Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, while the Lord of the Rings books and everything associated with it is property of J.R.R. Tolkien, and more recently the movies are property of Peter Jackson and New Line Cinema.

To Heed the Call of Destiny

A Lord of the Rings/Harry Potter Crossover

A/N:Italicized sections are taken directly from Grey Maiden IV: Darkness Rising. The events described begin as Harry fights for his life in the graveyard with the risen Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Elvish is also in italics. Languages really aren't my strong suit, and as much as I'd love to include some actual elvish, beyond bits I can take piecemeal, I'm really not cut out to try it. Still, it needs to be distinguished from English/Common Tongue.

Clearly, anyone that hasn’t read the GM series is going to have a fair bit of trouble understanding what’s going on, especially as it pertains to the HP characters. So let’s say I strongly recommend you at least skim the first 3 ¾ installments of the series.

Chapter 1: Arrival

Harry had just pulled his wand back to deliver a Slicing Curse when he was hit with the Dark Lord’s silent Cruciatus Curse. He dropped to his knees, and then fell to the ground, gnashing his teeth together, writhing on the ground as his body burned.

Voldemort lifted the curse, leaving him panting and nauseous. Almost as an afterthought, Harry’s scar continued to burn dully. The Death Eaters’ laughter filled his ears, echoing through the night. Harry slowly got back to his feet, his knees shaking, glaring daggers at his opponent.

“Disappointing…” Voldemort hissed. “Crucio!”

Harry had already begun his dive, and the blast of white light missed him, slamming into the ground with a bright flash. Harry slashed his wand hard at the Dark Lord, shrieking the incantation for the Slicing Curse. Voldemort slapped his curse aside with incredible ease. Harry fired again, this time a Blasting Curse at the reborn Dark Lord’s feet, followed quickly by the most powerful Severing Curse he could muster. None of them even got close before they vanished into Voldemort’s Servos Shield, which glowed a deep green as it consumed the energy of Harry’s spells.

Harry leapt back to his feet, waiting for the Dark Lord’s assault. He didn’t wait long. The supercharged Cruciatus Curse, fed mostly by Harry’s own magic, tore into his body and shattered his conjured shield like it wasn’t even there. Harry was hurled backwards, slamming into the wall of Death Eaters, bouncing off them and landing in the muddy grass, where he writhed in exquisite agony. He prayed for death at that moment. It simply could not be worse than the pain he was experiencing. He couldn’t even hear his own screams.

Then the pain vanished, as Voldemort once again released him. This wasn’t a duel, Harry realized, emerging from his pain-induced haze. He was toying with Harry, humiliating him, using Harry as an example of what happened to those that defied him.

“To your feet, Potter,” he hissed. Slowly, wondering how much more his abused and weakened body could take, Harry complied. He shook his bangs out of his eyes. It had begun to rain, and the ground was quickly becoming more treacherous.

“What do you want from me?” Harry demanded. “You’ve got me right here; you could just kill me and be done with it!” Taunting the man probably wasn’t the best idea, but Harry wasn’t sure he didn’t prefer death to enduring another dose of Voldemort’s Cruciatus. And escape was all but impossible.

Voldemort didn’t respond with words. Instead he blasted several more Cruciatus Curses at Harry, who managed to dodge all of them, and even got off a Striking Curse, as useless as it proved. Voldemort lazily waved his wand to block it.

At that instant, he saw it. Just ahead and to the right of him, a crack in the line of Death Eaters. He could only hope that they were too distracted by the duel between him and their master to react. He fired a Slicing Curse at Voldemort’s head, then spun around, aiming his wand at the break. “EVANBERO!” he bellowed. The supercharged Bludgeoning Curse smacked into the living wall, sending three or four unsuspecting Death Eaters flying into the air, and Harry took off for the gap he’d just created even as the others hurried to close it. He slipped through the breach, running for his life. He heard Voldemort’s cry of rage, felt the heat from a curse on his neck as it missed him by centimeters. He wasn’t sure how far he’d made it before he was hit in the back by the worst Cruciatus yet. His wand slipped from his fingertips as he collapsed forward onto the ground, his body going into uncontrolled spasms, his throat burning as he vomited. He felt blood dripping from his nose and ears. That can’t be good.

Harry rolled over, facedown in the mud. He was desperate now, desperate to get away from all of this, desperate to survive. He didn’t want to die. He had far too much to live for. But now, as he struggled to regain his composure and pick himself up off the ground, even death seemed a more attractive alternative than remaining here, at Voldemort’s mercy, until the Dark Lord finally became bored with tormenting his prey and finished him off.

