A/N Thank you legionnaire24601, for the help. :)

The Watchtower of Amon Sûl

The woods in the valley were still leafy and full of colour, and the sun was shining clear but not too hot. Strider led Severus, the four Hobbits and Bill the pony – as Samwise had named him – over many crossing paths, as though he had walked them many times before.

Their first night they spend off the road behind a large maple tree, whose leaves had turned to beautiful shades of red and gold. Its winged seeds were spiralling down in the gentle breeze, covering the ground in a brownish hue. The Hobbits went off in search of firewood as Severus and Strider went to work setting up camp.

'I see you've done this before,' Strider remarked as Severus stamped the final canvas pin into the ground.

'Many times,' Severus answered. The canvas, which he had set up in a matter of minutes, was held up by a branch of the tree, creating shade from the sun and shelter in case of rain.

'Who taught you how to survive in the wilds?' Strider asked matter-of-factly as he unburdened Bill from a couple of bags, and handed them over to Severus.

Severus eyed Strider with suspicion. 'Why do you want to know?'

'How can I possibly get to know a man if I do not know his history,' said Strider. 'We'll be spending quite a lot of time together,' he added, taking notice of Severus' dismissive stance. 'Perhaps even after we arrive in Rivendell. And you can start by telling me about that thing you keep strapped to your arm.'

Severus dropped the bag he was holding. 'Then perhaps you could also tell me why you keep shards of a broken sword on you,' he said. 'There must be a reason why you bother with the heavy burden of a useless object on your journey.'

'There is nothing useless about the shards of Narsil,' said Strider. He answered with a smirk, and did not seem insulted in the slightest. 'It was forged in the First Age. Made by Telchar of Nogrod from the Blue Mountains, the greatest Dwarven-smith of all time. Many Lords of Andúnië have wielded it, and passed it down for many generations. Elendil, the last Lord of Andúnië, took it with him when he fled Númenor on one of the Nine great ships that went to Middle-earth. It was with their arrival that the Realms in Exile, Gondor and Arnor, were founded.'

'And how did it ever end up in your hands?' asked Severus, curious to know more about its history.

'Elendil and Gil-Galad, the Last High King of the Ñoldor Elves, formed the Last Alliance of Elves and Men,' Strider continued to explain. 'It manifested itself into the War of the Last Alliance, which lasted twelve years, and resulted in Elendil and Gil-Galad laying down their lives at the hands of the Dark Lord Sauron during the Siege of Barad-dûr. Narsil shattered as it fell under Elendil, and its light extinguished. It was Elendil's eldest son, Isildur, that took up the shard with the hilt from his father's side, and cut the Ring of Power from Sauron's hand. Much of Sauron's power was lost that day, as he had poured so much of his being into this Ring that he lost his physical form. Isildur had taken the Ring, rather than destroy it, considering it an heirloom and a prized possession of his House.'

Severus fumbled uncomfortably with the invisible Ring around his finger. 'And what of the Ring?' he asked.

'The Ring corrupted him,' said Strider. 'The Ring answers only to one master, and all it wants is to be reunited with its maker. It was a band of Orcs that killed Isildur during the Disaster of the Gladden Fields. The Ring got lost along the riverbanks of the Anduin, and it fell into history for more than two and a half-thousand years.'

'Until now,' mumbled Severus quietly as he thought back to the conversation he had had with Frodo.

'Until now,' Strider confirmed with a nod. 'But let's not speak too much of it, for the land has eyes and the woods have ears.'

Severus nodded in understanding. 'Does having the shards of Narsil mean you are one of Isildur's heirs?' he asked.

'It does,' Strider confirmed. 'I am Isildur's heir.'

'Then what is your real name?' asked Severus.

Strider raised an eyebrow, and went to work setting up a firepit. 'It's your turn now. Tell me, what is it you keep hiding up your sleeve?'

Reluctantly, Severus pulled out his wand and held it up for Strider to see. 'It's a wand,' he explained. 'Where I am from, it is how we wield magic. I am a Wizard.'

At that, Strider started laughing. 'A Wizard,' he sputtered. 'Like Gandalf the Grey? You don't exactly strike me as a Wiseman, young master Severus. And Wizards don't carry sticks. They carry staves.'

Severus wished right about now that his wand would start working again, just to prove that being a Wizard wasn't some figment of his imagination. 'It's made of yew,' he explained. 'I got one when I was eleven, along with my friend who I have lost. She got a wand made of willow that day.'

'You seem to be quite serious about this,' said Strider, amused. 'Magic is not something that is used lightly. It can be gentle, as much as it can be destructive. If you are indeed a Wizard as you claim you are, I urge you to tread carefully. This wand – as you call it. May I see it?'

