The Veiled Vestiges – Istari Chronicles

Disclaimer – This is a work of purely speculative fiction. It is not intended to infringe on any rights by and of the companies and/or individuals involved in the production of any series mentioned here. The characters involved are the intellectual property of their respective authors/creators except for the ones that are listed as an OC, which are mine.

A/N – 1. There will be some(or a lot, haven't decided yet) level of divergence from the cannon of LOTR in this story. There will be many things/events in the story that will play out differently here than they did in the original series, some minor some major, and therefore, It will be a long one like the others that I have been writing.

"This is a different play on what could have happened when Harry attempted to go back in time to save his world from dying which is the premise of my ongoing stories titled "The Veiled Vestiges" and "The Veiled Vestiges – Last of his kind". Thus the beginning will involve a similar set of circumstances like that one. Though I suggest you read the paragraphs that are similar because some of them are different and some even contain a nugget of information that might be needed for the world I have created from the LOTR sandbox."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Burning…It had a distinctly different feel to it than anything he had ever felt before. The way his flesh sizzled and melted right before his eyes. The smell of it…his screams…his very life being lifted out of his body. He could feel every second of it. Could see it as if he was an outsider, watching as his body was scorched asunder. It was almost easy at this point, despite the pain involved, to let go. The end would either bring him to the judgement of his cruel existence or would take him towards his only chance at redemption. A fifty-fifty gamble at most.

One he was more than willing to make.

He had known the perilousness of the quest well before going through with the insane and seemingly masochistic idea that had been the result of years of struggle. A last-ditch effort, as it were. Something only someone of his blood could carry through. But his life had been painful enough, his death had no right to be anything but.

Had he been consciously aware of his musings, he would have shaken his head in mild amusement. As it was, the pain was a marvellous distraction. And a reminder. A reminder that he had failed in his duty and left the fate of his world, of his people, on mere chance.

A circulatory logic if there ever was one. The fate of the world, dependent on his own.

Had it been doomed from the very beginning?

A sudden pressure came from above and he felt his essence being pulled from his body. It had to be now. Just as this thought struck, a radiant white blur flew into him even as he felt his consciousness slipping from his body. He should have known that she wouldn't listen. She had told him as much when he had left her in the safe house.

Hagrid had been right, after all. She would be by his side till the day he died.

His hand came forth and threw his boiling blood onto the runes carved on the stone below. They came alight with a fiery radiance, glowing ominously as the life-brew powered his last hope. A raspy breath left his lips and Harry James Potter spoke his last words in the burning world beneath.

"Redivivus Ignis Sacer".

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A mind-shattering scream echoed in the abyss as he felt himself being wrenched by an invisible force. A strange tug of war ensued between things at either end of him. The force pulling him downwards increased in magnitude and even in this state when he knew of nothing, was nothing, he instinctively felt that only pain awaited him beneath. With whatever might he could gather, he attempted to wrench his being from the malevolent force and suddenly as if his attempt was all the that was needed, he felt a forceful jerk and suddenly his essence veered upwards.

Time lost all meaning as the journey seemed to go on forever. Upwards and further up he went being pulled by some warm embrace he had no understanding of. It took some time to realise that the echoing scream he was hearing was coming from his own throat. Not that it helped him any. He had no control over anything anymore. Nothing he could do or rather wished he could do seemed to change anything in this place. Minutes, hours, days, blended in together. Where was he? What was happening? Was this it? The afterlife. The great next adventure that the meddler seemed to prattle on and on about. Didn't seem like much, did it? At least the screams had stopped. Or was it just him? Wasn't he the one who had been screaming?

The black streams of nothingness touched him and backed away repeatedly as if in the rhythmic breathing of some gargantuan beast. There was nothing here but constantly flowing black miasma that he couldn't even feel even when it melded with his form again and again. His body, if he could call the translucent blob that, was flowing through the stream along with a multitude of other things that he couldn't name nor understand.

A faint sorrowful note echoed in his surrounding and a strange sadness spread through his being. A warmth that he hadn't even noticed he needed, swept away as the final remnants of serenity that had just enveloped him faded into nothingness. Somewhat detached though he was with whatever that was happening to him, he still realised that he missed the warmth. He was sure it was someone he knew. Did he even know anyone?

He gritted his teeth as a sudden shooting pain thrummed in his being. Crying out, he firmly closed his eyes and waited for the oblivion. But instead of the cold void, soft whispers of sorrow reached his ears like the gentle gusts of wind.