Please, he begged, as another Cruciatus Curse slammed into his bruised body, tearing a scream from his throat. Someone, anyone…please help me. Take me away from here. Anywhere but here…

Harry felt something with his magical core surge, and heard a rushing sound in his ears, one that blocked out all other noise. He looked up, and saw that a firestorm of light and color now surrounded him. Beyond it, he saw Voldemort, and his look of stunned disbelief.

Exhausted, Harry fell into Darkness. He did not yet realize that in his hour of greatest need, his magic had granted his desperate request.

At a price, of course. And the price was no more or less than being taken into a world utterly unfamiliar to the Boy-Who-Lived...

Far away, in that new and strange world, a fair and beautiful woman smiled. The day had come at last. Two vastly different worlds, eternally separate, were about to collide. Two quests, by two very different heroes, were about to become one. How this moment of cosmic intervention would alter the coming struggle against the Darkness, the elven queen could not know. She gazed into the mirror, watching the plight of that desperate boy, of whose life she had caught just scattered glimpses. She had not understood the significance of those images until this moment. She could see much…but there was even more that remained hidden to her. Nenya, the Ring of Adamant, glowed softly with an inner light.

At last, Celeborn came to join her, gazing at his incomparably fair wife in uncertainty, his eyes drawn to her pulsing ring. At last Galadriel, the last of the original elven ring-bearers, spoke.

“And so…it begins…”

“What is it?” Celeborn asked, sounding alarmed.

Galadriel smiled mysteriously. “I do not know,” she whispered.

Far away from the haven of Lorien, a mysterious wind began to blow in the forest of Chetwood. Leaves were thrown skyward, the trees strained against the rushing air. There was a flash, and once it was gone, the wind died. The leaves drifted back to the earth. The trees swayed slowly until their inertia was expended. All was calm in the forest. All was as it had been.

All, except, for the black-clad body now lying motionless on the forest floor.

---

“Pippin! Where do you think you are going?” Merriadoc Brandybuck yelled at him, as he scrambled off the trail to see what his cousin was up to.

“Just a moment, Merry,” Peregrine Took told him, carefully stepping down an embankment. Tired, hungry, and sore from two days travel in the Chetwood, it had been only a stroke of fortune that he’d bothered to look beyond the path at all. Time would tell if it that fortune was good or bad. He’d spotted something from where he stood, something he simply had to investigate. Curiosity was as much as part of him as his insatiable appetite. Of course, while the latter was true of all hobbits, the former was only true of a few oddballs in each generation. It was no coincidence that three of the four halfings accompanying the Ranger, Strider, were of that peculiar disposition.

“We cannot afford to be delayed,” Strider called from behind him. “The enemy gains on us. We must make for the safety of Rivendell. Come, Master Took,” he ordered.

“Pippin, listen to him,” his other cousin, Frodo Baggins called.

Ignoring them both, Pippin scrambled down through a bush, and finally found what he’d spotted. It was a body. The body of a man, for he was too tall to be a hobbit, clad in strange black clothing, lying facedown in the brush. There was an odd tingle to the air, one that gave the hobbit goosebumps. He shook it off.

“Hey! I’ve found something,” he called back. “Come and see, all of you!”

“This had better be worth it, cousin,” Merry grumbled. He was the first to reach the young Took. When he did, and his eyes fell upon what had lured Pippin off the trail, his anger seemed to evaporate. Frodo fought his way through the brush next, followed by Sam, and finally Strider, who had the most trouble, being the tallest and least able to fit through the small gaps in the trees and bushes.

“Who is this?” Frodo asked, looking to Strider. The Ranger’s face was impassive, but his eyes betrayed his puzzlement.

“I cannot say,” Strider replied, eyes scanning the scene. “He is a man, it seems, but not one that I have encountered in the past. His clothing is made of no material that I have ever seen.”

“Well, we can’t just leave him here!” Pippin almost shouted. “He won’t stand a chance.”

“He’s wounded, look there,” Merry said, pointing at the man’s shoulder. They could see a tear in the clothing, which was wet with blood. His pale fresh contrasted sharply with the dark gash that seemed quite deep.

Pippin, seeing no other way, began prodding him with his bare foot. The figure groaned, and he hopped back in surprise. Strider crossed to him, and gently rolled him onto his back. “Stranger, what brings you to this place? Are you in need of aid?”

