The Red Witch

'The Crabain have returned from the plains near the border of Minhiriath and Enedwaith, baring strange news,' said Saruman.

'What strange news?' asked Lily. She was wolfing down her breakfast as quickly as she could, as she had grown accustomed to do every single morning. The sight of the Orcs no longer troubled her, and she found creative ways to keep them at arm's length, for they had a tendency to sniff her scent wherever she went.

'Near Lond Daer Enedh, they caught sight of a man who has not been seen for ages,' Saruman explained. 'He is on foot, though he walks with long strides, and his gaze is set upon Orthanc.'

Lond Daer Enedh. Lily had studied the maps of Middle-earth intently over the past few weeks. Great Middle Haven, it meant. Once a stronghold for the Faithful Númenóreans, and had fallen into ruin after the Downfall of Númenor.

'An old man, wearing dark-blue robes,' Saruman continued. 'He has not been sighted for many ages, and now he reappears to be in search of council. Pallando, is his name. Rómestámo, Helper of the East. Not once has he roamed Middle-earth alone, for he was always accompanied by the one he was bound to; Alatar. Until now.'

'He's a Wizard then, I presume?' asked Lily, and in her heart she felt a spark of hope rise within her. If this Pallando really were to come here, and was not corrupted by Sauron in the way that Saruman was, there might just be a slight chance of escape.

'He's one of the Istari,' said Saruman with a nod in confirmation. 'I once roamed with Alatar and Pallando in the far East. They stayed there, long after I had returned West and settled here, and they were never heard from again.'

'What do you suspect he wants?' asked Gríma, who had remained silent until now.

'We will know once he has arrived,' said Saruman. 'Now, go. The garden does not tend to itself.'

With an Orc by her side Lily strutted her way down the many steps and onto the burning grounds of Orthanc. 'Any news on Uglúk and his merry band of misfits?' Lily sneered as she rushed her way to the poison garden.

'No news of Uglúk's return has reached my ears,' the Orc growled back.

'They went North, didn't they?' said Lily stiffly. 'What were they trying to find there?'

'It is of no concern to the Red Witch,' the Orc spat as he pushed her into the garden. 'Go brew those poisons, or I shall have you touch the hithlas with your bare hands.'

The Red Witch. It was the name the Orcs had given her since she started tending to the garden. A name, she soon learnt, would hold power, as it commanded a certain respect for the magic she wielded. With rough pulls she pulled up the matured foxglove and monkshood out by the roots, and brought them to the worktable that was put there for her. Her mind turned to the news of the strange wizard as she hammered down the knife on the flowers, knowing that the poison she was making was aimed at the people of Rohan.

Uruk-hai they were named. The foul creatures that had been born from the slimes of the earth. Uglúk had been the first to arrive, tearing himself out of the earth with great violence, and stood mighty tall and strong amongst the other Orcs. He exceeded all others in intelligence, and he was told many a thing about Lily and her mysterious life. Things, she knew, that could easily be held against her.

Bound by the orders of Saruman, he was sent out as a leader to a band of Orcs heading North on a mission unknown. But in her heart Lily felt that perhaps they were in search of Severus. From a dark place in her soul, she would not mind if they caught him and brought him here. Then at least she would not be alone, and he would know that she was still alive.

To learn more, she knew, she would have to be patient. And patience did not come natural to her in the way that it did for Severus. Being kept in the dark festered a bitterness in her, and it made her think of all the ways she could use the poisons she made against the Wizard that held her prisoner. But then, she also didn't know if a wizard like him could ever be poisoned, and all would turn ugly if he found out.

And now there was another Wizard coming. One who had not been seen for many ages. One that not even Saruman had ever expected to see again. One who could be her salvation, or turn things for the worst. Pallando, whoever he may be. Again, she would have to be patient.

The hoisting of a large felled tree pulled her away from her thoughts. The trees of Isengard had all been cut, and now wood was being brought in from Fangorn forest. The trees thick and ancient, and sadness washed over her as she saw the once mighty tree thrown into the fiery pits below.