"…lives of all, we leave in your hand, Istar. Lives of our brethren. You are the chosen. Now and then…"

"AHHHHHHHH…"

"…evil…great evil risen upon your lands that took root so long ago dwells among the world still. It cleaves good, smothers the light and nothing stands in its path but you."

"ARGHHHHHH…"

"…You, the last of the light-bearers, we give our life so you may succeed. Father awaits…Do not let our sacrifice be in vain, Veduí Shaei... Our hopes travel with you."

"NGHAAHHHH…"

The pain in the whispers ran deep within his essence. The force that intended to break him, couldn't even come close to its effect. The sorrow in their whispers haunted him, it gnawed at his being and it hurt to realise that he could be the one causing the voices such suffering. He soldiered then and even without knowing what it was that was being asked of him, words of acquiescence escaped his lips.

As though the voices were simply waiting for his reply, their presence vanished in an instant leaving him once again in the absence of their warmth.

Without warning, every single thing in his periphery turned bleached white, peevishly so. A pause and he felt the floor vanish again. He could feel himself falling. Could feel something akin to gravity take hold of his body and delivering it to its ultimate conclusion. He could see the floor below. His end. The concrete seemed far more intimidating at this height. As the floor reached near, the last of the voices he heard brought an unknown sense of peace with its final deliverance. Two blurry white streams vaguely resembling a humanoid shape passed him by and for a second his descent paused. He felt their gaze upon his being and he did not know how, but he felt as if the pearly white blobs were penetrating his very being as they took him in…judging his worth. A soft voice finally emanated from them that soothed much of his worries.

₰ " Sídh…Yallume -o i udoévë…"

(Peace…last of the untainted…)

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₰ "…cuina…Istar…"

(…awaken…wizard…)

₰ "…Lú na- -o i Laurë…cuina."

(…Time slips by in your slumber…awaken.)

₰ "…cuinë!"

(…awaken!) ₰

A hoarse whispering bark broke his slumber as he gained consciousness. His eyes fluttered open, blinking repeatedly, slowly erasing his blurred vision. He felt the touch of the cold stone floor beneath his fingers as he steadied himself, trying to balance himself on his hind legs as if he were an especially disoriented Kneazle. With a muddled mind and hesitant movements, he succeeded in orienting himself.

A halting breath came and with some detachment, he realised that the air seemed pure somehow, he did not know why, but it felt as if he was breathing in fresh air after a very long time. His gaze fell upon a blueish orb embedded within the left side of his chest as it pulsated rhythmically. Not knowing what to do with something so bizarre, he ignored it and with an effort, stood up gingerly, feeling the cold of the ground transferring from his hands to his feet. Surprisingly, it didn't bother him quite as much. Blinking his eyes a few more times he took in his surroundings with some curiosity.

He was standing in an open wide-open hall of sorts. A hall with multitudes of openings constructed within the walls, admitting starry luminescence of the twilight and fresh air into the enclosure. It bathed the halls in shimmering light just enough to distance the dark to the edges. As if the place had listened to his admiration, another gust of wind touched his skin lightly filling him with a sense of calm.

A cloud parted in the distance and some more light came through the openings that had been obstructed before. The entirety of his surroundings became clear and his eyes took in the forms of the tall hooded stone sculptures as they stood on the outskirts of the open inner chamber of the hall. Some held within their grasp, depictions of tomes, thick and heavy, others carried swords and shields as if preparing for some epic battle, some merely stood there, on guard. It was aesthetically similar to as roman-isk as he had seen in his life, though how he knew it, slipped from his tenuous grasp like grains of sand.

He swivelled around slowly taking in the sights of the effigies. He found more than a few broken among their midst and wondered what could have happened for them to have shattered as they were, apart from the obvious. Had there been a battle? As he turned a full circle, he saw a dais in the middle of the space that hadn't been there a moment before. Something somewhere niggled at the back of his mind, telling him that he should have been more concerned. It failed to pierce his conscious thoughts however, staying well within the muddled psyche as he started walking towards the dais, unwary.

A sharp thump of wood on stone shattered the soothing silence in an instant and the final remnants of velvety darkness vanished from the centre of the hall as if finally given permission.

His eyes grazed the contours of the raised dais upon which stood the throne, high backed and rigid. It engulfed the figure sitting on it as if obeying the commands of his master. His eyes took on every curve and edge of the strangely hypnotic sculpture even as the subtle power wafting off it kept wrenching his attention towards itself.

And then suddenly, his eyes met a pair of obsidian ones and as if a dam had broken, memories flooded back into his being with the force of a freight train, eliciting a pained cry from his lips. His knees buckled and he bent down on the floor dry heaving as if expecting to vomit the reason for his sudden agony. Shuddering breaths came in haltingly and sweat marred his whole body. In the few moments that followed, the pain gave way to clarity and his emerald eyes shone with intelligence once more.