Another groan. Pippin noticed more about the odd attire the man wore. It was some sort of robe, not unlike the one he’d seen the wizard Gandalf wear under his traveling cloak. But this was black, made of a shiny, flexible material. Around his eyes, he wore strange circular metal frames with a transparent material - possibly glass - inside the circles. He wore boots of the same odd black material. They could now see other wounds and injuries, including a deep wound to his left shoulder, and lacerations across the palm of his right hand. His eyelids fluttered, and for an instant, Pippin saw eyes of the deepest green that he had ever seen, a color that reminded him, with a sad pang, of the lush green of the Shire, where he had lived his entire life. Those eyes squeezed shut almost immediately.

“Help me,” Strider told Frodo. Together, the two propped the stranger up against a tree. Strider reached into his bag, and pulled out a pouch of water. Opening the man’s…or was it a boy…mouth, he gently poured a bit of the life-sustaining liquid into it, careful to allow him to swallow. It seemed to work wonders, and the stranger’s eyes opened again, becoming wider as he took in the scene before him.

He began desperately clawing for something…a weapon, perhaps, searching the ground, his clothing, and his sleeves. Whatever it was, he did not find it, and Pippin could see the fear in his eyes.

“We mean you no harm, stranger,” Strider said in a gentle voice. The man did not seem to understand him. He spoke, but it was in a language unlike any they had ever heard. It seemed to be a question, based on his expectant and anxious facial expression. Pippin imagined he had to be asking who they were, or what this place was. Strider drew the same conclusion.

“We are travelers in this wood,” Strider said, wisely revealing nothing or their true mission or destination. “Are you in need of assistance, kind sir? I would tend to your wounds if you so desire.”

The stranger didn’t seem to have understood anything the Ranger had said. His eyes were drawn to Frodo, Pippin noticed. And the Ring that he was turning about in his hand, examining it curiously. Frodo, noticing the man’s gaze, hurriedly covered the Ring with his hand, hiding it from view, and then stuffing it back into his pocket. He looked upon the stranger with a suspicious, almost angry gaze. Strider frowned as he noticed this silent exchange, but said nothing.

“Can you understand me? I am fluent in a number of languages, but I did not understand the words you spoke before. Are you familiar with any other tongues? Elvish perhaps?” he asked.

The stranger’s blank look answered that question.

---

Even as Harry struggled to understand what on earth had just happened between him and one of the short, almost child-like men that stood before him, he realized that the tallest of the men was speaking again. The words were utterly incomprehensible, and Harry was growing more frustrated, and more anxious. He struggled to stay awake, drained from his confrontation with Voldemort. Obviously, the mystery of how he’d gone from being tortured to the breaking point by the Dark Lord to lying unconscious in this strange forest was the greatest plaguing his mind at the moment, but the strange, almostirresistible attraction he felt from that odd band of metal. What had come over him at that moment? Some told him that if he gained possession of that Ring, he would never be vulnerable again, he would swat Voldemort aside like some pest, he would…

Merlin…

He shook his head to clear it of such disturbing thoughts.

The tall man before him wore armor of some sort, intermeshed with his clothing, and a scabbard with a large sword hung at his belt. He had scraggly dark hair that looked unwashed, and a scruffy, untrimmed beard. Yet there was something about his grey eyes that told Harry had could trust him. Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to believe that odd voice in his mind.

Harry was struggling to control his emotions. His inability to communicate with his apparent rescuers was making an impossible situation all the more difficult. As always, survival was the first thing on Harry’s mind. He didn’t know these people, had no inkling of their allegiance, their motives, or even how much they already knew about him. He had to be cautious, until he knew if he could trust them.

If only I could understand them! he almost screamed in his mind.

He wished Hermione were there. She was good at learning languages from picking up small bits at a time, recognizing patterns and familiar words, and associating them with certain actions, gestures, or places. It showed in Ancient Runes, where she routinely bested Harry for the best marks in the class, despite the fact that Harry worked very hard to keep up. But he succeeded in Ancient Runes the same way Hermione succeeded in Potions - memorization. And that was of no use to him here.

His body ached from Voldemort’s curses. He felt terribly ill, even feverish, and his stomach roiled. He tried to clear his head, tried to listen to the tall man’s words. He seemed to have switched to another language now, one that sounded almost musical to Harry’s ear. He understood it no more than the original tongue the man had spoken.

