A/N I'm deeply sorry for the extreme delay that lasted for more than a year. The reason is because I suck.

That having said, the Rings of Power series has come and gone, and I can honestly say that, as visually impressive as it was, literally none of it will be used in the creation of this story.

The Legend of Helga

The experience with the wounded Eorlingas had caused Lily to think about her father. He had rarely spoken of his experiences during the second world war, and even less so of Tobias Snape's involvement. All she knew was that their history went a long way back – and that it was meant to stay that way. It had been her father's way of ensuring that Severus would always be welcome in their home, and that he would never become a part of that story. She missed her father dearly, and the comfort of his embrace whenever she was in pain and in need of healing.

Dunlendings, Easterlings, and Orcs. Lily knew that Rohan's fight against them would not be over for a very long time, and more wounded Men were bound to return from the battle fronts – and she would have to be ready, like her father had once needed to be ready. That night she had expected nightmares to capture her dreams, but all she saw was her own face through Gríma's eyes. The blood of the Eorlingas dripping down from her brows to her lips and her naked body, and in her eyes the gaze of a Witch. She awoke with the closing of Gríma's eyes, and with the turning of his cloak.

Gríma left her alone and avoided her gaze in the days following – but not unlike before, Lily knew it was only another cloud waiting to burst, and all she could do was keep her head down and move along with everyday life. And moving along with everyday life she did. Eorlund proved to be a great teacher and taught her how to hammer nails. Something he believed was fundamental for any apprentice to learn, as it required the right amount of heat from the forge and a delicate control of the hammer strike to get it right. She burnt and broke at least a dozen nails in her first attempts, but soon she figured out the rhythm of the hammer, and made many that she would later provide to the carpenters of Edoras. The harvest season was now in full progress, and many times she went with Gísli to the fields. From the fields she would witness the Mearas running by, like a thunder rolling over the hills, and for a moment she would stand still and admire the exceptional speed and grace of the horses.

Around sunset Lily would often return to the stables with Éowyn to look after the horses that had chosen their Riders – or had become Riderless. She had grown particularly fond of Lightfoot, an old horse who had foaled Snowmane. Lightfoot had a beautiful white coat and was particularly gentle in nature, and patient while being groomed and getting her hooves cleaned. 'You should ride her,' said Éowyn, who was looking after her own grey horse Windfola. 'She's not as fast as she used to be, which is why none of the Eorlingas will ride her. But she's still strong and willing if you'll have her.'

'I would love nothing more,' said Lily as she looked into Lightfoot's dark eyes. She felt a same kind of connection with Lightfoot as she had felt with her family's horse. A mutual bond of trust had been built over the few weeks that Lily had been looking after her, and it was clear to Éowyn that they were both ready to be riding out in the open. With intense joy, Lily braided Lightfoot's tail and manes and saddled her up. After securing the headgear, she stepped on the stirrup and swung her leg around the saddle. Lightfoot raised her head high and neighed, as though to say that she was ready to gallop her way out of the stable as soon as Lily gave the signal. 'Go Lily!' said Éowyn as she mounted Windfola. 'I will follow wherever you lead!'

Lily did not need to be told twice, and with a firm kick against Lightfoot's flank they sped off out of the stables and into the streets of Edoras. People jumped to the sides as she galloped her way down to the gates, and she remembered the times where she and Severus would ride her family's horse through the streets of Cokeworth, pushing away everything in their path. She could hear Éowyn laughing behind her, clearly drawing great enjoyment from being on a horse again.

Lightfoot honoured her name, as her hooves barely seemed to touch the ground as they passed the gates at full speed. If Lightfoot was considered slow, Lily could only imagine how fast the other Maeras had to be. She could have sworn there was something magical about them, even if they didn't have wings like the horses she had once been introduced to during a Care of Magical Creatures class.

It was a new moon, and it made the stars in the heavens shine brighter than ever before. Beyond it, the deep colours of the universe blended like oil paint on a canvas. They stopped by the time they reached a hill that overlooked Edoras, and the bonfires in the streets lit up the city like candles in the dark. 'You reminded me of the Lady of the Wind there,' said Éowyn as she dismounted her horse. 'Fearless and free!'

