Eruhantalë
Andúril, Aragorn had named it. Flame of the West, and its blade gleamed with the Light of the Sun and Moon. Severus had admired its reforging from a distance. There was magic at play here. The Elven-smiths had carved runes into the blade, and it spoke of the following; Anar. Nányë Andúril I né Narsil i macil Elendilo. Lercuvantan i móli Mordórëo. Isil. Whether it was spell or prayer, it could be felt that the sword was to be feared, and that it shall be wielded in battle once again.
Aragorn had given it to Severus to hold, and he could feel its power surging through his hands. The line of Telchar knew how to weave magic through metal and stone, and holding it helped him understand that the Sword of Gryffindor and Andúril had come from the very same family. The Swords connected through time and space, binding their worlds together.
Winter was coming, and Severus knew it was time to leave.
...o0o…
Severus was woken up by the sound of Aragorn singing, his deep voice being carried by the wind. Silently he left the room, following it. The first rays of the winter Sun crept over the mountains as he made his way over to the highest point in Rivendell. He found Aragorn sitting by the edge of a steep cliff, as though in deep prayer, facing the East. Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinomë maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta, he heard him sing.
For a moment, Severus was enthralled by what was happening, and it took a while before he realised that he was not alone. Alatar, Gandalf, Glorfindel and Elrond were behind him, clad in all white and baring no weapons, listening attentively.
'What is going on?' he asked quietly as he joined them.
'He sings the Oath of Elendil,' Glorfindel answered. 'Today is the Eruhantalë, the end of autumn and the third prayer in Thanksgiving to Eru. It is an ancient Númenórean ceremony, in which the Ruler of Númenor would ascend the sacred mountain Meneltarma to offer prayer. At its very peak the Witnesses of Manwë would come down from their eyries and circle the mountain, hearing the Ruler's voice sing their praise.'
'And what of the first and second prayer?' asked Severus, curious to know more.
Glorfindel smiled down at him. 'Erukyermë, Prayer to Eru, happens on the first day of spring. And Erulaitalë, Praise of Eru, during midsummer. The Three Prayers fell in disuse after the King's Men established their power in Númenor. You know them better as the Black Númenóreans; those who opposed the Valar and the island's relation to the Elves.'
'Then why is this happening now?' Severus asked. 'Is it something that he wants to reclaim?'
Glorfindel shook his head. 'A Prayer like this has not been heard since the Second Age,' he said. 'For Aragorn to do so means it is of utmost importance, for even though he may be from the line of Elendil – he is no King until the Crown has been reclaimed. This Prayer, Severus, is meant for you.'
'Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come,' said Alatar by means of explaining. 'In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world. These words will carry its own meaning for you, and as for Aragorn – he is summoning the Great Eagles from their eyries, so that they may be watching over you.'
Severus felt something in his chest that he would normally only find in a dark silence. There was a warmth, and a deep yearning grew for the adventure he was about to embark upon. He remained standing there among the other Wise Men until the Sun had fully appeared, and Aragorn rose from the ground like a phoenix rising from the ashes. He placed his hand on Severus' shoulder, and no words were shared between them, for there didn't need to be. All was understood.
...o0o…
Severus had spent the remainder of the morning collecting the rest of his belongings. From the kitchens he was gifted royally from the supplies, including what he had come to learn was something named Lembas, given to him by Arwen. She told him it was made from a corn gifted by Yavanna to the Eldar, and that it was a sweet bread that would stay fresh for months when wrapped in leaves. A thing gifted to those who had long journeys to make.
He was also gifted a supply of Miruvor by Elrond. Severus had enjoyed learning its brewing process, and the cordial reminded him a lot of a Pepper-Up potion, though it tasted far better. Grateful for everything, all that he needed was now strapped on to Tilion, who seemed to handle the weight with ease.