'I already figured I have to tread carefully since my conversations with Goldberry,' said Severus as he handed Strider his wand. 'It doesn't do much anymore. Not since I arrived here. I have a theory that magic works differently here than it does where I come from.'

'It's wonderfully crafted,' said Strider as he held the wand up to his face. 'Delicately balanced, and the wood is dark. What exactly does it do?'

'It's just a means of channelling magic,' Severus explained as Strider handed him his wand back, and he shoved it back into the strap under his arm. 'In the end, that is all there is to it. You said Wizards have staves here? Perhaps that is what I need instead. A staff instead of a wand.'

Strider shook his head. 'It's not the staff that grands a Wizard his power,' he said as he continued building a firepit out of rocks. 'Care to help me out building this firepit? I suspect the Hobbits will be back any moment.'

Severus picked up a few rocks that he found lying scattered around the tree. They placed them into a circle in front of the canvas, large enough for six people to sit and sleep around it. The sun was starting to set behind the hill, covering the lands in a golden light. Together they sat down, ready to eat and sleep, and leave again at the rising of the dawn. He fumbled around with the winged seeds of the maple tree that were scattered on the ground, and it brought him back to an old memory of the maple tree by Cokeworth's riverbank. Long before they had received their acceptance letters to Hogwarts, he had wanted to impress Lily with his magic. It was the only way he knew on how to convince her of her own magic – and of his desire to be her friend. He held two of the seeds in the palm of his hand, its wings spread as though it were a Golden Snitch. It had been innocent magic, then. The kind all Wizard children had before they grew older, and gradually lost along the way.

Severus could feel the gentle breeze flowing over his fingers. The tips of the winged seeds fluttered as the memory of the riverbank took shape in his mind. Like a little bird, the seeds clapped its wings and rose from the palm of his hand, and it flew against the breeze into Strider's cupped hands, where it rested until it lay unmoving. 'It's gentle magic,' said Strider, who was eying the maple seeds in his hands with admiration. 'I can hear the Hobbit's returning.'

'Would you look at this!' said Merry as he was first to materialise into view. He was carrying large bundle of sticks strapped to his back, and Pippin, Frodo and Sam swiftly followed behind him, carrying an equal amount of wood. 'We found mushrooms! And parsley. And also apple trees with loads of apples! We tried to bring as many as we could.'

'I also found onions!' Sam added. His hands were still covered in dirt as he relieved himself from the firewood on his back. 'If only we had some butter. Then we could have a feast of a meal!'

'I got some,' said Severus, remembering the bit of butter he had left that Goldberry had given him. From his bag he pulled out the butter and his tinderbox. 'I'll light the fire if you'll do me the honours of cooking tonight.'

As Severus went to work pulling jute twine into a nest in the way his father had taught him, his mind still lingered on the riverbank of Cokeworth. He already knew in his heart that his magic had not abandoned him. The laws of these lands were simply different, and it was up to him to find out how it worked, as none of them were written. Still, seeing the maple seeds fly from the palm of his hand also came with a sense of relief. His magic was still present in the tips of his fingers, and Strider had appeared unphased by his reveal of being a Wizard – although it seemed Strider didn't also quite believe it either, as though he had a different idea of what being a Wizard entailed.

The night fell as they enjoyed their dinner over a crackling fire, and there was much talk of The Shire and their way of life. Their love of food, and of all other things that grow. The Nazgûl behind them lying temporarily forgotten.

…o0o…

Neither Strider's heritage nor Severus' being a Wizard were mentioned again in the following days. Their path went steadily eastwards, and they moved out of the Chetwood by the third day. The borders of Bree-land were now far behind, and they had entered the pathless wilderness. The fog was low on the Midgewater Marshes. It was hard to keep their feet dry among the many pools that were hidden in the reeds and rushes, and the marshes honoured its name by the many midges that encircled them and stung them until their skin turned red. They slept restlessly in their damp camping-place, and were relieved to find the land before them to steadily rise again after their fifth day.

Far into the distance eastward, Severus could see a line of hills approaching. Its highest peak appeared to be a conical top, slightly flattened at the summit. 'Is that Weathertop?' he asked Strider.

'Indeed it is,' Strider answered. 'We might reach it by noon tomorrow if we go straight towards it. I suppose we had better do so.'

'What do you mean?' asked Severus. 'And what is it exactly about Weathertop that makes it so special?'