'The Lady of the Wind?' Lily asked as she dismounted her horse as well, and sent her off to graze along with Windfola. The feeling of intense happiness was still coursing through her veins as she sat down on the grass. Éowyn sat down beside her and revealed a skin flask and two cups that she had carried with her. 'It is the story of a legend,' Éowyn explained as she handed Lily a cup. 'And this is mead from my uncle's reserves, which you will need if you want to want to hear the story and stay warm.'

'With pleasure,' said Lily as the sweet scent of honey and alcohol filled her nostrils, and they clinked their cups in good health. 'And thank you, for letting me ride Lightfoot. She's a delight.'

'I think she can sense that you're a great rider,' said Éowyn. 'You did fly like the wind, just like the lady of the legend. Her name was Helga, and she was one of ours.'

'A strong name, Helga,' said Lily as she took a sip of the mead, and it warmed her up from the inside out. 'Please, tell me all about her.'

'Helga is one of my very favourites,' said Éowyn, and a smile etched upon her face at the mere mention of her name. 'She was kind spirited, studious and adventurous – and dearly loved by all. She was sturdy and strong, yet equally graceful and athletic. She could dance and sing, and would host lavish feasts at the taverns and inns she would visit. And she was a great rider. One of the very best, and her autumn kissed hair would wave behind her like the wind on the grassy hills.'

'She sounds like someone I would want to be friends with,' said Lily, and laughed as she said it. 'How wonderful must it be to be so free!'

'Oh, but it only gets better!' said Éowyn. 'She was not only very adventurous, but also very daring. As a child she frequently sought the borders of the land, wondering of all the beautiful things that lay beyond. By the time she reached womanhood, she would start crossing the borders for real. Always going a little bit further with each time she returned. She pushed the very boundaries of her daring, ignoring the warning signs of our people – for she could turn those of ill-intend with the light of her heart and the warmth of her voice. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and she would return with stories of the East in the realm of Rhûn and the Orocarni, the Red Mountains. There it is said she had seen Cuiviénen, the place where the Elves first awoke, and Hildórien, the place where the Men awoke and marked the first Year of the Sun. It is said that she had met one of the Blue Wizards there – and that he had instilled an insatiable wanderlust in her and counselled her on going North. North is where she had been to Dwimordene, known as the Golden Wood in the common tongue, and had met and befriended the Elves, who call themselves the Galadhrim, that dwell in it. It were the Elves that had given her horse the name "Felagund." A name she would someday learn to understand.'

Lily poured some more mead into their cups as she listened attentively. The story had only just begun, but the story of Helga already seemed right up there with the story of Haleth, and she was savouring every word of it.

'For it is said that within Dwimordene, Irmo the Vala, the Lord of Dreams and Visions, had come to her,' said Éowyn after taking another sip. 'He had given her a vision of The Great Sea on the Western shore, and of a ship that that would carry her into the sunset beyond the edges of Arda. And West she went, surpassing the Gap of Rohan and over the many hills and woodlands of the realm of Eriador. It was there, in an old forest, where she met him. A man she had named Orald.' Éowyn looked up at the stars, as though longing for her own adventure. 'Orald means "very ancient" in our tongue, for Orald had existed since the first raindrop and the first acorn; for he was weaved into the song that formed Eä. She had found him in an unlikely place, for it was Felagund her horse that had picked up a sound she could not hear, and he disobeyed her orders for the first time since she became his rider. Having faith in her horse, she let him take the lead until he found a hole in the ground large enough for him to fit through. His ears were pointed forward as he led her through the tunnel, and it was in that tunnel that she started hearing it too. A voice, chanting courage into her heart with the gentle words of a mother's lullaby. Its lilting sound wrapping her in a blanket of comfort. It was at that very end of the tunnel where she found him; an enigmatic man, wearing yellow boots, a bright blue jacket, and his old hat adorned with the feather of a kingfisher. But what was even more curious than Orald himself, were the beings that he was singing to. It were badgers, enormous in size – and they could speak! They had captured Orald into their burrow, for reasons unknown, and he cast some sort of spell on them as he sang. The badgers had regretted capturing him, for they were trembling in fear, and now even more so, as a strange woman and her horse had entered their den.'