It was strange, saying goodbye to Rivendell. He had spent all but two months here at the Last Homely House East of the Sea, and yet he felt as if he had lived here for ages. Its traditions, its customs...it all came natural to him. The place where he learnt of his own ancestry, and of the history of this world told by its own People. A place, he hoped, he would return to with Lily by his side.
One by one the People of Rivendell gathered. First the Hobbits had come to him, expressing their gratitude for his service in guiding them to Rivendell, and especially Bilbo, for saving Frodo. The Elves came, and Elrohir handed him his bow and a quiver full of arrows. Not knowing the words, he bowed in gratitude. The Dwarves came after, and although he hadn't spend much time with them during his stay, he got to know them as a People who held deep respect, and could always be counted on. The Men came, and he told Boromir how grateful he was for all the sword lessons, and in return he was told that he should keep an eye out for the Rangers of Itilien. That is brother, Faramir, was among them, and would surely guide him if needed.
And at last came the Wizards. Gandalf spoke to him in words of wisdom, wishing him well on his journey to Rhosgobel. Alatar came up to him at last, and held out for him the Sorting Hat. 'It is yours to take,' he said. 'You will need it when the time comes – or simply to keep you company.'
'Thank you,' said Severus, though he was quite certain he'd rather avoid the incessant bickering by not putting on the Hat at all. 'I will keep it safe, as I'm sure Hogwarts will need it again some day.'
Alatar looked at him with that famous twinkle in his eye. 'I remember a particular day,' he said with great fondness, 'during your fourth year. Against school policy, you were out camping with miss Evans, and a dragon had escaped from the Isle of Skye. That day you had found the courage to look a dragon in the eye, and shield the person that you love from its destructive fires. It is within my hope that you carry that same courage with you on your journey back to her.'
'I acted as a reckless Gryffindor that day,' said Severus, and the image of the Hebridean Black beating its enormous wings against the setting sun came back him. 'But I will have to take my chances.'
'It is not just a mere chance that you are taking,' said Alatar wisely. 'Your very own destiny does not rely on chances, Severus, but on your choices. Magic is the very thread that weaves our destinies, and it is within the quiet moments that these whispers of magic can be heard.'
Severus couldn't help but laugh. 'Do you have any more of that deeply rooted wisdom for me, before I leave?' he asked.
'Well, yes,' said Alatar, who also started laughing. 'If you were to encounter a dragon again, the best way to approach it is with great caution, and a generous supply of marshmallows.'
'And this is where I take my leave,' said Severus with a nod. 'Thank you for the Hat. Are you sure you want to wait for me here?'
'I'm quite sure the Order of the Phoenix can go on without me for a little while,' said Alatar. 'Namárië, my good student. May the light of Elbereth be with you.'
...o0o...
The whole city stood by the bridge to wave him goodbye. He mounted Tilion, and he suppressed a welling sadness in his heart as he realised that all these People were standing there for him. In a place beyond Hogwarts he dared to call home.
He turned around and crossed the bridge that wound slowly up the long steep paths that led out of the cloven vale of Rivendell. With the new winter Sun lighting his way, he thought of all the things said and done over these past months. Of all the things he'd learnt, and of conversations he'd had. With Alatar, perhaps, most of all.
The Order of the Phoenix had been a topic of discussion between them ever since he came into the Headmaster's office for his Occlumency training. It was already decided upon that he would join the Death Eaters as well as the Order – although it would be unbeknownst to them. Lily had spoken of it too, shortly before their final falling out. He had wished, so desperately, that he could have told her of his plans. To have her understand. But the Sword of Damocles dangled dangerously above him, and the risk of exposing his mission was far too great if the truth were to live inside her head.
Another thing that came to their discussion was Alatar's Wand. He had shown it to him. The Tale of the Three Brothers told again since he read it last to Lily before they started attending Hogwarts. Something that he had believed had been nothing more than myth – at least up until now. For Alatar to have the Elder Wand, and how he came in its possession, was not the most shocking thing to him. It was the realisation that it was Potter who held Ignotus Peverell's Cloak. He had seen it before. So many times had Potter hidden under that despicable Cloak to hex and curse him. The Cloak's enchantment unwavering, is if it were never enchanted at all.
