AN:2.6.13: Moving into the Trust Vault.
The One Who Loves Death
AN: Okay, so I've been hooked on HP/LotR Crossovers for a week or so and I thought I might like to try writing one. So here goes nothing. Just kidding. I did a TON and a half of research to write this to make sure I didn't mess up anything for you hardcore Tolkien fans. And I really did try my hardest. I don't have a copy of The Lost Tales Volume I or II. And all of my historical, pre War of the Ring writing will be taken from the vagueness of the Silmarillion which is really good for setting up characters, land and races for anyone who's interested in checking it out. So there's my resources.
First chapter is just the basic background. Chapter two will continue more in depth with the story line I've plotted out.
Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything you recognize. The land of Arda belongs to JRR Tolkien and Harry Potter's background belongs to JK Rowling.
Warning: m/m pairing (obviously...), implied sex, future mpreg (but it's so minimal to the plot line you could probably just skip over it if it's not something your into.)
The Dreams of Death
Deep in the safe haven of Lothlórien, beneath the green trees and the golden sun, far below the roots of the ancient Mallorns there is a single tunnel. It is the only one of it's kind. It leads far into the heart of the earth into the darkness most would fear. Emptiness that swallows all sound and light and hope. It is a place of sorrow. A place of loss. Deep in the safe haven of Lothlórien, beneath the golden leaves and the deep blue skies, far below the flora of the forest floor is the resting place of Death.
His hair is purest black that flows over pale-as-moon skin. His features are sharp and would be considered elven in nature if it weren't for his Man-like ears with their soft rounded curve. Small of stature, but more fearsome than a Balrog, he holds much power within his thin hands. If taken for his looks, he could be no more than a mortal of seventeen. But many summers had passed before his eyes until he finally lay himself to rest.
In the darkest place in Lothlórien lay the ever sleeping Immortal Man who guides the souls of the elves to their final home in Valanor.
His name had been Harry, once. In another place far from that of Arda. And with that name many heavy responsibilities came. A boy-child to vanquish evil, a hero of only eleven. How blind were Men and mortals to see him as he had been. Nothing more than a tool to be used and then hidden away. After the defeat of his enemy he was faced with eternity alone. A future he had never wanted. A curse.
Years spanned before his eyes. He watched his once-home wither and decay with time and neglect. Mourned as the sky grew hazed and blurred with the products of mortals. Withered and curled inside himself as his power as a guide for the souls of Earth was abused and over used.
Harry sat meekly in his chair at the window. Watching the London lights that managed to cut through the smog and smoke. His dazed green eyes watched nothing as his consciousness was spread too thin around the world. He could feel himself tearing into pieces as he was thinned and stretched and misused. He barely registered the presence that appeared behind him. A soft hand that tugged him gently back into himself and allowed for intelligent thought.
Harry turned to get a good look at the intruder, cloaked in stars, face concealed in the recesses of a hood the man spoke with beautiful words, soft and kind.
'A Guide. We have need of one to direct the souls of our dead. Great wars have been prophesied and we have no Guide. Your master has been abusing your service, his work is lax and few while you have almost broken. Come with me to Arda, rest with us for a time. We offer you home and comfort. Anything you wish is yours. Come with me to Arda. The place we ask you to serve is far smaller than this place. Come. Please, come with me.' He spoke for a time, and Harry agreed. The small, warm smile that graced his lips was well worth it.
London slipped away like a leaf on a fast current, nothing remained of it's existence and his reality was abruptly changed.
While in the company of the Ainur, before they created Arda, they named him Marcaunon, Lord of the Eternal Home. They were glad of his presence, the first of Ilúvatar's children, the first of Man. And he resided with them until they descended into Arda to create the plains of mortals. Deep were his hurts from the past none yet knew, but he was soothed by Ilúvatar and the Ainur. After many years that are unimaginable to the Children of Ilúvatar, Marcaunon made ready to join the Valar and Valier in Arda. Then Ilúvatar gifted him with his hearts greatest desire.
'Little Lord,' Ilúvatar smiled at him warmly, 'I have heard of your one time wish of years since passed.' Marcaunon cocked his head to the side, an appearance the Ainur had all come to mean he was slightly confused.
'I heard that at one time you wished for family,' The One explained.
'At one time, yes,' Marcaunon agreed. 'Now, if I have family, they will pass before my eyes and leave me broken,' The Immortal Man shuddered.
'I will awaken the Elves,' He said with a slight smile. 'And they live for eternity. They are immortal, but not undying like you.' Marcaunon watched the man carefully.
