Fic: Happiness is a Broken Wand [Part 15]
Title: Happiness is a Broken Wand
Chapter: 15/?
Author: Embracing Madness
Summary: Severus Snape just wants a new, peaceful life in Middle Earth, but with a vicious war arising and a new Dark Lord gunning for him, he'll have to fight to get that wish. Magic and battles, familiars and friends. Slytherinesque cunning shall always prevail.
Word Count: 2369 for this part [total so far: 29, 522]
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Lord of the Rings belong to J.K Rowling and J.R.R Tolkien, all the copyrights associated with HP and LOTR belongs to them. Only the ideas contained within this story are the property of the author. No profit is being earned by the writer of this story.
He first felt the silence, a bone-deep deadness of sound which burrowed deep into his body and chilled him to the core. Darkness wrapped around him in a grotesque embrace, dragging him deeper and deeper into the nothingness where he belonged. He was tired and cold, hurt and hungry - and fearful. Oh, so fearful. But there was nothing there that could help him. No one there that he could call out to. He was in a well of silence, in an endless miasma of fear and misery and hate and need...
At that point, Severus decided that he was dreaming again, and made a valiant effort to wake up.
He didn't succeed. Something...or someone...was keeping him unconscious.
Wariness whipped into being at that thought. It doubled at the realization that the nightmare was inexplicably, chillingly familiar. I've been here before. I felt this darkness, the night before I bonded to the Crebain. Severus had dismissed the experience then as a mere nightmare, but now, he had to reevaluate...
"Such an odd childe. Were you truly Melkor's get, you would be his most successful son as yet. Not many can claim credit to sowing strife among my kin."
The clear male voice which followed upon the heels of his suspicions was possibly the most unwelcome confirmation Severus had ever experienced. Clenching his jaws, he made a brief but thorough search to find the chink in his shields which had allowed this intrusion.
He found nothing. His shields were as strong as ever, built as they were through years of painstaking training and reinforcement.
That soothed his pride, which had been appalled at the possibility that his much-valued mental shields weren't as strong as he'd thought them to be. Unfortunately, it also heightened the potential danger level of the speaker. The voice seemed composed and non-threatening, but there was a power in it which just plain unnerved him. And the words the speaker had used were disturbingly odd...wait.
I'd understood what he said?
Severus cursed; his thoughts quickened. If there was someone here controlling his dream...if there was someone here that actually spoke a language he could comprehend...but no. Upon reflection, it was nothing like the languages in Severus' old life, or even like the speech that the warriors had been trying to teach him. Rather, it was beautiful, resonant, and his instinctive comprehension of it sounded deep within his bones.
Finally deciding to test the waters, Severus called out demandingly, "Show yourself!"
Somehow, it didn't surprise him when silence was his only response.
But wait. There was something here. Something ephemeral. Something he could barely sense. Suddenly, Severus realized with shock that what he'd been hearing wasn't silence. As he strained his ears and truly began listening to his surroundings, Severus realized that he was surrounded by music. And it was music unlike any he had heard before.
It was music, and yet more than music. It weaved its way into his mind, whispering to him of things he didn't know of and would never comprehend. It thrummed the songs of love and beauty and joy, it pulsed with the soul of perfection and unity and connection, it sang to him of the world that was, the world that had been and the world that would be. It had life. It was Life. It flowed sweetly, smoothly, all-encompassing, surrounding him, within him...
"Ah. You listen well. You are a childe of our world, after all." The return of the voice was like a dash of cold water.
Shaking himself free of the pleasant daze he'd fallen into, Severus opened his mouth, ready to verbally lambast his captor into letting him free - and closed it again. He would not be baited into behaving rashly. Stay calm. Stay alert. Stay silent. And it was well that he did, for at that moment, strange voices began to seep into his consciousness.
"The threads have loosened. The weave is changing, and I can no longer see the end of its making." The pensive, peaceful feminine voice held echoes of clacking needles and shifting looms. Involuntarily, Severus felt his worry lessen at her soft, gentle tenor, even as he puzzled over the words.
