Fic: Happiness is a Broken Wand [Part 21]
Title: Happiness is a Broken Wand
Chapter: 21/?
Author: Embracing Madness
Summary: Severus Snape just wants a new, peaceful life in Middle Earth, but with a vicious war arising and a new Dark Lord gunning for him, he'll have to fight to get that wish. Magic and battles, familiars and friends. Slytherinesque cunning shall always prevail.
Word Count: 2257 for this part [total so far: 41, 415]
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings belong to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien, all the copyrights associated with HP and LOTR belongs to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.
Silence spread throughout the throne room long after Eorel had ceased to speak. From his vantage point kneeling in front of the throne, Rercyn chanced a tentative glance around. What he saw did not reassure him in the least. Raza knelt beside him, face blank and back hunched; after the initial surprise he'd shown upon being confronted by the wizard, he'd sunk back into a maddeningly unhelpful apathy. The Crebain had been barred from entering the castle; if he angled his head just right, he could see their fluttering silhouettes outside the throne room's high windows, casting ominous shadows onto the people below. The wizard, while quiet, was staring at Raza with an expression which made Rercyn exceedingly uneasy; his face had run through a gauntlet of emotions, all of them complex and none of them good, upon the revelation of Raza's possible identity as the king of Gondor. And as for the Steward...Rercyn took a quick look upwards, winced and focused his attention intently upon the grey flagstones beneath his knees. The hopeful gleam which had appeared in his eyes upon Eorel's dramatic announcement outside the city gates had all but faded into steely anger at the end of the Rangers' strange, fantastical and frankly unbelievable tale.
The small hope Rercyn had nursed, for all this to be resolved quickly and neatly and happily, died a guttering death. The silence lengthened, as thin and brittle as winter's black ice stretching from the shores of Nindalf. He was both painfully grateful and terrified out of his wits when the Steward finally broke the unbearable silence with a rasping growl.
"Ranger Eorel. And Ranger Rercyn." Dimly, Rercyn wondered how the Steward could make saying their names sound as if he was spitting out the darkest filth. "You. You disgust me."
Rercyn's throat clenched up. "We had to!" he wanted to cry out. "It was the right thing to do!" The words fluttered upon his frozen tongue, as delicate as butterfly wings, and just as useless. He did not dare look up; he did not want to see how well the expression on the Steward's face could possibly match the venom in his voice.
"Begging your pardon, milord," and good Eorel, brave Eorel spoke up in a clear voice, with only the smallest tremble in it to show his fear, "All we have spoken of has been the truth, and nothing but the truth, and everything we did was in good faith, with the purest intentions. This I swear upon my honor, milord."
"Good faith," the Steward repeated. "Good faith. You bring to me this travesty of a tale, claiming to me that you have found the heir to Gondor." He laughed mirthlessly. "Tell me, Rangers. What do you know of Halen?"
"...Councilor Halen, milord? We..." Eorel paused to swallow. "Only that there was an attempted coup, a few months ago. And Councilor...I mean, not Councilor, just...Halen had been the leader. But..."
"Indeed. He came to me with the same claim that you Rangers have. He showed to me, much as you two did, an heir to Gondor. But there, the similarities end." The Steward leaned forward in his throne. His eyes seemed to burn into Rercyn's head. "He showed to me a man in his prime, strong, powerful, charismatic. He showed to me a man who seemed a great warrior, a wise discourser, a principled leader. He challenged my rule with the existence of this man, this prophesied king, and swayed nearly half my court over to his views. Indeed, for a time, he even made me doubt myself, when he exhibited the man's magical skills, supposedly a legacy of the royal blood which flowed through his veins. And yet," he laughed again, the sound chilling and angry, "And yet, in the end, I did not accept that man as king, for we found him to be nothing more than an imposter of the worst kind. So tell me now, Ranger Eorel, Ranger Rercyn. Halen brought me a man who seemed like a king, and you, you bring me this." His widely sweeping arm gesture seemed to encompass everything that Raza lacked. "What makes your mockery of a claim any less false than his?"
Rercyn closed his eyes, and tried to stop his tremble. Say something! He tried to urge Eorel. But Eorel remained silent and still. He had never believed that Raza was the king, after all.
It was on Rercyn's head to defend the claim. It was his responsibility. He breathed in sharply, shallowly, and looked up to meet the Steward's eyes.
"Begging your pardon, milord, but Eorel does not believe it either." Let at least one of us be absolved. "It was my faith, and my decisions which led to our bringing Raza to Minas Tirith. I believe that Raza is our king, for I was privileged to witness him unleashing the full power of kingsfoil. Eorel had been dying; an Orc sword had pierced clean through his chest, and blood had been bubbling through his lips. Raza brought him back, even as his breath was fading from the world. It was Raza's hands, and Raza's power, and Raza's use of kingsfoil alone that closed up the wound and healed Eorel to the point that you see now, healthy and hale and alive. I know of no man who could have healed a chest wound of that caliber; I know of no man who could have used kingsfoil in that manner. This I swear upon my honor, milord." He stared intently at the Steward, willing for him to believe the truth of his words; the Steward stared back, unimpressed. He did not look like he'd been convinced at all; with a sinking heart, Rercyn watched helplessly as his mouth opened, as he began to speak...
"Impossible." The wizard broke in. Rercyn jerked in surprise; his focus had narrowed down to the Steward alone, and he'd completely forgotten about the others in the room. The Steward's face showed keen annoyance at the interruption, but before he could take control of the conversation again, the wizard ploughed on. "It is ridiculous to think that his healing of the Ranger can be anything more than a ploy to enter Gondor. That man is no king."