'Yes, there is just one problem,' He finally admitted.
'Of this I know,' The smile grew, indulgently. 'After so many years you have difficulty seeing love in any form but familial from a woman. Nothing romantic ever springs from such a vision.' Marcaunon nodded, it was truth. 'This is why I make this gift to you,' There was a slight pressure against his stomach and then it was gone.
'I...do not understand...' Marcaunon furrowed his brows, thoroughly lost.
'I gift to you the ability of giving life. Inside of you may grow a child if a favorable union occurs. If it is forced or unwanted you will be as barren as the deserts.' Ilúvatar explained lightly.
Marcaunon stared with a mixture of shock and bewilderment.
'I...I can carry a child?' He placed a light hand to his stomach.
'Yes, As a way to express our gratitude for your assistance in the future I went in search of a suitable gift. Estë told me of your long-since abandoned desire for family. And I hope now you may find happiness,'
'Thank you,' Marcaunon stammered lightly, he had never known his superiors to be generous and kind before. It was the first step to recovery.
When Arda was complete and Melkor still brooded in his dark thoughts, Marcaunon descended into Arda where he took upon himself his original appearance. And the Children of Ilúvatar would know him as Amarthir, Lord of Death, the Immortal Man, Westrion and others besides these. They call him the son of Námo and Vairë, though he is no kin of the Ainur. And when he descended into Arda his past was brought to light within all the thoughts of the Ainur and there was deep sorrow in the heart Nienna. He was known to dwell with Lórien and Estë where her healing soothed the scars of old. But it was Melkor who envisioned the pain of Marcaunon with hope and darkness in his soul. And as he'd done with the crafts of the other Ainur, he sought to destroy the peace of Estë's healing.
In this one instance Manwë perceived his brothers thoughts and Ulmo made quick to hide away the first of their beloved. Deep within the depths of Ulmo's oceans the Immortal Child was left to heal and sleep until the coming days when he was needed. For it was in the seas that Melkor feared greatly, and all the while Marcaunon slept idle to the world.
And this was before the sundering of the Elves, and of his resting place beneath the waves they knew not, and feared greatly of him though none knew his purpose. As all of his hiding was before the thought of Time, and he was concealed before the making of the Lamps and the Spring of Arda, and knew not the beauty of Valinor nor the light that rained from the Two Trees of Valinor.
As with all the Valar he knew not the full thoughts of Ilúvatar and was counted not amongst them by them as he was strangely different and not a being of Ilúvatar at all. For when his knowledge was passed upon his crossing to Arda it was of his birth and trials they learned and all his deeds came to light in their mind. And it was of him they cherished with respect and love as family but with no connection to them he had. And though his appearance was as of Those That Follow, the Men whom follow the creation of the Elves, he was not of the thoughts of Ilúvatar or of any of the Valar or Maiar. He was as separate as the blossom from the evergreen. But still they loved him.
So within his slumber beneath the waves he saw before him all that Ilúvatar had shown to the Ainur and all that the Valar would make and all that the Children would pass through while they were yet as children and child. And for them he wept beneath the sea and because he wept great compassion filled the heart of Ulmo who cherished him as son. But of this the Children knew not and so it was never put to song or spoken of above the waves where Ulmo resides, for his association with death was great.
It was many years before the waking of the First Born did rouse him from his sleep. And with sadness he resumed his council upon the land of Arda. Wary of the darkness of Melkor and the fear of the First. But with the light of Varda set as stars in the sky he knew that the Children would be well. It was with wary hesitance that he took up the side with Oromë and visited first with the Children whom were called the Quendi by themselves and Ilúvatar, but known to Oromë as the Eldar in their own tongue and known to Marcaunon as the Elves. It was with them he tarried while Oromë ran swiftly to council with the Valar and he who quelled many fears placed in their heart about their crossing to Valinor. For it was as with all the gifts of the Valar that Melkor cursed and twisted into his own nefarious schemes and the vision of death they greatly feared.
But as Oromë convinced the Quendi to migrate with him to the west with aid from the three leaders whom had seen the light of the Two Trees, Marcaunon excused himself from the trek and disappeared once more into the depths of the sea, until a time as he was truly needed to guide them across to Valinor are their death.
And thusly he missed many of their struggles in the beginning as they counted the first of Time and Age and began to make themselves more into one people. When again he rose from the waters he journeyed to a place of quiet and peace and settled with the ones known as the Grey-elves, born of Melian and Thingol. But among them he did not find what he hoped, but with them he stayed.