It helped him understand, though, what Pallando had been after. He had sought eternal life in the same way the Dark Lord was seeking eternal life. The same way the Three Brothers had cheated Death. The desire and the desperation for it – seeking it like an addict running out of control. Lying and stealing their way through life just to obtain it. And Pallando was not in the Undying Lands yet. He had never been a Ring barer, and thus he would be after Kémya – of that Alatar was certain.
To have Kémya meant to possess the power of the Earth. He had seen its full potential when the Bruinen river rose and came plummeting down on the Nazgûl, and he would have to find its power again by the time he reached the foot of the Misty Mountains. Wargs. The Beornings. Orcs. Werewolves. None were as important nor as dangerous as the impending winter coming in from the Northeast. The scent of the first snowfall could be sensed in the cold air, and crossing the Misty Mountains would become a hopeless case if the path vanished before him. From here on out he would have to follow the Bruinen up North, and make haste.
With Rivendell now lying behind him, he thought about a place he had not thought about for quite some time. Cokeworth, with its factories and its cobbled streets. Its polluted river, and the terraced house in which he was born on Spinner's End. He wondered how his mother must be doing. He knew that the only thing she had left to care about was him, and in his absence he could only imagine two things happening. Either she flourished, or she would wilt into nothing. He could only hope that she would flourish again. Reclaim her magic she had given up so long ago and start over. But he knew life simply wasn't that simple, and chances were far greater that she had given up her will to live. He wished she could have seen this. All of this, and learn about its history that belonged to her as much as it belonged to him.
By the time he reached the deepest point of the valley, he thought back to the day where he had met Lady Galadriel, Círdan, and Randagast through ósanwe. Glorfindel appeared to have made a prophecy. A guardian of the forest will save her from the highest tower. He had his own ideas on what it could mean, but all it concluded for him for now was that Lily was held captive and against her will. The very thought of it angered him.
Lily. Not a single day had gone by where he would not think of her. Talk to her in his mind, even. Something he had often done after their falling out, in desperate need of her voice whenever life dealt its terrible cards again. Something he was getting back from when she came to him during their last train ride to Hogwarts. The compartment their own perfect little universe, and her warm hand resting on his cheek, wiping off his stray tears on her robes. Perfectly imperfect. The emptiness he felt as she left the compartment. The book he had taken from his mother's shelves lying forgotten. The desire to kiss her carried on his mind and in his heart, until the train had reached its final station.
Would you have accepted it, if I had kissed you? he thought to himself, and he imagined that she was riding on Foxy beside him.
All he saw was her turning her mischievous gaze at him, smiling. How can I answer that if we've never kissed, she answered with a shrug. You should show me this place some day.
Severus halted Tilion and looked behind him. Rivendell had grown small in the distance, and it was basking in the cold yet golden light of the Sun. Alatar will be here for us, he thought. As well as many others that I wish for you to meet.
Can't wait to find out more about Rowena, said Lily. Once you see me, you should tell all.
I will tell all once I know all, you impatient woman. He laughed as he thought about how her response would have been. But tell me. How are you doing, since we've been here?
The radiant smile he always imagined her to have faded from her face. I miss my music. My horse. My family. My friends. Hogwarts. Home.The list she spoke went on and on, because he knew it had been the wrong question to ask. She was so loved in her own life. There was too much for her to miss. You have to get me out of here, Sev.
I will, he answered with determination. I promise you that I will take you home.
Good. Now, will you race me to the top of this hill? she asked, and Foxy seemed willing to run alongside Tilion. I could do with some wind in my hair.