"And so does Middle-Earth taste the fruits of your rash decision, Namo." The new voice burned with a light so blinding it seared through Severus' soul, even as he cringed away from the overt disapproval expressed in its tones. "How came a childe of Death to leave your Halls and walk in maturity under the Sun once more?"
A cool, indifferent voice, carrying the chill of the grave and the eerie shadows of mortality, now entered the conversation. Severus deduced that it belonged to Namo - whoever that was. "You mistake my meaning, sister. I hold him to be a childe of Death, but I never claimed him as one of my own. This childe's shadow has never passed through my domain. He does not belong to the realms of Arda."
"A childe of Melkor, perhaps? Darkness and discord grows within him like a parasite. He should not be allowed to roam free to taint the lands. Word must be sent, to warn the Istari of his coming." The second voice rang out again. It was beautiful and bright and yet filled with hostility - indeed, it was beginning to alarm Severus exceedingly. For a nasty hunch was telling him that he knew the identity of the 'childe' that the voices were discussing.
"I have spoken of him to Olórin. But be not so hasty in delivering judgment upon him, Varda. The darkness that wraps around him may not be solely of his own making. Pity him, for his spirit has endured much suffering." A fourth voice suddenly interjected into the conversation. It held the undertones of one who knew of sorrow and pain and weeping - Severus just wished that he could see the faces of the people speaking. As it was, he could do nothing but strain his eyes futilely into the darkness and quietly panic over what sounded like the Judgment of his Fate. For he was fairly sure by now that it was him that they were currently discussing.
"Well said, sister." Merlin, yet another voice was joining the fray. Thankfully, this one seemed to side with the last speaker rather than with the aggressive one they called 'Varda'. However, there was something about it which disturbed Severus. The maternal tones of the speaker sounded familiar. Suspiciously familiar. Suspiciously like the voice which had spoken to him in his last nightmare..."He brings change, but it may be change for the good. Until we know if he be here to heal or harm, we would do well to stay our hand."
"If that is your choice, brothers and sisters, so be it." Varda's displeasure laced every word she spoke, even as her voice slowly grew softer, as if it was fading away into the distance. "I lay his fate to the will of Ilúvatar..."
Slowly, the voices dissolved into the music, leaving behind a pensive Severus. Confusion tied up his thoughts into tangled nets. Who were they? The speakers had sounded powerful, mighty, evengodlike. If he'd read the situation correctly, they held the power to destroy him if they wished to. Severus could only hope that the gentler speakers would sway Varda to their more passive stance; loathe though he was to depend upon the pity of others, Severus balked at the thought of having to defend himself against a being so formidable that her very voice was imbued with glaring power. Merlin, I'm just racking up more and more enemies, aren't I? I'm truly beginning to regret my choice in new worlds.
The only silver lining Severus could see in this situation was that the speakers were as perplexed as he was at his presence in this new world - or Middle Earth, as they called it. Not that it was much of a silver lining; after all, the most likely explanation for that was that there was another agent who'd facilitated his arrival here, and that this agent was powerful enough to remain anonymous and disregard the disapproval from the godlike beings. And from the sinister undertones of everything that'd been happening to him so far, Severus gloomily concluded that whoever it was wasn't his ally. None of the decisions made had been done for his benefit, after all - he hadn't forgotten the fact that he'd asked for reincarnation, not to be plunked smack into a new world with adult memories and body intact!
Severus' musings were broken when he suddenly noticed a change in his surroundings. The music was fading; Severus felt a surge of hope that this meant that his captor had finished toying with him. A sudden suspicion struck him; could his captor be the one engineering this whole mess? He certainly seemed powerful. Severus felt an involuntary shiver pass through his body, as he considered the ramifications of being helpless to a being which could control his very dreams, enter his very mind and eavesdrop upon the conversation of gods.
But he wasn't given much time to ponder upon this, for it was at that very moment that Severus woke up.
And fear unceremoniously slammed back into his body.
"Are you sure that it's wise to follow these little birdies, Rercyn? Because of them, we lost the trail ages ago. How do they even know which way to go?"