Marcaunon watched the world age and grow, through terror and Time. Through learning and grief. And it was with love and an aching heart that he watched the passage of the Age.
Then was born unto Rían of Men a boy-child in the forests of Mithrim near the hills where the Grey-elves dwelt. And his name was Tuor, whom was taken to raise by Annael of the Grey-elves. Twas with much care and tenderness that this child of Man was raised by them under the caring eyes of Annael and Marcaunon who now dwelt among them as Amarthir.
When Tuor had reached the certain age of sixteen it came to the elves to make for the safe haven of Sirion, but during their flight they were set upon by Orcs and Easterlings from Hithlum. During the brutal attack Tuor and Amarthir, both, were taken captive. The first as a whim the latter as a confusion. For both looked like men but the latter did not die when pierced with any weapon made by Easterling nor Orc. And so came to pass the years of their enslavement under Lorgan, Chief of the Easterlings of Hithlum.
Amarthir waited in agony in the chamber he was stowed like so much excess grain. The bare earthen floor and stone walls locked him in a darkness he did not wish. For all his service to Ilúvatar and the guidance he gave to the First of the Children, he was left with vague little to perform on. His magic he had long since ceased using. He shuddered to wonder what had been done with Tuor, whom Ulmo had sent whispers of to him. The Sea-King had fate for the little Man and Amarthir had to get the child out of this place. He grimace when he heard the sound of the bars open and his captor approached. The swarthy, dark-haired man with coal eyes gave nothing away on his face. And it was with great effort that Amarthir kept his mind from dredging up painful scars from a past long gone of Men much like Lorgan.
The Chief of the Easterlings smiled cruelly down at him, producing a long knife which he set beside Amarthir with delicacy. And it was sick dread that had his mind knowing what the man wished of him again.
'Give up, now, in those thoughts. For I am not of you and will never consent.' Amarthir spat hatefully, his still green eyes glaring from under black bangs.
'Pity,' Was the Man's only response as he crouched in front of the Man-like captive who didn't die. He traced a gloved finger down the side of Amarthir's face receiving a shiver of terror and the snap of teeth near his hand. 'Now, now.' the Man chuckled to himself, gripping his chin to prevent Amarthir from biting off his fingers. 'If only you behaved, little one,'
Amarthir's eyes narrowed and his throat built up a growl behind his restrained jaw.
'Never,' He hissed through his teeth.
'What could I offer to show you my intentions are not ill-founded?' The Chief asked, dark eyes contemplative. Amarthir made to snap at him but a whisper came to his mind. Something that was not wholly pure, for deceit was in this and cunning too. But, it could very well save Tuor and that was his goal. But did he place saving the Man above his honor? The answer was a simple yes.
'What of Tuor?' He asked, gazing hollowly at the Easterling.'What of my companion whom you also captured on our way to Sirion?' The Chief's eyes lit with recognition of the one he spoke.
'He is fine,' the Man replied.
'I do not believe you,' Amarthir narrowed his eyes.
'If I moved him here, to prove he is fine, then would you submit to me?' The Easterling watched him with thinly disguised hope.
'I would think more on it,' Amarthir dropped his gaze and looked away from the vile Man. Shuddering at the thought of ever thinking such things about him.
Several hours later Tuor was brought to live within his chambers, though both were restrained and made no move to speak until they were well and truly alone. And then they planned escape. For well over two years had passed in their enslavement and the time was drawing nigh to Ulmo's bidding hour. So with what little strength he had, gathering as much will as he could spare, every day belaying the Easterling Chief with promises of a future they would never have and willing the man into comfort. Until finally the day arrived and they escaped from that dreaded place.
For four years after their escape they made themselves the bane of Lorgan's existence, shredding his army as thin and useless as they could. And when Ulmo called Tuor to his great task, it was with pride he followed the young Man to the empty places long abandoned by the shores and towards the great city of Gondolin. For this city he had never seen.
It was in Vinyamar when Ulmo spoke unto the Man that Tuor learned of Amarthir and whom his companion was. The only one of the Valar who stayed tied to Middle Earth of his own choosing to live amongst the Children of Ilúvatar. And also of him learned Voronwë, son of Aranwë. And so enamored was he with the great task set upon Tuor by Ulmo that he did not deny his guidance to the hidden place of Gondolin. And as Winter turned it's mighty head upon Middle Earth they departed eastward under the Mountains of Shadow.