'There is a chance we might find Gandalf there,' said Strider, 'but our hope is faint. Weathertop is the name the Bree-landers have given it, but my people once named it Amon Sûl; The Hill of the Wind. The watchtower was built by the Dúnedain of Arnor under the reign of Elendil, as it stands on the crossing of the borders that once devided Arnor into three kingdoms. That of Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur. It was here that Gil-Galad and Elendil's armies met, and where the Last Alliance of Elves and Men was formed.'

'And yet it seems to be destroyed,' said Frodo, who was listening intently along with the other Hobbits. 'What horrible fate has befallen it?'

'Many territorial disputes were fought here,' said Strider, but the one that caused the tower to cave in happened when Arthedain and Cardolan were allied together against Rhudaur and Angmar, more than seventeen hundred years ago. It was the Witch-king, the leader of the Nazgûl who founded and resides in Angmar, who destroyed it.'

'And what was his reason for destroying it?' asked Merry. 'I can understand the differences between friend and foe. Allies from enemies. But why destroy that which seems so strategically placed? A powerful position when commanded?'

'It housed one of the Seven Seeing-Stones,' said Strider. 'The Palantíri, they were called. Said to have been made by the great Elven-smith Fëanor, and given to the Faithful Númenóreans who brought them to Middle-earth on Elendil's ships. King Arveleg of the Arthedain was slain in defence of it, but the Dúnedain managed to save the Palantír by bringing it to Fornost; their capital. From here on I shall speak no more of it, for many of the Palantíri have gotten lost, and are dangerous weapons in the hands of those with ill-intend.'

'You seem to hold a lot of wisdom in that mind of yours, mister Strider,' said Pippin. At that, Strider started to laugh. 'Don't mistake knowledge for wisdom, young master Pippin,' he said. 'I am simply fortunate to have travelled, to have lived, and to have learnt.'

They spent another night under some stunted alder-trees from which they saw the bleak and treeless back of the hills approaching nearby. By now, the Hobbits were getting used to rising with the sun and being quick on their feet. A habit, they admitted, they never had a need to before. It was already mid-day by the time they reached the northern slope of the hill. From here on they were out in the open, and any form concealment was no longer possible. With the pale clear light of the October sun still high above them, they rushed their way to the foot of Weathertop, and walked there until they found a sheltered hollow in its western flank.

Sam and Pippin stayed behind with Bill as Frodo, Merry, Strider, and Severus climbed their way up the hill. It was nearly a thousand feet high, and the steps were rocky and uneven. By the time they reached the top, Frodo and Merry were all out of breath. A wide ring of ancient stonework was all that was left of what was once the great Watchtower of Amon Sûl. A great overview of the lands could be seen in all four directions, but all it showed were grassy hills and some woodlands to the South. Nothing appeared to be moving.

Someone had been here before, and not too long ago. In the centre of the stone circle stood a cairn, and beside it, a fire had burnt. Severus walked his way up to it and caught the glimpse of a shimmering white stone on top of the cairn. It appeared to be the only stone untouched by the soot of the fire and was flatter than the others.

'I found something,' said Severus to the other three. Frodo, Merry and Strider hasted his way up to him. 'Something's carved into this stone, and not too long ago, judging by how clean it is. It looks like a rune of some sort.'

Strider took it from Severus's hands to take a closer look. It showed a downward stroke with two barely visible upward branches, followed by a dot and three more strokes. 'It was made in haste,' he said. 'It appears to be the G-rune, a sign left by Gandalf, though I cannot be sure. Rangers use runes, and they too come here sometimes. The three strokes may stand for October third, that is three days ago. What worries me the most is by the haste in which this was made, as though danger was at hand. If it is so – then we must be wary.'

'All this tells me that Gandalf is not here,' said Frodo, and sorrow could be heard in his voice. 'What will this mean for us?'

'That we must look after ourselves and continue our way to Rivendell, as best as we can,' answered Strider.

Merry was gazing around wearily. 'And how far is Rivendell from here?' he asked.

'It is a strange road,' answered Strider. 'I do not know if the Road has ever been measured in miles beyond this point, and I only know how long it would take me on my own feet. I suspect we have at least a fort-night's journey ahead of us.'

As Strider and the Hobbits fell into a conversation on all the things that may happen on their journey, Severus found himself staring into the East. For the first time he was catching a glimpse at the vastness of the world he had arrived in. A world where everything was different, from its people to the very laws of magic. A world where he could only hold on to hope to find Lily – and any thought of home would have to wait until he did.

Clouds were rolling in from the East and started overtaking the sun as it began to go down. Black specks were growing in the distance. Severus couldn't make out what it was, but Strider did. 'The enemy is here!' he said. Far below, Black Riders were assembling on the Road beyond the far foot of the hill. 'Lower yourself into the shadows and make your way down the hill. We must find the others.'