The little birdies in question glared balefully upon hearing Addroc's plaintive words. Shaking his head in exasperation - this was the fourth time Addroc had voiced his doubts - Rercyn replied, "Trust me, Addroc; they know exactly where they're going. Don't ask me how, but they've an unerring instinct for finding their master. You'll see."
"But are you sure? Honestly, Rercyn, I've never put much stock in the rumor of birds being the "Dark's most-hated spies", but now, I'm beginning to wonder. You do realize where they're headed, don't you?"
Addroc's worry irritated Rercyn - every second they wasted debating brought Raza a step further away from them - but he still grudgingly sympathized with his mentor. Caught between the need to protect his young trainee Rangers and the urge to help his old students, Addroc could hardly be faulted for his leeriness upon realizing that their path was taking them straight to the place that fueled every man's nightmares - Minas Morgul.
Suppressing his own doubts at the situation, Rercyn could only reassure Addroc again and hope fervently that his trust in the Crebain wasn't misplaced.
Fearfearsomuchfear
Blood coated the inner lining of Severus' mouth as he chewed on his tongue viciously to block his scream. That was the only sign of fear that he showed; that was the only sign that he dared to show under these circumstances. Exhaustion blurred his thoughts almost as much as the fear did, but Severus forced it all away with some difficulty. Face down upon a sweaty, galloping horse headed for Merlin knew where, he tried to piece together what had happened.
Fearfearsomuchfear
He had been captured.
His warrior companions had fainted during the attack, like the spineless wimpy ninnies that they were.
Fearfearsomuchfearfearescape
His familiars were leading the warriors, along with some strangers, on a mission to rescue Severus. Thank Merlin I've some decent help around here.
His captor...his captor was seated behind him upon the horse, emanating waves of terror so strong that Severus could barely think straight.
Fearfearsomuchfearfearescape
And, impossible as it was, Severus knew that terror. It was a terror he'd never thought he'd feel again in this life.
The terror exuded by a Dementor.
Fearfearsomuchfearfearfearescapefear
The Crebain screamed in his mind. Warning screams, to tell him where he was headed, and what lay in store.
Severus had to escape, caution and secrecy be damned.
Tired and scared, he was unable to control his impulses. Raging to be set free, he followed his instincts and his familiars' cries, and attacked.
Twisting around in one fluid movement, Severus flung up his hands and shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"
For a short, blessed moment, he thought that it would work. Mist twisted into existence around his fingers, and its soft, pure glow forced the Dementor to rear back to avoid it. Flailing, the Dementor loosened its grip on the horse, which slowed its mad gallop.
Heartened by his success, Severus pushed more power into his spell, willing the mist to take shape...and was brought up short when he realized his fatal mistake:
He had barely any magic left.
In his rush, Severus'd forgotten about his magical exhaustion.
His idiotic, sentimental act of fighting to free the Crebain had utterly depleted his magic.
And now, all that was powering his rapidly-failing Patronus spell were the scarce scraps of magic his core had scrounged up since his attack, and he was wasting it.
Now, if Severus had been a man less creative, less adaptable, less resourceful, he would have been justified in panicking at this moment. He was stuck in what seemed to be a no-win scenario, after all. If he stopped fueling his Patronus spell, there'd be no defense standing between him and the Dementor. If he continued fueling it, however, his scant magic would run out soon enough, leaving him with no magical reserves whatsoever and no defense standing between him and the Dementor.
But he'd not survived a life as a double agent for nothing. His failed Patronus would not be enough to save him. But it was enough for him to dig a foot into the horse's tender flank, and roll his body off the startled, bucking equine. It was enough for him to fall to the ground, to scrabble away from his surprised captor, to head towards the forest where he could hide and give himself the time needed to replenish his magical energy...
His plan failed the moment he hit the ground.
For it was then that an icy, mail-clad hand grabbed hold of his throat in a punishing grip.
For it was then that he was lifted up, choking and kicking, and thrown, half-senseless with a fresh wave of terror, over the back of another horse.
His plan had overlooked the presence of a second, more powerful Dementor.