Suddenly, an idea occurred to Harry. Gently, he pushed out with his magic. My name is Harry, he thought. I am lost. Best to start with simple thoughts first. He’d never had any formal training in Legilimency, but he had been able to exchange silent thoughts with his guardian on several occasions.

He pushed again, saying the same words in his mind. It occurred to him that his thoughts might be no more understandable to the man than his words, but it was worth a try.

He must have done something, because the tall man jerked back as if stung.

---

My name is Harry. I am lost.

Aragorn was for an instant pleased to hear words from the stranger than he understood. But his relief turned to alarm as he realized that the stranger’s lip had remained still as his voice had echoed in the Ranger’s mind.

A sorcerer! he thought at once. Yet this boy appeared to be no older than his mid-teens. Though, as Aragorn gazed into his eyes, he began to doubt that original assessment. No child should have eyes like those, eyes that betrayed not innocence, but pain. Hard, cold eyes, those that would belong to a retired soldier who had seen far too much in his time. Haunted eyes.

Aragorn felt it useless to speak again, and instead waited for the boy to say something else.

Can you understand me? a soft voice whispered in his mind. Nod once if you can.

Aragorn hesitated, and then nodded. A small smile came to the boy’s face.

Frodo tapped him on the shoulder. “Strider…”

“Be silent, Master Frodo,” Aragorn said, a little more forcefully than he’d intended. The Ringbearer looked at the stranger with deepest suspicion. Aragorn could see that the Ring was already beginning to trouble the Halfling, although he knew that a man might already have been fully taken by its promise of power. Humble by nature, hobbits, as Gandalf had predicted, seemed far more capable of resisting the pull of the Ring of Power. “Give us a moment,” he said.

I do not know the language you are speaking. I...I do not come from here. I am far from home. The voice stopped, and Aragorn could tell he was frustrated the severe limitations of their communication. Are we near a town or city?

Aragorn shook his head. “Mister Strider,” the nervous Sam Gamgee whispered. “Mister Strider, what…”

Aragorn held up a hand.

I am tired, the boy said in his mind. I have…endured much. Can you offer me a place to stay?

Aragorn hesitated. He had not intended to stop for some time, not with the Nazgûl so close behind. And his mandate was to protect Frodo, to bring the Ringbearer and his companions to Rivendell.

“He’s talking to you, ent he?” Pippin asked. “In your thoughts?”

“Pippin, don’t be daft,” Merry told him.

“Master Took is correct,” Aragorn said softly. “He is able to project thoughts, but I cannot do the same.”

“He’s injured,” Pippin reminded them again, his voice anxious. “We can’t just leave him here.”

“Can we afford to bring him along?” Sam asked. “Might he slow us down?”

Aragorn looked to Frodo. “You are the Ringbearer. The choice is yours. But do not choose hastily.” The implications of his words were clear to all of them.

Frodo eyed Harry for a long moment. He hesitated, and then spoke. “We cannot leave here to die alone. We are far from any settlements and few walk these woods. And if we leave him, there is a risk the Black Riders may discover him before he succumbs to the elements. He may betray us before he dies.” Frodo's assessment was brutal, but realistic. This was a struggle for survival. Still, Aragorn sensed a bit of animosity between the normally good-natured hobbit and this stranger.

Frodo looked at Aragorn, who nodded. “Very well. But how shall we transport him?”

“He’s not that big; Bill could carry him,” Sam offered. “If we carried the supplies, I think he could support the weight. If we spread them evenly, we could manage it. We could also shed ourselves of them quickly, should we be attacked.”

Aragorn smiled. “That is very insightful, Sam. We shall do as you suggest.” He turned back to the stranger, but saw that he had fallen unconscious. Well, at least getting him onto the pony would be easier. Aragorn lifted him off of the ground, and began carrying him back up to the trail. He was a bit heavier than he’d expected, and would not be easily supported by the pony, but they could only hope for the best.

Pippin quickly searched the area for any items their new friend might have dropped. He kicked aside a slender shaft of wood, nearly broken in two, failing to notice the odd red glint of a phoenix feather sticking out of it. Finding nothing, hurried back up the embankment, and helped the other hobbits unload Bill’s cargo. When they were finished, Aragorn got the stranger onto the pony, securing him in the saddle, which, although small for him, was large enough to accommodate his slender frame. Bill strained under the weight, but remained upright. Aragorn let him drink from a pouch of water, and patted the pony’s flank reassuringly. He turned back to the see that the hobbits, although heavily laden, were on their feet and ready to go. He began walking, and the four Halflings and their pony with its unconscious passenger, followed him.