'With permission from the Wizard, there is something that I would like for you to see.' Gríma's cold voice spoke up from behind her.

'You really ought to present yourself before you speak!' Lily hissed as she felt shivers running down her spine. She slammed the knife down and turned around to face him. 'What is it that you want me to see?'

'Lightfoot,' said Gríma, ignoring his bitter stance. 'Saruman has been pleased with the work you have done so far, and as a reward, he will let you ride her while I accompany you.'

A spark of joy flared up in Lily. 'I would like that very much,' she said, and any thought of the mysterious wizard was swiftly pushed into the back of her mind.

With a bounce in her step, she followed Gríma to another corner of Isengard she had not been before. Rows upon rows of horses were being fed by the Orcs that tended to them like clockwork. Most of them dark in colour, and bred for one specific purpose. She could see the anger in the horses' eyes as they walked their way to the very end. There stood Lightfoot, hiding in the shadows of her small stable, looking miserable.

'Oh how I've missed you!' Lily exclaimed as she flung her arms around Lightfoot's neck. Lightfoot appeared to feel the same way, as she neighed happily at the sight of Lily. 'Let's go for a ride, shall we? It's been too long!'

Within moments Lily had saddled her up, and Gríma brought in his own horse from another stable. 'We'll go around the walls of Isengard, and then head straight back to the stables. Understood?'

'Yes, Gríma,' said Lily as she mounted Lightfoot, and petted the horse through her tangled manes. 'Come on! No time to waste!'

With a firm kick against Lightfoot's flank, Lily sped out of the stables with Gríma following her closely at the heel. Isengard spread a mile long from wall to wall, and the cool breeze felt welcoming on her face. They surpassed the many crooked stone houses that the Orcs resided in, as well as the many watchtowers where archers patrolled day and night. After several minutes of being alone with her own thoughts, Gríma called out to her. 'The gates are being opened. We must stop here!'

Gradually she brought Lightfoot to a halt, and in the far off distance she heard the low rumbling of heavy gates opening up. 'Has the wizard arrived already?' she asked as Gríma stopped beside her.

'He will not be here for several days,' he answered. 'They are representatives of the Easterlings and the Haradrim, as well as many Dunlendings. They have allied themselves with Mordor, and soon many more shall come.'

'And Rohan will be the first place they'll go,' Lily mumbled to herself. The memory of seeing the injured men of Rohan came swarming around in her mind, and understood that the horror she had seen was merely the beginning of something far bigger that had yet to come.

'May I challenge you to a sword fight?'

The question from Gríma had come unexpectedly, but nonetheless it drew her eyes away from the stream of men entering the gates. 'I'll have you know that I have practised quite a lot up in my quarters since I arrived here,' she said with confidence as she got of Lightfoot.

'No magic permitted,' said Gríma as he pushed his own horse out of the way, and handed her his sword.

'Then no snakes permitted to trick me either,' said Lily. 'And what would you fight with?'

Gríma pulled out his dagger from its sheath, and it gleamed in the light of the fires behind them. Lily had seen his dagger before on numerous occasions, mainly when he was cutting up meat, or picking out the dirt from under his nails. The blade was simple, and its hilt handsomely made. 'Do you favour it, over a sword?' she asked.

'Daggers are underestimated,' said Gríma as he took a stance in front of her. 'Men tend to favour their longswords, as it can keep the enemy at a distance – until they loose the advantage of the distance.'

Lily made a big swing, and Gríma took a graceful step back as the tip of the sword grazed along his chest. With the same leg he swiftly stepped forward again, folded his arm around her neck and put the blade to her throat. 'I can end your life before the sword has been lowered to the ground,' he said calmly into her ear, and released her from his clutches. 'Now, try again.'

...o0o…

Still sore from the fighting techniques Gríma had shown her, Lily had returned Lightfoot to the stables after they had made their way around the walls, and finished her job of creating poisons that she brought to the weapon smiths.