"And how would you know?" snapped the Steward instinctively, immediately grimacing at his own outburst. Rercyn couldn't help noting, however, that he seemed rather more chagrined at his own loss of self-control than apologetic for his hostility towards the wizard. Smoothing out his expression into a semblance of calm, he said more quietly, though no less commandingly, "In fact, none of this concerns you, Mithrandir. Leave; we do not need your services any longer, now that we know what we are dealing with."
"I cannot comply, Denethor," the wizard said, bristling like a cat. "I had been tasked with finding him, and so it is my responsibility to bring him before the White Council."
"It was my Rangers who found him, and my city which he attempted to take," said the Steward, biting off each word.
"You had never agreed to aid me in looking for the man. The only reason your Rangers found and took charge of him was through sheer coincidence, and later they did it as blatant disobedience against your orders. Would you take back your assertion that this man has nothing to do with Gondor now?"
"The disobedience of the Rangers is a matter subject to my discretion, as is the presence of this imposter. Your opinions hold no weight whatsoever in either issue!"
They stared at each other, cold and angry and terrible in their hostility. For a moment, Rercyn had the oddest impression that this was not about Raza; it was a feud between strong men, a clash between powerful leaders; one the Lord of the greatest city of Man, proud and secure within his own territory; another the Istari of tremendous power, determined and backed by the strength of the Valar. The tension rose, keen as a knife scraping across Rercyn's nerves; involuntarily, he let out a whimper of fear.
The moment broke at his whimper, soundlessly and swiftly with nothing to mark its passing. Looking away from the Steward to study Raza, the wizard said firmly, "I would never presume to interfere in normal matters under your jurisdiction, Denethor. However, this man is far from normal. That he walked away from Mordor unscathed shows that the prisons of men would be wholly insufficient to keep him subdued."
"We know not what happened in between his capture and his rescue," said the Steward, no less firmly. "Men can be as resourceful and as gifted as any other being in Middle-Earth, and I feel confident that, given my own resources and gift of Sight, my abilities in containing him are as effective..." His clear voice continued to ring out through the throne room, but Rercyn had stopped listening, temporarily stunned by receiving unwitting confirmation from the Steward himself regarding certain speculations which had held the Rangers' attention through many a cold, boring night. The people of Gondor had long wondered at instances in which the Steward had made inexplicable decisions which turned out miraculously well; rumors abound had ranged from his receiving enlightenment from the Valar themselves to his being a cunning sorcerer of evil - the latter theory obviously a spawn of his dissidents. The Steward himself had never bothered to explain; while he had not hidden his abilities, neither had he offered any detail about them. To hear him speak of it, even if only in passing, felt strangely humbling.
"Do not let pride guide your decisions, Denethor," said the wizard, snapping Rercyn back to his surroundings. Looking up, he watched warily as the wizard took a threatening step forward. "This is far more important than a threat to your rule. Indeed, he could be a threat to the land and to the kingship itself!"
"All of which are problems which I deal with more than you have, and so know more of than you do," said the Steward, with eyes as cold as chips of flinty ice.
"Can you not see reason?" said the wizard, his voice rising into a shout. "I know more about the heir to Gondor than you would..." he cut himself off abruptly, and passed a quick hand over his eyes. Not quick enough, however, for Rercyn to not see the exhaustion which had appeared for a brief moment upon his features. Wizards get tired too? Rercyn felt faintly astonished at this revelation; he'd not thought that wizards were vulnerable to the common weaknesses which plagued normal men. Before he could explore this thought, however, the wizard resumed speaking more calmly.
"This is a man who has bound to himself the most hated spies of the Dark, walked into the valleys of Mordor and out again, and caught the attention of the Valar themselves. His goal to secure the kingship of Gondor may be a matter of your concern, but his methods of attaining his goal are a problem requiring my attention. Yours is a great gift of Sight, Denethor, but your men lack that gift, and an ally to Sauron such as he is powerful, far too powerful for them to handle. I cannot, in good conscience, leave him here unattended."
The Steward's lips pressed together tightly; he looked as if he was tasting something bitter upon hearing the wizard's words. Looking down upon Raza's bent form, his face grew grimmer at the dark man's unresponsiveness. Do something to prove your innocence! Rercyn wanted to urge Raza, feeling a sudden surge of helplessness. We cannot protect you like this! But no. His inability or unwillingness to speak or even move only served to underscore his mystery. Rercyn wanted to weep in despair; he opened his mouth, wanting to repeat his convictions of Raza's goodness.
"Begging your pardon, lord wizard, but that can't be true," Eorel's voice suddenly piped up. Jerking in surprise, Rercyn looked over to see a curious expression on his partner's face. "If he was as powerful as you make him out to be, he would hardly have let himself look like such a suspicious character." There was a skeptical pause. "I mean, it seems a bit silly, for him to go through the whole rigmarole of getting caught by the Enemy and all, since that hasn't done him any good?"
The wizard eyed him dubiously. "Your partner says that you don't believe in his claims. Have you changed your mind?"
Eorel dropped his eyes to the ground. Without looking at anyone, he said slowly, "Rercyn thinks that he is the heir to Gondor. The Steward thinks that he is an imposter to the crown. You think that he is a servant of the Enemy. I think...that he's just a powerful healer who's managed to get on everyone's bad side."
There was another pause.
"Also, I really do think that he stands a chance of healing Lady Finduilas."
The wizard's lip curled. He said coolly, "Unnecessary. Now that we have found the crow-traveler, I would be more than happy to aid the Lady's return to health." There was a leading pause. "And after that, bring the crow-traveler before the White Council for judgment."
Ohhh. With a nervous thrill, Rercyn watched as the Steward's eyes narrowed at the blatant bribe-cum-blackmail. Bad move, lord wizard. Bad move.
A few more rounds of shouting matches later, Raza was installed under heavy guard in one of the biggest hospitals in Minas Tirith.