---

Things had begun to go wrong as soon as Bagman had made the announcement that both Harry and Cedric had reached the final chamber. The announcement that they’d reached the Cup itself had been followed by a lusty roar of approval from all four Houses of Hogwarts. But when the news of who had actually reached it first hadn’t been announced, Ginny had started to worry. Despite the capture of Barty Crouch Junior over two months previous, all of them had feared that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might still make his presence felt at the third and Final Task. And as the teachers began whispering in frightened and increasingly panicked tones, it seemed those fears had been realized. Dumbledore had ordered them to remain calm, and even Ginny had felt the magical power that had accompanied his command.

Waiting anxiously with Anne Grunitch and Melissa Quinn, as Hermione disappeared into the crowd in search of information, Ginny had seen multiple individuals entering the maze. Eventually, the unconscious, but alive, body of Viktor Krum had been pulled out, as well as a despondent Fleur Delacour. The level of noise had risen as Krum had been revived and begun wildly gesturing, spewing something in Bulgarian, a language as utterly incomprehensible to Ginny as any she’d ever heard. The teachers had begun steadily deconstructing the maze, and Hagrid had been sighted carrying away the body of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. In the course of Bagman’s poor commentary, Ginny thought she remembered a mention of Harry fighting one of the things, but she wasn’t sure. The maze was nearly gone now, but it seemed that Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, and the Triwizard Cup had vanished into thin air.

Not likely, knowing Harry, Ginny had told herself. It’s probably a lot worse than that.

Hermione had returned maybe twenty minutes later, near panic, her face blotched by tears and rage. She’d been unable to get into the Teacher’s or Judge’s Box, stopped at the latter by none other than her pompous and infuriating older brother, Percy, who assured her that the situation was well in hand. She hadn’t even seen McGonagall or Daphne, the two people she’d been looking for. Hermione admitted she’d considered hexing Percy on the spot, but considering the confusion that was already creating wild rumors and disorderly conduct, including a fistfight between a few of the younger Gryffindors and Slytherins, she’d decided against it.

The evening had worn on, with no news or explanations. The Judges had evidently decided that keeping the spectators in the stands was the best course of action. Ginny wasn’t so sure she agreed with them, especially after a frustrated Anne Grunitch had delivered a vicious uppercut to one of Ginny’s male classmates, who’d apparently blamed Harry for the situation and called him something that Anne neglected to repeat.

Ginny Weasley. Listen to me, Ginny. Hear my voice.

The redhead froze. The words, spoken by a soft, distinctively female voice, had easily been heard over the din of the stands. It was then she realized that the voice was coming from within her own mind.

Yes, Ginny, the voice said. Your friend Harry is in great peril. There is a way for you to come to his aid, but you must follow my instructions. You must trust me. It is the only way.

What do you want me to do? she asked, her mental voice as timid and uncertain as if she had spoken the words aloud. At first she felt foolish, but her answer came at once.

You must find a place to be alone, the voice told her.

Alone?

Bring your friends if you so desire. But I cannot help you aid your dear friend if you remain where you are. There are things that cannot be seen, because they would not be understood. You must get away from these crowds.

Ginny quickly found Hermione, tapping her on the shoulder.

“What?” Hermione practically screamed over the roar of the crowd.

“Come with me.” She hesitated, and then asked, “Where’s Blaise? And Neville?”

Hermione pointed, and Ginny could see Blaise’s dark skin between a couple of Fifth Years in front of her. “What do you want them for?” her Gryffindor friend asked.

“You’ve just got to trust me,” Ginny said, unwilling to say anything more.This is going to take some explaining…

Hermione looked skeptical, but followed. Ginny scrambled down and caught Blaise’s attention. Neville sat next to him. Daphne Greengrass was there as well, and rose with the others. Ginny thought about telling her off, but something made her hold her tongue. She turned around and found herself standing face-to-face with Luna Lovegood.

“Luna?” Ginny asked.

The enigmatic Ravenclaw smiled lazily at her. “Go now,” she said, speaking just loudly enough to be heard. “I will make sure you are not seen.”

Ginny didn’t understand how that was even possible, but let it go. A lot of things were happening right now that she didn’t know were possible before this terrible, dreadful day. Who was she to doubt anything anymore? “Don’t you want to come?” she asked, assuming that Luna knew why they were leaving.