For supper she was invited to join Saruman in his private quarters. She thanked him for having her time with Lightfoot, and in return she was told that she could ride Lightfoot more often as long as she continued to do her job. 'That cannot be the only reason you've invited me up here, though, is there?' she asked.

'You have seen the saltpetre before,' said Saruman, and handed her a bowl with a powdered up substance. 'It has been combined with charcoal and sulphur, and sometimes with other metals. A mixture that the Wizard whom you know as Gandalf has created. He makes fireworks with it, for feasts and celebrations.'

'Any celebrations coming up, that you wish to make it for yourself?' asked Lily. She knew darn well that what Saruman was trying to achieve had anything to do with festivities. Judging by the look of the mixture, far too much charcoal was used, and far too little saltpetre, leaving very little room for a strong explosion.

'I cannot seem to perfect it,' said Saruman bitterly. 'But your element is fire, and therefore I require your assistance in its creation.'

Lily knew how to make it, as her father had taught her, and had made it many times before. 'How destructive does it need to be?' she asked.

'Strong enough to tear down walls,' Saruman answered.

'I believe I know how,' she said, and hated herself for saying it, as she saw the faces of the people she had grown to love fade from life in the destructive power of her own creation. 'But I must warn you. It –'

'—Uglúk has returned, baring strange news,' said Gríma as he came busting through the doors. With a heavy footfall, Uglúk entered the room, and eyed Lily with a foreign suspicion.

'We came upon a band of travellers a few days South of Rivendell,' Uglúk growled. 'Two Men accompanied by two identical Elves, and one other we could not place.'

'Lord Elrond's sons I presume,' said Saruman. 'Go on.'

'They have slaughtered many of us,' Uglúk continued, 'and we were forced to retrieve.'

'How come?' Saruman snapped. 'What power do a few possess against so many?'

'It was Severus, wasn't it?' said Lily before Uglúk could speak. Panic arose within her, and her heart started pounding in her chest. 'The one you couldn't place. It was him. Tell me if it was him!'

'A veil so dark it swallowed the light of the stars,' said Uglúk calmly. 'A nameless thing he became, and all he touched had its life drained before it fell to the ground. A man you call him, but Darkness he truly is.'

Lily tossed the bowl from her hands aside and rose to her feet. 'I don't know what any of this means!' she whimpered, yet her voice was laced with anger. 'Tell me if it was him. PLEASE TELL ME!'

Uglúk growled at her in disgust. 'He listened at the call of his name, witch.'

'Does he know where I am!?' she yelled. 'Does he know that I'm alive? Does he –'

'SILENCE!' Saruman's booming voice echoed through the room. 'Uglúk, what is this darkness of which you speak?'

'None of us know its name,' said Uglúk as he fixated his eyes on Lily. 'Perhaps there is something the Red Witch is not telling us.'

'I don't understand,' said Lily as tears starting leaking from her eyes, and turned to Saruman. 'What darkness is he talking about?'

Saruman looked back at her, and frowned with suspicion and distrust. 'Severus. What is he, truly?'

'A Wizard,' said Lily, but her voice sounded full of doubt. 'That's all I've ever known him to be.'

'Take her away, Wormtongue,' said Saruman. 'I must speak with with Uglúk in private.'

With a nod, Gríma took a hold of her wrist and dragged her out of the room. 'But I need to know if he knows I'm here!' she screamed before the doors were closed on her. 'I need to –'

'Hush,' said Gríma as he shoved a hand in front of her mouth. 'Do not anger the Wizard more than necessary.'

'Do you know what Uglúk's talking about?' said Lily as she released herself from Gríma's grip, and followed him as he made his way down the spiralling stairs.

'I do not,' said Gríma as they halted in front of the library. 'When in need of answers, it is best to search for it in the past. I will leave you be, but not before I tell you that perhaps you did not know Severus as well as you believe you did.'

