli makes to prepare to mount another horse.
"Have you heard nothing of the stubbornness of Dwarves?" Legolas replies with a cocked brow.
"Come if you must, but friends, this is a dangerous journey." He gets on the horse, his three companions quickly joining him.
"An undead army?" Harry whispers, the very concept sending cold shivers through his body as he feels Death twitch at the words, like a flash of a headache - there at the back of your head one second, gone the next.
"Yes, an army was cursed by Isildur, the King of Gondor. They swore an oath to fight for the king, and when Gondor's need was dire, the army refused to show. They were cursed to remain as spirits until their purpose has been fulfilled. They can only be released from their living hell by the King of Gondor," Legolas replies, glancing warily at the mountain ahead of us, the entrance growing nearer. "No one that has approached the army has survived to tell the tale."
They are soon mounted and leaving for the Dimholt Road, and the trip is silent. When they finally reach the entrance, the horses become more and more distressed, forcing them to dismount. The horses - who are overcome with fear - bolt. Harry can't stop wondering how souls can be kept from Death as these ones have been, as his mind plays with the idea he quickly decides he probably doesn't want to know.
The journey through the mountain is a struggle. There is the half-seen ghosts haunting them; there, but not there, at the same time. The mountain is different from Moria, which Harry had experienced before; full of fear and death. The moment they enter the dark throne room, the spirits become obviously visible and surround them. Ghostly weapons are trained on all four of them from every direction, and they are forced into a close circle. One man comes forward, he is grander than the rest, and it is clear that he is their leader, he is frowning. He is the King of the undead.
Feeling threatened, Legolas immediately releases an arrow towards the King, only for it to sail right through his scared decomposing face. He is about to release another, but Harry stops him as Aragorn begins to speak.
"I summon you to fulfill your oath to Gondor." These words only seem to incite the ghosts' fury, though.
"I suffer no man," the King responds as he rushes at Aragorn with his sword raised.
"You will suffer me!" Aragorn shouts as he stops the ghostly blade with the Anduril.
"Those who pass through these walls may not leave alive. You have no right to come in here and try to order me, for you are no King of Gondor." The King states, pushing Aragorn back slightly and we move away from the battle, eyes cautiously on those around us in case one attacks. "That line was broken!" The kings fear and fury is evident, as he feels for the first time resistance by the living
"It has been remade!" Aragorn challenges. "Fight for us, and regain your honor, and I will hold your oaths fulfilled! What say you?" Aragorn growls.
The ghost King stops attacking, but a high cackling laugh surrounds them. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the true King of Gondor and Heir to the throne. Help us, and I shall release you of your curse."
Soon the chamber is empty, and it seems that the King of Gonder bought them safe passage, but nothing more. Dejected and worn out, they say nothing to Aragorn who seems to feel his failure heavily. It is when they are on the other side of the mountain that they see another force on the river bound for Gondor. Hopelessness overcomes the would-be King, and he collapses to his knees.
In an unexpected twist, a green mist surrounds them, and soon the ghostly King stands before Aragorn once more.
"We fight!" he says with a cruel gleam in his eye.
Aragorn bows his head a fraction of an inch in thanks. The extra force will easily be wiped out before it even arrives in Gondor. Soon the idea of breaking the lines of Mordor seems so easy. The ghosts backing away and fading into the rock but it is unlikely they are truly gone. The rest of the time there is spent planning an attack against Saruman's forces from where they least expect it - the black ships.