Luna smiled slightly, then shook her head. “It is not my place. Good luck, Ginevra. Go now. I can only hide you for a little while, with so many people around.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Ginny said. She led the others out of the stands. Sure enough, they walked straight past a number of students, and even Professor Flitwick, without being challenged. Whatever Luna was doing, it was working.

Once they were out of the stands, Ginny led them toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Her feet seemed to have minds of their own, but she did not fight them. She did not know what she was doing, only that she should keep going. Finally, one of her baffled companions lost their patience, rushed forward, and grabbed her shoulder, halting her forward progress. It was Hermione.

“Ginny, what in Merlin’s name is going on?” she demanded. “How is it that no one saw us as we were leaving? And why are we here, of all places? Is this about Harry?”

“I…I think so,” Ginny responded. “I know we can thank Luna for hiding us. But as for the rest…I don’t know.”

“You aren’t telling us the whole truth,” Daphne Greengrass said, sounding irritated. “You aren’t a good liar when you are anxious, Ginny Weasley. Why have we come here?”

“No one asked you to come with us,” Ginny pointed out hotly.

Daphne shrugged. “True. But I decided to come for the same reasons that you decided to bring us to this spot. I suspect I am no closer to understanding them than you are.”

“Could someone please explain to me exactly what it going on?” Blaise finally snapped. “I want to help Harry as much as anyone, but I haven’t the faintest clue what we’re accomplishing in that regard at the moment. I don’t like doing things and not understanding the reasons. Ginny, what made you decide to leave?”

Ginny was silent. She suspected they’d think her mad if she admitted she’d followed the directions of a disembodied voice that only she could hear. Truth be told, if she were in their position, she’d think no differently. What was it that Harry had once told her, when he’d first discovered that he was a Parselmouth? “Hearing voices is never a good thing, even in the wizarding world.”

“Ginny…” Neville said, trying to remain sympathetic, but also in need of answers. Answers she could not provide.

“Do you even have a reason?” Daphne asked. “Was I wrong in assuming you’d actually followed any sort of feeling or impulse? Or did you just decide to do this to relieve stress?”

“No! I…” Ginny stopped, her jaw falling open.

“What now…” Blaise’s voice also trailed off as he caught sight of what had captivated Ginny. The others turned to look.

A radiant being, one that appeared to be made of nothing but pure energy, had materialized a few meters away. Tall, with long golden tresses that fell down her back, clad in a white gown of a kind Ginny had never seen before, she smiled gently as they gazed at her in awe. Her alabaster skin glowed like a full moon, and her ears were unusually pointed. Ginny could see that she was at least partially transparent, as the outline of a tree a few meters behind her could be seen through her body, but this was no ordinary ghost. She did not float above the ground, but her sandals left no imprint in the soil.

“Who are you?” Ginny asked.

“I am Galadriel. It was I who called to you. And to you,” she said, speaking to Greengrass. Aiden’s daughter gave her a guarded smile. “No, you are not going mad,” she reassured them both with a smile.

“Miss…um…Galadriel, was it?” Hermione asked. The apparition nodded. “Well, why have you called us out here? Is this about Harry?”

“It involves your friend, yes.”

“Is he alright?” Neville blurted. “Where is he?”

“That is a very interesting question...with an equally interesting answer. He is safe, for now.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione asked. “Why are you speaking in riddles? He’s our friend, and he might be in danger. And yet you tease us with these…”

Galadriel held up a hand. “Be still, Hermione. I will explain.”

“You aren’t of this world, are you?” Daphne asked, eying her suspiciously.

“You are correct,” Galadriel said. “I only recently learned that I can appear in worlds other than my own. But it is a draining experience, so I do it only when I must. This is one of those times. We have come to a turning point. Where we go now may decide everything.”

“What do you want from us?” Ginny asked. “What can we do to help Harry?”

“Harry Potter has been taken into my world,” Galadriel said. “In his hour of greatest desperation, he asked to be taken away. His request, it seems, was granted. But there was a price.”

“What price?” Ginny asked, breathless.

“Our world, like yours, has fallen into Shadow. A Dark Lord, more terrible than any you could possibly imagine, threatens all living things in Arda. He seeks to control everything, to dominate all life, to become so powerful that none dare stand against him, and to reign forever as the uncontested ruler of Middle-Earth. He has come dangerously close before, but he was defeated.”

“What does that have to do with Harry?” Hermione asked.

“I cannot presume to know the will of the Valar,” Galadriel said. “Yet I sense that your friend will play a pivotal role in shaping the future of our world.”