Swiftly the four of them made their way down the north side of the hill. Sam and Pippin had discovered quite a lot on the surrounding slopes. Clear water, recent traces of a fire – and footprints made by heavy boots. Strider confirmed they could not have been made by Rangers. 'We are out of sight for the moment,' he said, 'but I cannot think of a better place to go to before nightfall. I regret that I was too careless on the hill-top, for I was too anxious to find any sign of Gandalf.'

'But can they actually see us?' asked Merry, clearly unnerved. 'I thought they were shapeless beings. How can they know where we are?'

'They may not be able to see,' said Strider darkly, 'but their horses can. And they have spies, too. Men and other creatures that hide in the shadows, for it is shadows that cast shapes into their minds. They cannot see the world of light, but they can see things in de dark that we cannot. It is in the dark that they are to be feared the most. They have senses that extend beyond sight and smell, for we can feel their presence – it troubles our hearts and minds. And also,' he said as he turned to Frodo, and brought his voice down to a whisper, 'the Ring draws them.'

'Is there no escape then?' said Frodo, looking around wildly. 'If I move I shall be seen and hunted, and if I stay I shall draw them to me!'

Strider laid his hand on Frodo's shoulder. 'There is still hope,' he said. 'Severus, I need you to make a fire, and make haste! Fire shall serve us tonight. Sauron may put fire to evil uses, but these Riders fear those who wield it. Fire is our friend in the wilderness.'

'Also sounds like a good way of signalling "here we are",' said Severus, but went straight to work nonetheless, relying on Strider's knowledge of the Riders and his survival skills in the wilderness.

It grew cold as the evening began to fall. The Hobbits huddled around the fire with every blanket they possessed, but Strider and Severus were content with wearing a single cloak, and sat a little apart. Strider had lit his pipe and shared it with Severus, who coughed as soon as he drew in the smoke, as it wasn't anything like the cigarettes he had once secretly shared with Lily. 'Great taste,' he said, his eyes still watering. Strider chuckled. 'It's pipe-weed from the Longbottom Leaf,' he explained. 'The best in all of Eriador.' 'Hear hear!' they could hear the Hobbits say in unison behind them. 'Say Strider,' said Merry. 'Could you tell us more on Gil-Galad? I would love to know more about the great Elf-Kings of Middle-earth.'

'I could,' said Strider, who was still amused by Severus' struggle to smoke, 'but I have a better story for you in mind. It is the tale of Tinúviel, the Nightingale. The Daughter of Twilight in the Sindarin tongue. I will be brief, for the tale is long and there are few who remember it when it was told of old.' Strider was silent for some time, and then he began to chant softly, rather than tell. And the song he sang told the tale of Beren, son of Barahir, who cut a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown as a bride price for Lúthien, daughter of the Elf-king Thingol and Melian the Maia. It was a tale of love between an immortal Elf-maiden, the fairest of all back when the world was young, and a mortal man. It was her love for him that made her choose a mortal life against her father's wishes. And long ago they passed away; In a forest singing sorrowless.' Strider ended the last verse, and then told them also of Beren and Lúthien's lineage, as there were still those of whom Lúthien was their foremother, and it is said that her line shall never fail. Lord Elrond of Rivendell is of that lineage, as his father was Eärendil, who was the son of Dior, who was the son of Beren and Lúthien.

It was a lot for Severus to take in. It must have been some deep love that Lúthien held for Beren to lay down the Gift of Immortality for him, and he knew in his own heart he would have done the same for Lily. Behind the Hobbits, he saw a pale light appear over the crown of Weathertop. 'Is it the moon rising?' he asked as he pointed at the light. All six of them fixed their eyes on the moonlight on the hill, and all was quiet and still until the cold crept into their bodies and the stench of fear lingered in the air.

Black dots pierced the moonlight in the distance, so dark that they seemed like black holes in the deep shade. They came closer and closer, and terror washed over them. The Hobbits threw themselves flat on the ground, but Strider picked them back up again. 'Arm yourselves!' he commanded. Severus, too, unsheathed his blade from the hilt, and with his other hand he picked a flaming stick from the fire. He counted five Riders in total, coming in from all directions. He had not felt fear like this since the day he was introduced to a Dementor at Malfoy's Manor. Feelings of fear and loneliness had engulfed him, then. The cowering under his father's lashes. Losing Lily by the power of his own words. His magic turning inwards, unable to control himself. The feeling of losing control. Something powerful had imploded within him that day, and it festered into something heavy and painful in his chest until he could no longer contain it, and it had collapsed right out of him. The Dementor had dissolved. A thing to be weaponised, the Dark Lord had said.