When once, at last, they came upon the fine gates, and thereby the city, they were accosted by guards and led towards the place of their seeking. Upon seeing the arms carried from Vinyamar on Tuor did they believe he the fated messenger from Ulmo. But, speaking with Turgon, son of Fingolfin and High King of the Noldor, produced no action to move on account of the Elves, whom loved their hidden city and whose King had grown prideful in it's safety.
So it came to pass that the city of Gondolin was shut from the outside and it's ears turned deaf to the woe of their siblings, though Amarthir felt it all within his heart as he crossed to Valinor with Thingol whom he had loved as one loves a brother, and Dior his son, and of the Ruin of Doriath he learned and wept in vain for the Children whom he loved. And it was in his time with the Noldor that he met the one whom his heart loved ever most and there was when he fell.
Upon their first meeting they became wary friends, one a warrior too long waiting in peace-time and quiet, the other weary of death and pain and too hopeful for a future without such things. But it was in their slight differences that they bonded quickly and spent many awhile amidst the others presence. But, of Amarthir the Elf knew little and was at once awakened to the Immortal Man's condition by a passing comment of Tuor. And thus it was that Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, Chief Lieutenant of Turgon, fell in love with Death.
But, Amarthir's heart was guarded and with him he carried the burden of a loveless life. So when the Elf Lord did announce his feelings to the not-Man, Amarthir quickly denied with trepidation and hesitance in his mind. But, Glorfindel continued his wooing with persistence for several years until, a day after the union between Tuor and Idril Celebrindal, Amarthir gave in and consented to seeking this strangeness to him which was called love. For many years, after the birth of Eärendil Halfelven, Glorfindel waited; patiently with kind words and caring ever forefront in his mind and with soft hands and sweet words on his tongue. And it came to pass that Amarthir found himself with feelings deeper than any he had know towards the Elf Lord and far diverse from those he felt for all of Ilúvatar's children.
Thus came the night he confessed of his returned affection to Glorfindel.
Amarthir sat quietly beside the Elf Lord. Watching the waters of the Great Fountain as they fell peacefully. His stomach was clenched for no reason of which he knew, and it frightened him how strange these feelings were. But, Glorfindel had waited patiently for these feelings he now had, and Amarthir felt that the Elf deserved an answer to his affection. He turned to gaze up at the Lord and gave a small smile when the Elf looked back at him with kindness and tenderness in his grey, grey eyes.
'Glorfindel,' He began slowly, feeling his shoulder lean into the Elf's arm. 'You once told me many years past that you loved me.'
The Elf Lord nodded, his face betraying nothing of the anxiousness he felt.
'You waited patiently beside me, and I respect you ever for that. And I offer to you, if you would still have it, my heart. Which once you so desired. For I think I have discovered this thing which you say is love' For the briefest of moments Amarthir thought Glorfindel would not want him now and he turned away, only to find a gentle palm pressed to his cheek.
He turned back to the Elf, seeing the relieved and loving smile that graced the Elf-man's face. The rough thumb of the Lord grazed slow and gentle across his cheekbone and Amarthir closed his eyes to the love that flowed through the simple touch. It was comfortable and soothing, and all things he felt in the presence of Glorfindel. With no hesitance the Elf brought his face down to Amarthir's and dipped his head until their lips met simply. The kiss was chaste, but full of all the things that Glorfindel wished within the deepest parts of his soul. And without his usual wariness of any thing so deep that he was uncertain of, Amarthir found himself falling far into the kiss unknowingly. It deepened and lingered and sent them panting away from each other after a moment, only to resume once their breath half returned. And in his heart he wondered if this was devised, also, of Ilúvatar; whose plan he still could not picture, complete.
With love in their hearts and nothing but bright future in their mind, they journeyed off to Glorfindel's fine chambers and there committed wholly to one another.
This was how the Lord of Death fell deeply. And into love he allowed himself to be. And they were happy for many days after their commitment until all the Noldor were betrayed by the petty whims of Maeglin whose heart was corrupted by Melkor, now known as Morgoth.
For there descended into Gondolin the masses of Morgoth's armies bent on destroying the Noldor and finding Amarthir whom Maeglin told his new master of. For it was in the mind of Morgoth that Amarthir could still be twisted and his pain become a tool of his corruption and evil doings. But, as was with Idril's perceptiveness that she had prepared a secret place with which to escape the armies of Morgoth. And with Tuor and Idril and Eärendil Amarthir sent Glorfindel whom he wished to protect the family of his Man friend. But it was as Amarthir departed from his beloved that Morgoth ensnared the Immortal Man and caused him great pain within the walls of Gondolin as it fell before the chaos of darkness and death. For in so much death was Amarthir's spirit sent forth to direct the dead to the shores of Valinor.