In an instant, Harry jolted upwards and looked towards the figure still sitting silently on his throne. Long swathes of black cloth covered his body. His skin, of which was visible, was pale and wrinkled. A beard, long and white, adorning his strangely angled face, hid beneath his robes as he shifted upon his throne. His obsidian eyes, gaunt and sunken, held Harry's gaze without much light. And despite his demeanour, his presence within the hall was palpable. The sheer aura that wafted from his form seemed infinite in its intensity. The halls seem to come alive as they once again gained sight to his majesty. An entity that he had only met once before, a very long time in his past.

Death.

Suffering though he was with pain, the question burst forth from his lips still. "What happened?"

A weary sadness came upon the age-worn face as it contorted, reeling with the battle that was waging within him. The immortal being finally gave in and sighed heavily. "You failed, wizard."

Despite how softly the words were spoken, they echoed around the halls as everything went absolutely still. His breath hitched and the clarity that had come upon him just moments before washed away as the meaning penetrated through his mind. The reverberations of the words kept thrumming in his psyche over and over again, drowning him with their weight. The control that had taken him years to attain, slipped away from him in an instant, breaking the dam that held his emotions at bay for so very long.

'You Failed…'

The darkness that had travelled away from the hallowed halls came back with a vengeance. The sconces hung on the walls caught fire with some intensity as ethereal, liquid blue flames burst out from its confines, dripping on the floor, eroding its essence.

A powerful wave left from his being and engulfed the surroundings in an instant as Harry collapsed into himself. The halls shook as if a cataclysmic force had barrelled into it not even sparing the dais upon which stood the mighty throne. Such was the potency of his loss and his own grief that the throne itself cracked and the jagged stones shot off from it, hurtling in every direction.

All the while, watching solemnly with his staff in hand, unflinchingly, Death took in the sailing emotions coming from the broken man as they added to the sorrow of his own. He shifted his gaze to the open skies when he saw lightning and rain cascading down the lands. 'It wounds you as well then…father. To see the end of your most loved creations…To see the last of them, broken…in despair.'

Death shook his head as he flicked the remnants of moisture from his own eyes. To see his father's tears raining down, to feel his sorrow through the air…it pained him through his very essence.

He knew that his sire had great hopes for his creations ever since he and his brethren had left the mortal lands. And more so, he knew the man for whom his father split forth his precious pearls.

The Chosen One.

He had seen the wizard's journey ever since he was a child. Had been astonished by his feats. Had praised him and wept with him all through his life. Had even marvelled when despite everything, despite all his losses and pains, the wizard had endured and continued to fight the evil. It had been an excellent journey seeing the struggles of men and this wizard in particular. Some of the things he had seen…Death shook his head, not willing to remember the gruesome details of the wizard's life. He couldn't have imagined that of all his father's creations, the men would have had the greatest capacity for good.

A point that was easily proved when he gazed upon the man who stood still in the confines of his own mind. Though the wizard was shattered upon hearing the news of his failure and the fate of his world as a result, there was still something, a tiny part of his being that still did not accept it as such. A part that vehemently refused to let the matter be…to give up. A part that was so very small that the doubts covered its essence formidably within him, not letting it gain root.

Death saw this part within him and looked to the heavens once more. 'To have had a shred of doubt in your words, father, I should ask for your forgiveness…Even after all these millennia, I am but your foolish child.'

And he almost joined the man in his mourning before stopping himself. He could not row down this stream…not now…not yet. He had given his word to his brethren and his father. He would not fail them. Not again.

With his father's counsel ringing in his mind, he gathered his strength and was just about to address the still man when he stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened as suddenly a rift opened within his halls, surprising him greatly.

The darkness surrounded Harry in an instant, completely restraining his movements. Though he tried with all his might to fight the onslaught even in his grief addled mind, the strength of the dark proved too much for his spirit without the conscious aid of his magic.

Without a warning, shadows, dark and malevolent, spilt forth from the rift and moved towards the still form of the wizard, threatening to consume the man.

Despite his weary body and the surprise, Death reacted with an agility that belayed belief and brought forth the last gift he had received from his creator from within his robes. A curse left his lips. He hadn't considered the reach of shadows would increase this soon. It had been foolish in the extreme. He knew the might of their master. He should have known that the soul of the last of the untainted would be too much for him to resist.

Something small and incandescent flickered within the glass orb he held in his palm. It burned bright, lighting the halls even being as small as it was. It was the last remnant of the flames that were sent to burn at the heart of the World…The Secret Fire. The Flame Imperishable.

