Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Tom Bombadil

'Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo! …'

Tom paused near the hills, cocking his head curiously. The faint voice grew steadily stronger, richer, like winter earth warming under a newborn spring - as though the owner rallied courage with each word.

Why, that was Frodo! Had his little friends fallen foul of the Barrow-downs despite Tom's warning?

He shook his head in fond exasperation, blue feather waggling. Such a-ones for courting catastrophe! Lucky for them old Tom was nearby!

With a song on his lips he sped quickly uphill, banishing darkness and fear with his reply -

'Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow …'

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Author's Note: Lyrics taken from The Lord of The Rings: The Fellowship of The Ring, Book 1, Chapter 8: Fog on the Barrow-downs.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Barliman Butterbur

Black Riders in Bree trying to murder his guests! Curtains flapping, bolsters ruined - ponies missing from stables! Southerners complaining while hobbits and Rangers rush off into danger …

At least Barliman found Mr Underhill another pony, such as it was.

There were some right queer goings on of late, and no mistake – most of which had left him very much out of pocket!

Yet it all might have been avoided if only he'd sent that letter.

“I ought to turn my own ale sour,” sighed Barliman, regretting the misfortunes he had caused his guests. “At least I'd save Gandalf some trouble!”

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Author's Note: You're probably wondering why – of all the great and grand allies I could have chosen – did I choose to include Barliman. Simple: he is an ordinary (though admittedly scatter-brained) person doing his own small bit to help the war effort, and thus deserves to be lauded for it.

Kara's Aunty ;)

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Elrond/Glorfindel

“How fares he?”

Glorfindel's hushed query pulled Elrond from his contemplation of Frodo, who was resting peacefully after the ordeal of having the Morgul shard removed from his shoulder.

“Sauron has gained neither Ring nor hobbit-wraith this day,” he replied softly,”though Frodo shall bear the scar of his torment for the remainder of his life. Yet it may have been worse for us all, were it not for your swift intercession.”

“Say rather 'were it not for Asfaloth's swiftness of foot',” said Glorfindel, chuckling. He quickly sobered as his eyes found Frodo. ”And for your steady hand.”

Elrond smiled.

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Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: grey-company.org

Galadriel/Celeborn

Galadriel boarded the Swan-ship with Celeborn's assistance.

“It is done,” she said. “The Anduin now bears the hope of us all. I pray it bears them to victory!”

“I would not grieve if it swallowed the honey-tongued dwarf.”

Astonishment stilled the lady.

“Three hairs, melamin?” Celeborn shook his silver head in mild (but definite) irritation. “I can scarce believe he asked for a single strand - yet to reward him with three!”

“You cannot possibly be jealous,” declared Galadriel disbelievingly.

Celeborn sniffed. “He carries mere locks; I bear your heart.”

She smiled affectionately, until -

“But three, melamin! Must you encourage him!”

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Author's Note: Melamin - My love.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever for doing so.

Credit: Tuckborough.net, wikipedia.org

Treebeard

“Hroom, such a hasty folk, these Hobbits,” murmured Treebeard, standing motionless under the archway while his guests slept. Silver rain drip-dripped on his head.

“Small, quick and merry, like springs feeding the Entwash, hmm. So too their tales unfold, tumbling here and there until they meet and flow like river through forest.”

And what a tale they had told, though it merely confirmed suspicions long ago rooted in Treebeard's mind, growing and gnawing like canker.

“Saruman's treachery spreads like a weed, aye!” he rumbled angrily.

Luckily, Treebeard knew just how to deal with weeds …

It was time to be hasty!

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Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters and world for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit from them whatsoever.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Théoden

The swell of sound from the horns of Rohan carried Théoden toward the City, as eager to deliver their king into battle as he was to participate in it.

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor! they chanted, and the call was like fire in his blood as Snowmane's hooves pounded across the Pelennor.

Today would decide his fate, this he knew – but whether he lived or fell, Théoden was ready to embrace it. For life would mean the enemy was broken, and death would deliver him honourably to the halls of his fathers.

And reunite him with his son.

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Author's Note: Some text from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Book 5, Chapter 5: The Ride of the Rohirrim.

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters and world for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit from them whatsoever.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Éowyn/Éomer

“Why, sister?

Grey eyes met grey and Éowyn knew pity for the anguish there. Yet her reply was tempered with steel.

“Why not? Why must I – who can fight as well as any man – be condemned to await death in Dunharrow when others might ride to meet it with honour in battle?”

Éomer, seated by her sickbed, flinched. “The charge of Dunharrow was no less honourable -”

“Indeed?” she interjected dully. “Strange, then, that the duty did not fall to you, or to Dúnhere. I am weary, brother.”

Éomer fell thereafter into silent contemplation.

Éowyn fell into dark and bitter dreams …

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Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Credit: Tuckborough.net

Imrahil

“Take heart,” said Imrahil to Pippin, whose horror-stricken eyes were fixed on Sauron's Messenger. “I do not believe Frodo is the Dark Lord's prisoner.”

“But his shirt -” began Pippin.

“If he truly held Frodo, Sauron would have gained more than mere dwarf-mail, and our army would have fallen ere it reached the Morannon -”

A blinding flash of light interrupted him and they saw Gandalf seize the tokens from the Mouth of Sauron, who fled in terror shortly thereafter.

“Victors do not flee,” said Imrahil pointedly, gesturing at the retreating Messenger. “We stand. We fight.”

“We win,” finished Pippin.

Imrahil nodded.

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Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, etc. I am only borrowing his characters for this fanfiction and am making absolutely no profit whatsoever from them.

Faramir

Darkness rose in the eastern sky and the City trembled beneath them as Faramir kissed Éowyn's brow and gathered her close. The war was nearing its conclusion; a war which had robbed him of one who loved him most - and one who loved him least.

Yet it had also delivered the unexpected - love for the woman he now held clasped to his heart. Alas for him that she favoured another, or thought she did. Would fate grant him the chance to prove to her his quality?

The wind rose suddenly, and the Sun revealed itself again.

Faramir had his answer.

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Author's note: Textual inspiration (if not the text itself) derived from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, Book 6, Chapter 5: The Steward and the King