Oblivious to the fate of his beloved, Glorfindel hurried with the small remnants of the Elves of Gondolin from his home, and did not look back for he trusted Amarthir with all his heart. But it was far later than he had expected when they came out of the tunnel and Amarthir had not joined with them as they had planned. But then his mind was trapped as they made way over the mountains for they were assailed by Orcs and with them came a fearsome creature made of evil and flame. A Balrog. And with the mighty evil Glorfindel fought with all he had, for he was strongest in their party. But, only in one way could he hope to vanquish his foe, and greatly did he think of his consequences. For in a swift moment he caught the eyes of Tuor and then hurtled himself at the Fell Beast and tumbled them both into the gorge, leaving only the Orcs with which to deal.
And it was with an eagle's piercing screech and Amarthir's name upon his lips that his last thoughts were of his love and then he was blissful in death.
Amarthir curled away from the ruinous hands of his captor, his mind clinging to the one thing he loved most that protected him and shielded his thoughts. And then in his consciousness he met with a small group of those he had seen depart from Gondolin, and amongst them was whom he had feared for. Glorfindel stood amongst the party as he called for their guided ship, and with a heavy heart he wept at the sight of the Elf Lord in their presence and could not speak words. Outside of his mind his body filled with a power he had stopped using since his arrival in Arda, and his magic stirred more fully than any time before his crossing here at the will of Ilúvatar.
Frightened of the strange but seductive power that wrapped itself tightly about his captive Morgoth was both awed and terrified of it. But, still he desired for it. Power was his self pronounced right, and controlling Amarthir would make him far stronger than he had previous dreamed. Deciding his mind he approached the Immortal Child with desire in his eyes and sharpened words that would break the child quickly to his bidding.
But, it was never to be. For in Death, all peace is found and all knowledge attained. And darkness can not dwell within it. So it was unto deafened ears his hateful words fell and a blind eye his tactics used. And when he was finished speaking, the power of Death moved to strangle him. And that was how Morgoth came to see the Immortal Child vanish with a soft sound that echoed of the music of the Ainur.
And at Tuor's side he appeared, shaking and shuddering and his heart filled with pain he had not known so deeply for many an Age. And it was in Nan-tathren beneath the willows that Ulmo heard his child weep and the Children of Ilúvatar sing of the death of many and the Fall of Gondolin and amongst those were the laments dearest to his son's heart. And it was of the songs of Glorfindel the Golden-haired that wounded deeply his child. And later it was that Tuor and Idril beckoned him to accompany them south down the river to the Mouth of Sirion where they met with Elwing, Dior's daughter.
Many years passed as the longing for the sea grew deep within Tuor and at an old age he passed with Idril into the waters and joined with those of the Noldor in Valinor, for Amarthir himself, guided them, together. And it was Tuor alone, of Men, who was separated from the fate of Men and given to him a place amongst the Elves whom he loved.
Eärendil, under the companionship of his father's friend Amarthir, wed Elwing whom he loved and produced twins Elrond and Elros almost ten years passed. But he too felt his father's pull to the water and built himself a ship with which he sailed. And it was during this time that Amarthir grew close and fond of his children but, guarded himself closely against the pain of loss.
When Elrond and Elros were but six the Sons of Fëanor, Maedros and Maglor, attacked the Mouth of Sirion. Amarthir watched with trepidation as Elwing cast herself with the Silmaril into the sea and was pleased when Ulmo carried her to Eärendil. But Elrond and Elros were still with him and them he must protect.
But he feared little when Maedros and Maglor but offered to take them up. And with them he resided and helped them grow and learn. But, his heart was always heavy and his days filled with sadness that, were he but of Elf kind, he would Fade away until his soul was amongst those in Valinor and he would accompany his beloved Glorfindel. So he watched over them for a time, until at last the thought of waking was great and terrible and he could not bear to face the day without Glorfindel.
And thus, Death took up his eternal sleep beneath the trees of Lothlórien by the gentle guidance of Galadriel and Celeborn whom care for and tend the land with peace and love.
And this was the young journeys of Death and his fated love, and of the death of Glorfindel and the fall of Gondolin. And now there rest beneath the trees the one whom guides the dead. And he is but asleep for a time, until he is awoken by one who seeks help.