Severus saw Sam in the corner of his eye stepping backwards, and Merry and Pippin, their hands shaking so violently that they nearly dropped their blades. The Nazgûl dismounted their horses. A piercing shrill, as though the voice of Death had announced its arrival, filled the night sky. He caught a glimpse of Strider leaping out of the darkness with a flaming brand of wood in either hand, running head-first to the Nazgûl, who had drawn their own long, thin blades.

Something inside of him had started imploding again. A power turning inwards as he started running after Strider. He raised his Barrow-blade high in his left and the fire high in his right, and he wielded both with a fury that caused some of the Nazgûl to cower back. It was chaos, and all he could was focus on the one that seemed to have taken an interest in him. The fire grew taller and wider under his touch, and the flames lit up the Nazgûl's cloak, setting him alight. The scream that followed had nearly made his ears bleed. The Nazgûl fled from the scene, and swiftly Severus hastened himself to the black horse that was left standing. He mounted it, and by the power of the Ring he wore he knew that the horse would not retaliate. With a firm kick against the horse's flank, he sped off towards the one that Strider was fighting. Together, they set the next on fire when suddenly a shrill cry rang out into the night. The cry had not come from a Nazgûl this time.

Frodo, who Severus had not been able to see until know, had stabbed the largest Nazgûl of the five into his foot, and in return the Nazgûl's blade had pierced him in the shoulder. Frodo had dropped his sword, and it was then that Sam, Merry and Pippin each grabbed a stick from the campfire, and ran up to the Nazgûl in a blaze of fury.

A/N In the books, Aragorn and the Hobbits reach Weathertop/Amon Sûl on October 6th 3018.

A/N It seems to be fandom consensus to think that Severus has an ebony wand, which makes sense since it's a very dark wood type and it matches the movie's description. (Ollivander probably uses wood stains to protect the wood though, so a wand colour may not be representative of the type of wood at all). However, wand woods carry different powers and meanings, and from all the descriptions I've read on Pottermore, yew made the most sense in Severus's regard. (Also hawthorn and blackthorn, but I settled on yew).
[Ollivander] "Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death, which might, of course, be said of all wands; and yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the spheres of duelling and all curses. However, it is untrue to say (as those unlearned in wandlore often do) that those who use yew wands are more likely to be attracted to the Dark Arts than another. The witch or wizard best suited to a yew wand might equally prove a fierce protector of others. Wands hewn from these most long-lived trees have been found in the possession of heroes quite as often as of villains. Where wizards have been buried with wands of yew, the wand generally sprouts into a tree guarding the dead owner's grave. What is certain, in my experience, is that the yew wand never chooses either a mediocre or a timid owner."
A yew wand is also wielded by Tom Riddle and Ginny Weasley. In Irish folklore, yew symbolises immortality, because it grows its branches down into the earth from which new trees grow encircling the original trunk. It also has a reputation as a death tree because every part of the tree, including the wood dust, is poisonous.

A/N Bree-land is one of the few places where maple trees grow naturally. In the last Harry Potter movie, in the scene where Harry sees Snape's memories, Severus is shown to perform magic with the seeds of a maple tree to impress Lily. Lily also speaks of it in chapter 1 of this story.

A/N In the books, Aragorn carries in the shards of Narsil with him. He even shows the broken pieces to the Hobbits when Frodo read the letter from Gandalf, referencing the bit of 'renewed shall be the blade that was broken.' In the movie the shards are on display in Elrond's house.

A/N Amon Sûl was destroyed in TA 1309. Since it's now 3018, it happened 1709 years ago. It is likely that Fëanor made the Palantíri, but it's also plausible that other Ñoldor Elves from Eldamar (region in Aman) made them.

A/N Longbottom means 'long valley' and is a location in the South Farthing of the Shire. Contrary to popular belief, pipe-weed really is just tobacco, rather than actual weed the devil's lettuce, the glorious sin spinach type of weed (the movie quote by Saruman "your love of the halflings' leaf has clearly slowed your mind" didn't help with that).

A/N Beren and Lúthien is a long and beautiful story that I just cannot explain crammed into an Author's Note. However, I can say that Lúthien was based on J.R.R. Tolkien's own wife, Edith. When Edith died before Tolkien did, he had the name Lúthien engraved on her headstone. When he died, Beren was engraved into his headstone.

A/N Lily describes Severus as explosive in chapter 2. Severus' meeting with the Dementor at Malfoy's Manor is mentioned in chapter 8. All will become more important later.

A/N Fun fact! The Nazgûls in the movies were voiced by Fran Walsh. Producer, (screen)writer, and partner of Peter Jackson. Her screaming abilities are of another world.