Lily was reminded of the badger of the House of Hufflepuff, and the Helga that was tied to it. She knew very little of the House, other than the things that Severus had read to her from Hogwarts: A History, and from her experience of working alongside Hufflepuff students. Their patience and their kindness outshone all the other Houses, and she had to admit that she wouldn't have minded if the Sorting Hat had chosen Hufflepuff for her instead, even if Severus would have disagreed.

"I have witnessed the birth of everything, and yet life never fails to surprise me," Orald had said,' said Éowyn in a low voice. "For I called upon all badgers to leave – and now one has entered this den." 'Helga did not understand, but Felagund seemed to have, as it was her horse who had listened to his name. Orald explained to Helga that "Felagund" means "badger" in the ancient Quenya tongue. The Elves had foreseen that someday her horse would have to lead her to her next adventure, and that he would be called by his given name. Orald told Helga that she reminded him of Nessa, the Vala of Swiftness and Dance, and sister to our most beloved Oromë. Nessa is known to be lithe and swift of foot and loved the creatures of the forest. Deer would follow her trail wherever she went – and she could outrun them all. With his words he cast a spell on Helga in that moment, for he named her Heri i Súrë, which is Quenya for Lady of the Wind. He sang her new name into Eä, and he bade her to follow the Brandywine River North until she reached Lake Evendim. On its Southern point she would find the grand city of Annúminas. The great city of Arnor, founded by the High King Elendil. Within that city, she was meant to find one of the Dúnedain. A tall, dark-haired man, who would give her purpose.'

'She reminds me of someone,' said Lily. The more Éowyn said about Helga, the more she connected the dots between the House of Hufflepuff and the badgers. There was a familiarity there, somehow. As though the story of Helga Hufflepuff was suddenly becoming much bigger than it had before. 'Someone that I know from a different story.'

'The story of Helga is told in many versions, and from many different perspectives,' said Éowyn after draining her cup of mead. 'Perhaps the Helga you know is the very same as mine.'

'Perhaps,' Lily repeated. 'But please, continue. I'd love to know what happens next.'

'Helga bowed for Orald's gift and bade him farewell,' Éowyn continued, 'and left the hole in the ground. The badgers following Felagund at his feet as they stepped back into the light of day, and with her new name and cete of badgers she followed the river North until she reached Lake Evendim. The city she found there was barely that, for it had slowly fallen into ruin with the declining population, which had suffered terrible losses on the Gladden Fields in the war against Sauron. She searched among the ruins for the man Orald had spoken of, and it was the leader of the badgers to be the first to hear it. Heri i Súrë. The name spoken like a whisper gliding on the wind, as though calling for her. "He knows you are coming," the badger had told her, "for he was told so by the man we had captured." 'A man, tall and dark in stature, and his wizened eyes betraying that he was much older than he appeared at first sight, stepped out of the shadows and into the light for her. He was one of the Númenóreans – a race of Men blessed by the Valar with the gift of long life.' Éowyn looked up at the night sky and gazed upon a particularly bright star Lily was unable to name. "The man introduced himself to her as Hlimbe Lócë, which was a name given to him by one he called Iarwain Ben-adar, a different name for the man Helga knew as Orald. He told her that Ulmo, the Vala of the Oceans and the Rain, had come to him in a dream, and showed him the terrible beauty of The Great Sea to the West. It was after his dream that he had met Iarwain, and told him to wait for the arrival of Heri i Súrë – and that together they must journey to the Blue Mountains to the East and find the descendant of the great dwarven smith Telchar of Nogrod. The dwarf who forged the Angrist, a knife wielded by Beren, the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin, worn by Túrin Turambar, and most famed of all, Narsil, the sword that Isildur wielded when he cut the Ring from Sauron's hand during the War of the Last Alliance.'

'So many names, so many stories,' said Lily quietly. She, too, was gazing up at the star Éowyn had locked her eyes onto. She had considered herself to be rather good at Astronomy, and yet it seemed as if the star she was gazing upon was one that had painted itself newly into the night sky. 'I've never seen this star before. It's beautiful.'