Ginny had difficulty imagining that anything could be worse than Voldemort, but as she began to reflect upon the sheer scale of this other Dark Lord’s ambitions, and the forces that had to be at his disposal to bring them so close to fruition, it was no longer so difficult to conceive. “But surely he can’t do it on his own!” Ginny exclaimed.

“He cannot. But there are others,” Galadriel told him.

“We should help him,” Blaise said abruptly. “He has faced much in his own world, been saddled with many burdens, and now he is asked to take on another, in a world he doesn’t know or likely understand? It isn’t fair.” Typical of Blaise, Ginny thought, to start off speaking with an eloquence and maturity beyond his years, and finish with a juvenile complaint. Not that he was wrong.

Galadriel smiled. Greengrass frowned. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” she said. “You want us to come, to join with Potter in his…quest? Why did you speak to me? What have I to do with this?”

“More than you can ever hope to understand,” Galadriel replied. She looked at them all. “I cannot hold the door open much longer. Already, I can feel my strength leaving me. You must decide.”

“But how will we get home?” Neville asked. “Surely you can’t expect us to leave and never return.”

“I do not know, Neville,” Galadriel said. “I do not know the manner or the timing of your return. But I swear to you that you will return. Now, quickly.”

She gestured to her right, and with a bright flash, a golden whirlpool appeared in mid-air. Ginny stepped forward. “I’m going,” she said, with a hint of hesitation. “Who will come with me?”

Hermione and Neville came forward, followed by Blaise. Daphne Greengrass stood there, and Ginny could see the real fear in her eyes, a fear so great that it shattered her renowned emotional mask. “Come, Daphne, daughter of Aiden. You have nothing to fear,” Galadriel said gently. “You have always wished for something greater, have you not? You have always wished to free of your father’s shadow.”

With a deep breath, the proud Slytherin stepped forward to join the others.

“I have not sent you into a foreign land without a gift,” Galadriel told them. “Just as I speak your language without ever having heard it before, so it will be for you. Now, go on, before it is too late.”

Ginny cautiously reached in a hand. She felt a pull, and before she could stop herself, she was yanked through. A brilliant light blinded her, and she felt herself falling. Then everything went black.

---

A/N: You know, I’ve never really been that big a fan of crossovers, but since I was reading the Lord of the Rings books and had just seen all of the films in the space of a few days after getting back from college, I decided that, since I was bored, I might as well check out what would happen if those fandoms met. As you might be able to tell from the recent additions to my favorite stories, I liked what I saw. Well, some of it, anyway.

So, since I’m way ahead of my beta, and would like to take a little time to consider where Sacrifice is headed while I wait for him to catch up, I thought I’d experiment with something else. And, based on the early results (about 6,000 words in a day), I though I might actually have something.

Again, the Grey Maiden series is still my priority, and I have every intent to finish the thing eventually. I’ve got the main events planned out already. But as I get farther from canon, making the story move along become more difficult, because I can’t rely on the timeline JKR’s already created.

In that sense, writing this kind of LotR-involved cross-over is considerably easier. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to change as little as possible in the Lord of the Rings storyline, so using the books (which I’m sort of reading along as I write this at this point, which keeps me very familiar with the plot), I don’t have to make up much in the way of original events. J.R.R. Tolkien was the master. In sharp contrast to JKR, whose world was contradictory and had more holes than a 20’s mobster’s car after a drive-by involving a Thompson submachine gun, Tolkien not only created thousands of years of history, but multiple complex and sophisticated languages, rich and deep characters, a number of distinct, individual races, and imbued the entire series, which follows the traditional guidelines of a hero’s journey set against a great war, with a gritty realism that came from his experience as a soldier in the Great War. The last thing I want to do is take away the importance of the Fellowship and replace them with over-powered intruders. That the magic of the Istari is more subtle and limited than the magic in the Harry Potterverse does not make it less powerful.

This enterprise is, in a lot of ways, an exercise in character development. Each of the HP characters that have been taken into Middle-Earth have distinct flaws and shortcomings, some of them glaring. Harry is tempted by the lure of Dark Magic, and struggles to balance a philosophy of brutal realism and Slytherin Darwinism with his own innate compassion and respect for human life. Hermione and Ginny, despite their ordeals of the past few years, are seriously lacking in genuine combat experience. Neville Longbottom struggles with his self-confidence and sense of purpose. Daphne Greengrass and Blaise Zabini are both only children (well, Daphne is essentially an only child) with privileged backgrounds and little real world experience. Their first struggle for survival will be their first.

