Harry Potter: The Bard of Hogwarts

The border between Rohan and Gondor.

On the towering western spurs of the White Mountains.

The last of Gondor's seven beacon towers—Halifirien—was ablaze.

...

"Clang, clang, clang..."

Edoras, the capital of Rohan.

In the council hall at the highest point, the assembly bell rang. Théoden, dressed in full armor, had been waiting in the hall for some time.

"Since they have lit the beacon of aid, I will honor the ancient alliance and lead five thousand Rohirrim to Gondor's aid."

Once everyone had gathered in the council hall, Théoden unhesitatingly announced his decision.

"Éomer will be my second-in-command and accompany me. Should I fall in battle, he will assume command of the cavalry."

Théoden looked around. All of Rohan's leaders were present, and his gaze slowly passed over these familiar faces until finally...

"Théodred, you will lead one thousand men to defend Edoras against any counterattacks from the Dunlendings to the west. This is the order of the King of Rohan!"

Unlike the original story, which was filled with despair and endless hatred towards the dark forces, Théoden now needed a reasonable justification to leave behind enough strength to sustain Rohan.

...

Rohan's call to aid Gondor spread quickly.

Loyal Rohirrim silently packed their bags once again, bidding final farewells to their families.

At the gates of Edoras, a wide table, over three meters long, stood.

On the table lay an array of refined weapons and armor: sharp spears, barrels of arrows, interlocking chainmail, convenient round shields, and lightweight helmets.

Ino stood beside the table, flanked by countless Rohirrim bidding farewell to their loved ones. They had come to see their family and friends off.

This was a tradition of Rohan, the final farewell before a campaign.

As the first soldier passed the gate, he took up the fine equipment at Ino's gesture. Those behind him followed suit, each choosing weapons and armor that suited them.

A magical scene played out once more, much like the distribution of grain six months earlier.

Before the eyes of all the Rohirrim, the long table seemed to hold an inexhaustible supply of weapons and armor, no matter how many reached out to take them.

...

On the plains of Rohan.

Five thousand well-equipped cavalry rode swiftly. Though their numbers were not great, the ground shook, giving the sense of a thundering herd.

This was no exaggeration.

To rush to Gondor's aid, Théoden had chosen a strategy of one rider, two horses. They planned to ride hard southward, resting briefly at the Mering Stream before making a final push to Minas Tirith.

In the sky, Ino rode a flying broom.

Unlike the Battle of Helm's Deep, this time he intended to take greater risks, though still within reason.

Bilbo's story was a simple adventure with little attention from others. Frodo's tale, however, ran along two intertwined lines: his journey to Mount Doom to destroy the One Ring was crucial.

Everyone understood this, which is why, after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, the remnants of humanity gathered once more to march on Mordor, hoping to distract Sauron.

Aragorn wasn't foolish; he knew it was a likely suicide mission but still marched on resolutely.

In plain terms, it was to divert Sauron's attention.

This was also why Ino was willing to take significant risks. Under the grand design, humanity was destined to rise.

Unlike the constrained Maiar, his identity as a human wizard gave him the greatest freedom.

...

Two days and nights of relentless riding.

By evening, five thousand Rohirrim finally reached the southern end of the White Mountains—the Mering Stream.

After scouts confirmed the area was safe, Théoden ordered the camp to rest.

As a borderland, it would take only half a day's ride to reach Minas Tirith from the Mering Stream.

In the sky, Ino slowly descended on his broom.

He did not seek out Théoden, nor did he intend to find Aragorn. He simply sat alone on a rock.

As the dusk settled, the encampment of over five thousand men and their horses created a chaotic, noisy scene.

But for many of the Rohirrim, tomorrow's battle would be their last.

...

Sitting on the rock, Ino opened his suitcase and took out his long-forgotten Scottish bagpipes.

In the magical world, they had been his first instrument.

Memories of the past were vivid: the scene of buying the bagpipes, the gold coin gifted by old John, the deceptive exchange with the goblins at Gringotts, the astonishment of the stationery shop owner as he mixed ink...

At dusk, Ino played the bagpipes again, without using magic or letting them play automatically.

Sitting quietly on the rock, the sorrowful, melodious sound of the bagpipes slowly filled the air.

The music drifted far on the breeze.

Suddenly, the camp grew much quieter, even the restless horses ceased their pawing.

Listening to the tune, many seemed to see a different scene: rolling hills, distinctive kilts, tiny but resilient thistles... and Scots lying in pools of blood.

The mournful melody contained a sense of grandeur, a human longing for freedom, an epic composed of blood and tears.

When the song ended.

"Does it have a name?"

Théoden had approached unnoticed, accompanied by Éomer, Aragorn, and the elven prince Legolas.

"Braveheart!" Ino slowly put down the bagpipes.

Looking around the Mering Stream camp, he began to understand the story of Middle-earth, even feeling a subtle comprehension...

As time passed, as generations of humans in Middle-earth aged, only the stories of heroes were sung and their legendary deeds immortalized.

"Every man dies! But not every man truly lives!"

...

Under the night sky.

Unlike the restlessness of dusk, the Rohan camp now seemed particularly calm.

Ino understood this change but didn't know the cause.

Perhaps the knights of Rohan had regained their courage and faith. However, he doubted that a single tune could bring about such a large-scale change.

In this tranquil atmosphere, Ino suddenly felt a surge of joy from Fide.

Turning abruptly, he looked southward to the White Mountains.

"The cursed wraiths of the Ered Nimrais..."

He thought of the ghostly army that had briefly appeared in the story, only to vanish again.

As the original inhabitants of the mountains and distant relatives of the Dunlendings, these Edain had suffered greatly under the dark forces.

Until the year 1700 of the Second Age, when Sauron was driven back to Mordor by the combined forces of the Elves and the Númenóreans, these natives had lived under the shadow of darkness.

At the end of the Second Age, with the establishment of Gondor, these Edain swore on the Black Stone to Isildur that they would be loyal to Gondor.

As the original story goes, the Edain broke their oath, refusing the summons, prompting Isildur to curse them at the Black Stone:

"You shall be the last king... This war shall be long, and before it ends, you will be summoned again."

Frankly, this was a secret hidden for three thousand years. Perhaps this was also part of Théoden's reason for answering the call to aid Gondor.

Though Gondor currently had no king, the beacon of Amon Dîn had been lit.

Facing this ancient and legitimate call for aid, Théoden dared not gamble, nor could he afford to.