'That is because it is not a star,' said Éowyn. 'But like the stories of Beren, Túrin, and Isildur, they shall be told at another time. For Helga and Hlimbe Lócë had formed a friendship that was one for the ages. One filled with laughter, trust – and vulnerability, despite their many differences. For she was straightforward in her words – and he was cunning. And where she could speak with badgers, he could speak with snakes.'

There was no more doubt in Lily's mind that she was listening to the origin story of the founding members of Hogwarts. Severus had told her about Salazar Slytherin and his rare, extremely rare, ability to speak with snakes – and how much he admired it. She had not expected it, but her heart had started pounding in her chest. It felt as though a piece of her own history was suddenly being rewritten. As if the world she knew had grown exponentially in size in a mere blink of an eye, and the vastness of it was shrouded in an earie mist of the untold.

'…It was by the east bank of the River Lune where they saw them soar,' Éowyn continued, and a great smile etched upon her face. 'The Eagles of Manwë, who is the King of the Valar. The Eagles devised by him to be his messengers between Arda and his own realm. They had flown from their eyrie in the Misty Mountains to the West, and turned they gaze towards the two travellers, who were trying to find a way to cross the river. The clapping of their wings shook the very tops of the trees as they descended towards the ground, and looked down upon the travellers with eyes that could gaze within the very souls of Men. Upon the back of the leader of the soar of Eagles, dark eyes met with Helga. A Sindar Elf from Dwimordene had come. Her long hair raven, and her skin as pale as silver. Helga took her hand in hers, for Helga and Rowena had been friends long before she journeyed to the West. Rowena was known for her love of all birds that sing, and she would often speak and sing with them, for she loved the wisdom of the birds most of all. Vairë, the Vala who weaves the story of Arda, had come to her in a dream. On her tapestry, Vairë had shown Rowena the image of four people standing by the harbour of the Grey Havens by the Gulf of Lune. A ship with high sails awaiting them to leave the shore – and never to return. Not long after her dream, she met Iarwain in the twilight hours near her dwelling, naming her Crabannamma, and telling her that the Eagles would come to her aid to guide her to the Blue Mountains to the ancient dwarven city of Nogrod, and find those she was meant to find along the way.'

'I love these Eagles you speak of,' said Lily, and in private thought she smiled at the fact that Rowena Ravenclaw had once been a wise Elf. 'Do they still exist?'

'They haven't been sighted for a long time,' Éowyn explained, 'but they have existed since the very first age. The Eagles are their own People, and with their own hearts and minds. And they speak just like Helga's badgers could speak. I do believe they still exist, and that one day they will be sighted again. The Eagles carried the band of travellers across the river and left them at the foot of the Blue Mountains. Southeast of Mount Dolmed, they would find the remnants of the ancient city of Nogrod. It was ruined in the War of Wrath in the first age, and very few Dwarves still live amongst the rubble. Mainly those who still held the deeds and the graves of their ancestors in high honour, and dared not leave their history behind.'

'Loyal people, these Dwarves,' said Lily, and she could sense where this story was going to, and how the House of Gryffindor had found its very origins.

'Brave and sturdy, too,' Éowyn added. 'They can turn ordinary rock into large, homely dwellings underneath the earth, and are unafraid to forge heavy weapons – and wield them when necessary. It describes the very Dwarf that the band of travellers was meant to find, as Telchar's descendant still lived there, still working at the very forge his ancestors built. He too had a dream in which Aulë had come to him, the Vala that created the very Dwarves into existence. He was shown the very ship that would take him to a place of new beginnings – and of mountains never seen before. Not long after his dream, a man he had named Forn had come to him. Forn is the name that the Dwarves had given to the one we now know as Orald and Iarwain Ben-adar. A man with many names. Forn had named him Soron Rá, and told him that a strange band of travellers would come to him, and he would have to forge for them the gifts that they would carry across the sea.'