In order to avoid just re-writing the Lord of the Rings with the addition of the Potter characters, I will have to make a few changes. Some will be minor, others more significant. In the end, the quest for Mount Doom and the destruction of the Ring belongs to Frodo, and, to a degree, Sam. Their struggles are a vital part of Tolkien’s narrative, and I won’t destroy that by having, say, Harry accompany them. Yet at the same time, one would have to assume the Fates are not just sadistic, and that Harry and company were taken into Middle-Earth for a reason. So they can’t just be there as observers, especially because I don’t think I’m going to write a sequel to this. I suppose that could change, but I don’t want to wrap up this War Against Voldemort before I finish the original series.

I choose to use my own work as a starting point for several reasons. First, I like the characters I’ve created. Second, I think a more mature and cautious Harry has a far better chance of surviving in a strange world almost completely unlike his own than his Gryffindor incarnation. The Graveyard scene provides a nice jumping off point for a lot of reasons, which may become evident as the series moves along. I will try not to reveal (and certainly not to change) any details of the GM characters’ backgrounds, to avoid confusion. The sole exception might be Daphne and Blaise, but I’ll try to keep that to a minimum and make sure that I eventually cover the same stuff in the GM series.

As for the movies vs. the books. Well, let’s be honest, for the most part, Tolkien’s books are certainly superior to the movies. That is not meant as an insult to Jackson, who I feel did a simply astounding job considering the incredible task he laid down for himself. He not only had to overcome the traditional limitations of film, but also make Tolkien’s work communicate better with the modern theater audience. So much of the details of the plot will come from the books. On the other hand, Tolkien’s battle sequences, particularly the Battle of Helm’s Deep, do leave something to be desired, while in my mind, the Helm’s Deep sequence in the movie version of the Two Towers is possible the most dramatic and epic scenes ever, and certainly my favorite scene of the entire trilogy. So some action things may come more from the movie than the book. I intend to shrink Arwen back down to where she was originally; there are more than enough strong female characters in this crossover without her. She is, in my mind, beauty incarnate; a symbol of purity and innocence that motivates Aragorn to take on the great burden of resurrecting Isidur’s line. She does not need to be a warrior. That’s Eowyn’s job.

To be honest, watching the movies with the commentary by Jackson and the writers was quite enlightening. It was obvious that they knew the books, and that a great deal of thought went into the changes they made. Well, most of them. A lot were made because there is a far greater need to build and sustain suspense in a movie than a book (because you need to keep the audience, that may or may not be made up of people that read the books, interested). Looking at the films as just films, it's quite easy to just go with it. The books are the books. I don't think Jackson changed things because he could. He basically did what a whole load of LoTR fans have dreamed of doing for years.

As for the other character conflicts invented by Jackson, such as Elrond’s overprotectiveness of Arwen and Faramir’s desire for the Ring…well, it might be blasphemy to say it, but I thought they added to the story. They made the character more lifelike, with human fears and ambitions (besides, with the importance Elves place on their children, Elrond’s protectiveness makes a great deal of sense). The Elves at Helm’s Deep? I recognize that it’s complete fiction, but it was a really nice touch. It shows that the Elves have not forsaken the race of men, that there are still some willing to trust in their virtue and courage. Tolkien bashes the human race about as much as he bashes the Industrial Revolution, and sometimes I think it’s a little excessive. So that might not change.

As for the dialogue, I don’t want to take it directly from the movie, but I’m not sure I have any desire to take it directly from the book, either. While I’m a fan of somewhat archaic speech, it can be somewhat difficult to write. So I’m going to try to match the tone, style, and nature of the dialogue, but the words are coming from my own imagination.

Yeah, I left Luna behind. Considering her desire to stay away from the action, it made sense to me. And a conversation between her and Galadriel might never end.

Speaking of our favorite elven queen, I really liked the way that Cate Blanchett played her. If she seems a tad manipulative (okay, more than just a tad), and all-powerful, well, I wasn't really trying to avoid it. I needed to make the connection somehow, and this way made sense to me. Besides, just blame it on the whims of the Valar. They aren't Gods, but they are the closest thing.

So, the Star Wars thing is on hold for now, though I haven’t abandoned it.

Hopefully that sort a few things out, answers some questions before they are asked, and gives you an idea of what I want to happen. Reviews, with comments, questions, suggestions, or concerns, are, as always, welcome.