This story would follow Lily (fem!Harry) as she attempts to stop Sauron from taking over Middle-earth. It begins hundreds of years before the events of the Lord of the Rings, and will span hundreds of years. This first chapter is inspired a bit by Shadow of Angmar, and is therefore somewhat dark, but the future chapters would not be.
If you'd like to see anything in particular in this story (other HP characters, romance, locations), leave a review! I also wouldn't mind a beta.
To Rekindle the Flame
What Lies Unseen
In a fortress in Mirkwood there lived a witch.
It was not a normal fortress, filled with knights and horses and swords and shields, nor yet an abandoned one with nothing but dust and dirt and remnants of the past. The name given to it was Dol Guldur, and darkness dwelled within.
Beneath the black stone, down in the deepest dungeon, shadowed and silent, lay chained a source of magic unlike any before seen in Middle-earth; boundless in her potential, torn from her world and imprisoned for purposes of which she did not yet fully know.
Ignorant but for the knowledge of vile things made, multiplied, or magnified by her magic: orcs, trolls, wargs, and those which were more dreadful than the dementors they resembled, instilling a terror in her heart that was inexplicable: the Nazgûl.
Unlike the guards of Azkaban, which would bring about her worst memories, they seeped into her very soul a kind of horror that had never been matched even by the presence of Lord Voldemort himself, who was very much dead now and had been for weeks.
Or perhaps it had been months. The sky here was dark and without sun, an eternal night, and it was difficult to tell. It didn't help that with each passing sleep there came a kind of darkness which buried itself deeper within her; and with that the days blurred, her hope diminished, her sanity struggled, and her identity was dismantled further.
Her magic had already been used to fuel the power and creation of things that were sinister and altogether a disgrace to her magic. If her growing grasp of the Black speech was indeed any grasp at all, it was all for war.
And what was torturing a girl just out of her teens to them?
"Sûr! Sûr, Lilith uth Mor!"
Lily could barely muster the strength to speak, much less lift her head to see the speaker. "That's not" — she took a breath — "my name..."
Pain streaked across her face, and her lips burst with blood like crushed cherries. She knew the taste of it well.
"Gashn tug amukh gashn-u, skessa!" The orc bent over, his face close, his smile terrible, and his breath putrid. "Agh gashn tug izubu Burz Laam!"
"Daka lat," Lily said, and the words were foul on her tongue.
The orc threw his head back and laughed. It echoed through the room and into the dark hallway. Then, as he brought a stone bowl under her chin to collect her blood, he said words which made Lily's insides become cold and sick: "Uth Nazgûl ath katu." And then again: "Uth Nazgûl ath katu." When enough blood was collected he stepped back and made for the exit. "Uth Nazgûl ath katu."
Lily closed her eyes and prepared herself. Pleading never worked with the Nazgûl and the darkness they brought.
The orc cackled as he left. "Skriki, Lilith un Mor, skriki!" And other orcs beyond her walls laughed too, and all around echoed the words, "Skriki!" "Skriki!" "Skriki!"
Then the Nazgûl came.
And such fear was upon her that she could not scream, or beg, or think thoughts that were anything more than loosely coherent. Darkness gathered itself around her — in her very core, it seemed — and she knew as the days continued to blur that she would not withstand the patience of the Nazgûl.
Or that which dwelled beyond. For it was not the Nazgûl who explored, ripped, and corrupted her magic. They weakened her mind, unmade it, so the Shadow could also make her the same as them.
The Shadow, as she knew no other name for it and it remained always unseen, was like nothing she had experienced before. It was ancient, terrible, something that spoke more of evil incarnated than simple dark wizard, something that made her gut scream, her eyes fail, her ears ring, and her courage falter. Voldemort would have been frightened.
(And how utterly insignificant Voldemort seemed to her now.)
Even when it did nothing more than watch, when it did not intrude upon her mind as it did when the Nazgûl came, the hairs on her neck would still stand and she would feel there was something in the shadows of her cell, lurking just out of sight; and if she turned her head too quickly she feared she would see it, a great and evil entity, tall and menacing, looming over her, staring without blinking.
Yet she remained as resilient as she could, for her will had been forged in fire and her mind would remain hers as long as she could manage it. But still she learned where she could. At times she had no choice. And at other times she welcomed the knowledge.
Such as that of Middle-earth, a world not hers, and its lore and history. But — and here there always seemed to be a but — it came with a price. The more knowledge she let in, the more the Shadow's power bled into her.
Her hair no longer glowed like flame or swayed in the wind like the leaves of autumn. Thick and voluminous it may have remained, but its fire was left extinguished. It was now black like the deepest shadow, from where this evil must've warped itself into existence.
It was expected she was to throw away her birth name, that of Liliana Potter, and take up a new name. Of Lilith the Black, a name closer to hers but still different, and she would become the Witch-Queen of Rhovanion.
But she would not yet lose another part of herself. Not until much more time passed. Nearly once she broke free of her shackles and escaped, but there was always a watchful Shadow on her and if anything, the near-escape came closer to breaking her than anything the Shadow did.
It remained a painful reminder that her small moment of happiness was ripped away abruptly, that the tentative blossom of hope she had let in was so easily swept away and back into the void, whence it might never return. And she was left chained, tortured, and taught.
Time did pass, and with it came also weariness, and then defeat. And so, in the end, it seemed Lily fell into darkness, and from her shadow rose the Witch-Queen, just as the Shadow and his Nazgûl had anticipated.
But they were all of them deceived. For in the depths of her mind she hid herself, beyond the darkest corner of thoughts, deep, deep, deep in naught but shadows of memories.
Few things I wanted to address.
Sauron in the books had a body by the time the Hobbit happened, and he does have a body here, but I've kept it weak and allowed him to remain nothing but a shadow when he needs. So yes, he affects Lily that badly even when only a shade. This also won't be a dark!fem!Harry or anything. Lily has gone into mental hiding, and something twisted has come out to play, but she'll be back :)
And not that it's much important, but here are the translations for the Black Speech parts:
Lilith uth Mor = Lilith the Black
Gashn tug amukh gashn-u, skessa! = Speak only when spoken to, woman!
Agh gashn tug izubu Burz Laam! = And speak only our Dark Tongue!
Daka lat = Kill you
Uth Nazgûl ath katu = The Nazul are here
Skriki, Lilith un Mor, skriki = Scream, Lilith the Black, scream!