"Heri i Súrë. Hlimbë Lócë. Crabannamma. Soron Rá," Lily thought to herself. Although she didn't quite know the meaning of the words, she understood the names had become who she knew as Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor. The founding members of Hogwarts had been something much more than wise wizards in history. They had been Rohirrim. Númenorian. Elf, and Dwarf; each possessing different talents and lived with different philosophies. She wished she could explain that the very Dwarf Éowyn was speaking of was the very founder of her own House, but it seemed that that, like the stories of Beren, Túrin and Isildur, it was meant to be told another time.

'Behind closed doors,' Éowyn continued, 'Soron Rá called them to him one by one. For Helga, he forged her a Chalice engraved with her beloved badgers. The Chalice became known in history as the Chalice of Plenty, for it prolonged the life for anyone who drank from it. She had asked for it, because she could not bear the thought that she would grow old far sooner than her dear friends, and that she would have to depart the world while they lived on for adventures to be held without her. Hlimbë Lócë was called in after her, and for him he forged a golden locket, made in the image of the Ring of Barahir; two silver serpents intwined with eyes made of green jewels. A ring that was forged in the Years of the Trees and passed on within his family but was never his to inherit. The locket was meant to carry his soul, so he would not have to feel the pain of leaving his beloved family behind. For Crabannamma, Soron Rá forged a crown. She loved the Valar more than life itself, and feared that she would not feel connected with them once she crossed the Great Sea. With this crown, the wisdom of the Valar would stay with her, and contained her ability to speak with the birds. For himself, Sorona Rá forged a sword out of pure silver equalled to that of Narsil, and the sword would learn from the power of anyone who tried to defy it. It was how he intended on defending himself in the unknown lands that were to be found on the other side of the Great Sea.'

"The Sword of Godric Gryffindor," Lily thought to herself. She had seen it once, up on Headmaster Dumbledore's office. It was on display on the wall, and its rubies and sharp silver edges shimmered beautifully in the half-light of the setting sun. Dumbledore had invited her up there to talk about the changing politics of the Wizarding world, and of her position in it. And they spoke of Severus, too. For even Dumbledore had seen that their falling out had caused them both pain.

It was clear that Éowyn was reaching the end of her story. 'Soron Rá left his ancestral home forever that day,' she said. 'This strange but friendly band of travellers made their way down the Blue Mountains and headed towards the Grey Havens, where they were met by none other than Círdan the Shipwright; the oldest known Elf in Middle-Earth. He held his hand out for them as they boarded the ship they had seen in their dreams. As the ship sailed off, it is said that they dared not look away from the shores of Middle-Earth until there was nothing left on the horizon to see. From thereon, all there was left was the sound of the sea – and adventures to be held on another horizon.'

'Thank you,' said Lily. 'I feel as if the stories you tell me help me make sense of this place.'

'It is all I can give,' Éowyn answered. 'All I know are stories, for I have never seen the sea. I think the mead is starting to swirl in my head a bit, and I suggest we return for some sleep before the sun rises.'

'That sounds like a good idea,' said Lily, who was also feeling the mead messing with her head. They stood up from the cold ground and hoisted themselves up their horses, the story that Éowyn had told circling in her mind as they galloped their way back to Edoras. Their names. Their heritage. The chalice, the locket, the crown, and the sword. Things that didn't seem to mean much in Éowyn's story, and yet held great significance in the world that she came from. The sword she knew about, the cup she had vaguely heard of, and the crown – though more commonly known as The Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw – was exactly that; lost. And Slytherin's locket…she did not recall Severus ever telling her about such a significant object. If only she could speak with him now. 'Any chance we could do this again sometime soon?' she called out to Éowyn.

'With pleasure,' Éowyn answered. 'But I'll have you know that we will not need to be bored for a while, for we can start with the preparations for a large feast we hold at the end of the month.'

'What's exactly happening at the end of the month?'

'It's the feast of Helga!' Éowyn said in delight. 'It is the very day that she left the shores of Middle-Earth, and so we host a feast like the ones she used to in her honour.'

'I love that!' said Lily, and as she said it, it dawned on her which day Éowyn was speaking of. Hallowe'en. Her and Severus' favourite holiday of the year, because adventures great and small happened to them since before they even started attending Hogwarts. The day that made her feel and accept the very witch that she was. The very witch that Severus had told her that she was.