'I'm aware that there is much that I don't know about him,' said Lily, and yet she couldn't help but feel the sting of Gríma's words. She entered the library as Gríma left, and felt a surge of loneliness engulf her. She let the tears flow freely as the walked past the many rows of books and scrolls, wandering where to even start. In the past, as Gríma had said, and the idea rose that perhaps more was written about the founding members of Hogwarts before they had their visions and their legendary meeting here in Middle-earth.

After searching for a while she found a shelf dedicated to the history of places within the realm, and found one named Lothlórien. The place where Rowena Ravenclaw had hailed from, and where she met Helga before she journeyed to the Grey Havens. The origin of Severus. A fact she still struggled to wrap her mind around.

She learnt that the land was first named Laurelindórenan by the Silvan Elves. Land of the Valley of Singing Gold. Named so as the woods shone with a light that reminded them of Laurelin, the Golden tree of Valinor. The Sindar Elves were also named the Grey Elves, or the Twilight Elves, for they were neither truly dark nor light. By the Second Age, Lothlórien was ruled by the Sindarin King Amdír. Amdír was killed in the Battle of Dagorlad, and his son Amroth took over his throne to become the last King, as he left Lothlórien with his betrothed Nimrodel to journey to the Undying Lands. Through reasons unknown, they were separated during their journey West, and his search for her was unsuccessful before continuing his quest. He eventually drowned, and what had become of Nimrodel had been lost to history.

An image of Amroth and Nimrodel was drawn on the page beside the text. He stood tall and youthful, and she had long dark hair that flowed like a river. Upon closer inspection, Nimrodel looked eerily similar to the paintings she had seen of Rowena Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, and Amroth had dark eyes she could recognise anywhere. The pages did not confirm it, but Lily was positive that she was looking at Rowena's parents, and therefore looking at Severus' ancestors.

Lily could not find any information given about Rowena, but did learn more about Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, and particularly in Galadriel's lineage as a niece to the great Elven smith Fëanor, who created the Silmarils by capturing the light of the Two Trees. Curufin, also known as Curufin the Crafty, was the fifth son of Fëanor, who then had a son he named Celebrimbor, who created the four Rings of Power.

Rings of Power, Lily thought to herself. She closed the book and went searching among the shelves again in the hopes of finding Celebrimbor's name. And she did find it, in a book on the House of Fëanor and his seven sons, and got lost in the history of all the great and terrible deeds of the family.

...o0o…

The moon had long risen before Lily went up to her quarters. The terrible fates that had befallen the seven brothers, and Maedros and Maglor in particular, had her mind swirling with new-found information. But the story of Curufin's son, Celebrimbor, had stood out most of all. The Rings of his creation were described in intricate detail, and any shred of doubt that had lingered had been diminished when she learnt of Kémya, the Ring of Earth. The silvery white band in the form of Elm leaves were intricately described, as well as the yellow diamond that shone like the sun. They had found it there, at the bottom of the Great Lake.

'Lily, find me!'

Severus' final words to her echoed in her mind. Had he known all along what it was? Angered by it all, she ran herself a bath and walked through the archives of her memory as she bathed in the hot water. Severus never mentioned being distantly related to Rowena, despite having read Hogwarts: A History together so often they knew the words by heart. And he had taken a hold of the Ring, even though he knew better than to touch anything magical without knowing what it was. Had he wanted them to end up here? Had he wanted them to be together, but had they separated because she couldn't keep a hold of his hand? She had been so caught up in finding him that she had nearly forgotten the path Severus had started walking before they disappeared. Was he send here on You-Know-Who's orders? The terrible man also held his roots in this strange place, by being a Parseltongue. He was related to Salazar, one of the Númenóreans. And now Uglúk had called him a veil of darkness that swallowed the light of the stars, whatever that might be. The more she thought about it, the more angry she became. How could it be that a boy of royal Elven ancestry ended up being raised in the worst part of Cokeworth? What is it that he doesn't know? What is it that his own mother never told him? Or did she not know either?

As she dried herself off she found herself staring at the black scrying mirror in her room. She saw her ghostly reflection staring back at her, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw Severus standing right beside her, as she once did during their Divinations class. 'Severus,' she spoke softly at the mirror. 'What is it you're not telling me?'