Always, he thought. With a firm kick against Tilion's flank, they galloped their way up the hill. His long dark hair billowing behind him like a river in the air. It was with the turning of the corner that Rivendell vanished from sight, and the last leaves of its trees dwindled down on the ground. Kémya had left these lands for good, and winter had come knocking on its door.
…o0o…
…...
Lily was woken up by the sound of the hatchet opening. Before her lay a plate full of bread, a single goblet of water, and a fresh pile of blankets. She saw Gríma's grey eyes look at her as he lowered the hatchet, and disappeared again. She had grown too weak to protest. Too weak to scream. The three days in which Saruman had once said should have been enough to break her, had now long passed. If she had counted correctly, it meant that Christmas was but a few days away.
She witnessed the finishing of the dam, and the Orcs celebrating the power that it generated. The numbers of the Uruk-hai growing by the day. Their terrible cries screeching through the night, making it impossible to sleep. Not that it was sleep she wanted, for the dreams had turned into nightmares. In her dreams the Fires of Orthanc rained down on Fangorn forest, burning it all to the ground. She would wake up covered in tears, wishing to be in the arms of her father.
Gríma had made his way back down again, and she saw how he was now tending to her garden, fashioning the poisons in the same way he had watched her do. She wanted to curse him. Spit down on him from the very top of her prison tower. She would rather touch the hithlas with her bare hands than to be confined and stripped from her freedom. She would serve the very Dark Lord and worship him at his feet if it would lead her out the very gates of Isengard!
'Sev!' she screamed into the sky. 'Sev, is this how it happened for you? Were you so trapped that you had to serve the darknessso you could feel free!? Could you answer me for once – JUST ANSWER ME!' There was nothing around her willing to receive her anger, and so it stayed with her, making her feel small. 'Please, Sev,' she whimpered. 'Where are you?'
I'm always here, the voice in her head answered. She saw him sitting there again, right in front of her, looking annoyingly unperturbed by it all. His hair dancing in the wind. I'm coming to get you.
'Promise me,' she said timidly. 'Promise me. Promise me you will – please. I want to go home.'
Do you remember, during our first year, said the Severus before her. It had only been a few weeks since we arrived at Hogwarts, and you were so homesick you couldn't even attend class. Lupin didn't hate my guts yet, so he had come to get me because you kept asking for me. I met with you there, outside the Gryffindor common room.
'You told me that you were my home away from home,' said Lily as she wiped the tears from her face.
And you were my home away from home, he answered. I am still here. You just can't see me yet.
'I think I get it now,' said Lily, feeling like she was having a moment of clarity. 'I think I finally understand what drove you to do such dark things.'
The Severus she imagined before her looked straight at her, carrying sadness in the dark eyes she had grown to love so much. I lost my home, he said.
'I'm sorry, Sev,' she said to him. 'I'm sorry about everything.'
A/N Narsil was forged into Andúril some time during the last few days that the Fellowship remained in Rivendell. The Fellowship officially departed on the 25th of December. Severus leaves on Wednesday the 21st of December 1977/3018.
In the book, it is only stated that there are runes etched into the Narsil, but in the movies they elaborated that a bit further by adding actual meaning to it, stating the following: "Anar. Nányë Andúril I né Narsil i macil Elendilo. Lercuvantan i móli Mordórëo. Isil, meaning "Sun. I am Andúril who was once Narsil, sword of Elendil. The slaves of Mordor shall flee from me. Moon."
A/N In the third LotR movie, Aragorn sings the Oath of Elendil during his coronation.
For hearing a hauntingly beautiful version of this, I recommend on YT/Spotify: "Gealdýr – Elendil's Oath
A/N For linguistics' sake, "corn" in British English refers to anything related to wheat. Corn in American English is like corn-on-the-cob. That type of corn is known by the British as "maize". Tolkien may have been inspired by the Catholic sacramental bread when he made up Lembas, but it's only speculation.
A/N Elbereth is de Sindarin name for Varda the Vala, meaning Queen of the Stars.