A/N Lightfoot is the name of the horse who foaled Snowmane, the King's horse, and is only ever mentioned on Snowmane's mound. Windfola was the name of the grey horse Éowyn rode into battle with Merry at the Pelennor Fields. Whether Windfola was always her horse before that is unknown.

A/N New moon fell on the 12th of October 1977/3018

A/N To the Men of the Vales of Anduin and Rohan, Tom Bombadil was known as Orald. Orald is an Old English word meaning "very ancient."
"The Adventures of Tom Bombadil" is a collective work published by Tolkien in 1962, containing songs and poems. Since the story consists within the "in-verse" of Tolkien's world (The Red Book of Westmarch), it is safe to assume it's canon compliant. In the poem, Bombadil was captured by the Badger-folk that live in holes and burrows under the rolling hills between the Barrow-downs and the Old Forest. These burrows essentially resembled crudely made Hobbit-holes. The badgers were sentient and capable of speech. The badger-folk released him after he scared them with his magical chanting (which is basically his superpower. It's how he also saved the Hobbits from Old Man Willow). He did wear a kingfisher's feather on his hat when he guided the four Hobbits out of the forest.
To the Elves and the Dúnedain, Tom Bombadil is known as Iarwain Ben-adar, meaning "oldest and fatherless." Iarwain literally means "old-young."
The the Dwarves, he was known as "Forn" which is Old Norse for "(belonging to) ancient (days)."

A/N "Heri i Súrë" is Quenya and translates to "Lady (of) the Wind". To Huffle means 'to blow unsteadily' and puff means 'explosive burst of wind.' It was the best way to translate Hufflepuff without losing its original meaning while also tying it in to the idea of Helga Hufflepuff having been a woman of Rohan. The opinions on what Helga's hair colour was differ. There's imagery of her on Pottermore (now Wizardingworld) with brown hair, and some others claim she was blonde (and even red but I highly doubt that). Since the hair colour of the people of Rohan vary between blond and brown, and decided to call it autumn kissed and have you, reader, interpret it your own way.

"Hlimbë Lócë" is Quenya compiled of "hlimbë" meaning sliding, gliding or slippery and "locë" meaning snake or serpent.

"Craban Namma" is compiled of the Quenya "Craban" meaning crowlike or corvid. Crow and raven is considered the same type of bird in the language. "Namma" means talon. It was the closest I could get to Ravenclaw, and the adding the Eagles of Manwë helped me make sense of the Ravenclaw crest animal being an eagle. I made her a Sindarin Elf because it matched Rowena Ravenclaw's description best. Sindar Elves are known for their distinct pale skin and black hair.
(A crown and a diadem are essentially the same thing, but since diadems did not exist in LotR, I decided to refer to the diadem as a crown instead.)

"Soron Rá" is compiled of the Quenya word "Soron" meaning eagle and "Rá" meaning lion. It was the closest thing I could get to Gryffindor. Lions are only mentioned in Hobbit poetry and Elvish linguistic writings. In these writings lions have roamed lands very, very far East beyond Rhûn (the Uttermost East).

A/N Nessa (Quenya: Young) is a Vala, known as Nessa the Swift (or the Dancer). She is the sister of Oromë and wife of Tulkas. She was known to be lithe and swift of foot, and loved creatures such as deer, who would follow her wherever she went. She could outrun them with great speed. The dwelling of Nessa and Tulkas was said to be full of mirth and revelry, for his warriors played and rivalled one another there in doughty feats. At times, Nessa would bear cups/goblets of wine and cooling drinks among the champions of her husband.

A/N Dwimordene is Rohirric for The Golden Wood, which is Lothlórien. Irmo is Quenya for 'desirer' or 'master of desires.' Irmo was more commonly known as Lorién, after the name of the place he dwelled in.

A/N Chapter 5, The Return of the King: "Fey he seemed, or the battle fury of his fathers ran like new fire within his veins, and he was borne up on Snowmane like a God of old, even as Oromë the Great in the battle of the Valar when the world was young." It's King Théoden being compared to Oromë. What's funny is that The Lord of the Rings came out before the Silmarillion, meaning that all the readers of the LotR at the time had no clue what Tolkien had meant by Oromë or who the Valar were in general.