The seeds of doubt were sown in her heart by the time she prepared herself for bed. As she laid down in bed, she held the palms of her hands together. Lumos, she thought to herself. From the centre of her palms a light formed that she had seen so often before in the private seclusion of her four-poster bed at Hogwarts, and some warmth was brought back that melted the icy layers on her soul. As she released it into the air, she swiftly fell into a peaceful slumber. And in her dreams, she saw the Two Trees of Valinor she had read so much about. Before them stood Galadriel, the fairest of them all. Galadriel held out her hands for her to take, but from the distance a terrible creature crawled out of the abyss. Ungoliath, the spider that had spawned from the Void itself, had come. Lily watched as her pinchers sunk into the trunk of Laurelin, and she swallowed the golden Light until all was clad in a web of Darkness.

...o0o…

'Shadowfax has been restless,' said Gísli as she spotted Shadowfax running in the distance.

'He has been since his return,' said Éowyn. 'He must be awaiting the call of his master.'

The gaze of the two women was set Northwest towards the gap of Rohan, as they had done since the day Lily was taken from them. 'I speak with Oromë in my dreams,' said Gísli, turning the conversation. 'I ask him to aid Lily, and to help her break free from her chains.'

'And does he ever answer?' Éowyn asked.

'He just looks up and smiles at me,' said Gísli with a shrug. 'And then he gallops off into the woods on Nahar's back – and I wake up wondering if I'm asking the wrong questions.'

Éowyn couldn't help but laugh at Gísli's answer. 'The Valar work in mysterious ways,' she said.

'Perhaps you ought to go and train with your brother,' said Gísli. 'He has formed his Éored, and the black clouds from Isengard grow larger with each day.'

'I will,' said Éowyn, 'but I can't help but find myself staring at the fields, hoping to find her red hair dancing in the wind as she finds her way back to us.'

'She has a mind of song and a heart of steel,' said Gísli. 'Whatever it may be that the Wizard is making her do, she will always have a light within her, guiding her way through the dark.'

A/N Minhiriath and Enedwaith are regions found within the land of Eriador.

A/N We know Gandalf created fireworks, but we don't know if he actually invented it. Fireworks work by mixing gunpowder (the saltpetre, charcoal and sulphur) with different types of elements (mainly metals) to create a variety of colours. I took the creative liberty to have Saruman trying to imitate Gandalf, and by perfecting it he created the bomb that blew up the wall during the Battle of the Hornburg. It wasn't known as a bomb, but as the Fire of Orthanc.

A/N Amroth and Nimrodel were betrothed, but not married. Going by Tolkien's Catholic principles here, and also because it goes unmentioned in the history books, they never had children. Given the fact that they were separated and Nimrodel's history is unknown, it leaves a lot of space for some creative liberty to believe that she could have been Rowena's mother.

A/N Reminder: It was Oromë the Vala that send the Blue Wizards to Middle-earth. Nahar is Oromë's horse.

A/N When the Orcs have captured Merry and Pippin, it becomes clear that Orcs do not share a common tongue. "To Pippin's surprise he found that much of the talk was intelligible; many of the Orcs were using ordinary language. Apparently the members of two or three quite different tribes were present, and they could not understand one another's orc-speech." - The Uruk-Hai, The Two Towers.

- "One of the orcs sitting nearby laughed and said something to a companion in his abominable tongue. 'Rest while you can, you little fool!' he uttered to Pippin, in the Common Tongue, which he made as detestable as his own language."
- (…) had no language of their own, but took what they could from others and perverted it as they pleased, still they only managed crude jargons, barely sufficient for their needs, unless they were curses and insults. - Appendix F

This is significant, because language is the baseline of all culture. Someone such as Tolkien, being a philologist, would have understood that making the Orcs unable to understand one another meant that there was no unifying identification among them. Their tribes only fend for themselves, fight for themselves, and aligned themselves with Mordor because it gave them something that they did not have before. Culture.