As though they had sensed the presence of the sacred fire, the shadows hurried to consume Harry and everything in their path, even as Death attempted to reach the last hope for the world before the worst could happen.

The world spun in slow motion and a cruel cacophony of a long-forgotten tongue reverberated within the halls as fire, dark and vengeful lit within the rift giving way to the burning iris that opened its lids once more.

Ꞛ "…mabram ob the shara hei lumpé…"

(Last of the men has fallen…) Ꞛ

The jagged hoarse voice whispered into the air filling any and all who heard it, with dread.

Ꞛ "…Khe hei ash…"

(It has begun) Ꞛ

The dark whispers continued to reach the downed and now thrashing wizard to consume him from within as the despair within his being fuelled the insurgent force without resistance.

Ꞛ "…Arda liu ghash…"

(Arda will burn) Ꞛ

The final distance between their prey was well within the dark domain even as Death's staff whirled between them and the last of the men, unleashing his might. Even after all these years, his strikes were powerful and precise as the light from his staff kept piercing the jagged tendrils of shadows around him.

Ꞛ "…TÚ MABROTNOG OB MORGOTH!"

(TO THE REIGN OF MORGOTH!) Ꞛ

The intensity of the attacks increased and knowing he wouldn't be able to make it in time, Death brought forth the warm glass orb near his lips and began to weave his magic through the orb, murmuring his commands with some urgency.

₰ "Lar-i mime óma…"

(Hear my voice…)

₰ "Túl at- ana i kal…"

(Come back to the light…)

₰ "As i runya Muina Dár eth i UNGO!"

(With the Imperishable Flame I cast away the SHADOWS!)

With as much force as he could muster, Death hurled the now enflamed the glass orb towards the wizard just as the first tendril of the shadows touched his skin.

The effect was instantaneous.

A great explosion of light bombarded their vicinity, hurtling stone shards in all direction. The forms surrounding the hall shook with the strength of the blast and some of the more fragile ones shattered, crumbling onto the floor.

The shadows that were, just a moment ago, attempting to devour a soul were shredded for their audacity of sieging the last of the hallowed halls. A mangled cry of pain echoed in the distance when a lance made of light pierced the rift in the middle, stabbing the giant fiery eye with a great force as the opening screeched in immense pain.

Death rapped his staff on the floor with a mighty thump as the corrupt fire tried it's last-ditch effort to reach him instead.

The statues that had once stood still, on guard, came to life upon hearing the call of their master. A masonry shield formed between Death and the unmoving wizard as a stone giant jumped in front of the flames, protecting them both from the final onslaught.

Death could feel the potent heat even with the solid stone shield saving them from the worst of its effects. The hunger in the last attempt was palpable along with the fury of its failure as it receded and finally imploded just as the rift closed completely dousing the halls in a robe of silence.

The stone giant crumbled into dust as the dark fire ate its form leaving behind nothing but specs of charred dirt in the destroyed hall.

His staff slipped from his tired hands, clattering on the stone floor. It had been close. Very close. His brother was gaining strength with every moment that passed. And now, when there was no one left to save Arda from him, he would only get stronger still.

With heaving breaths and furrowed brows, he looked at the contorted face of the wizard who had fallen unconscious from the barrage of shadow and light. Pity formed in his gut when he realised what he and his father had planned for the man before he buried the emotion deep within himself with the control he had kept for the longest of time.

This world needed saviours. To save the mortals from the mistakes of their guardians. Mistakes that they had made so very long ago when they had allowed the evil to take root even after its minders had been vanquished. Mistakes…whose consequences the world was reeling from even now when the age of men was, at last, at an end.

He brought forth his trembling hands and with a light touch to his forehead attempted to soothe the trembling wizard. 'To have the weight of the world on your shoulders…To pay for our mistakes…How long have you endured…Veduí Cënnan.'

A tear rolled from his eyes as Mandos, the Judge of the Dead, Námo of the Fëanturi and Doomsman of the Valar wept for the man. He saw with blurry eyes as a teardrop landed right in the centre of the wizard's eyes, shimmering before it vanished, taking away with it the final remnants of sorrow from the wizard's face. A mournful melody escaped his lips all on its own as he remembered the tortures of the mortal world and his own culpability in the affairs and of the joyful times of past he had spent on the soil of Arda.

₰ Cen- i alasse -o hini…

(Behold the joy of children)

₰ Cen- i alasse -o Shaei.

(Behold the joy of men)

₰ Cen- i narya corin…

(Behold the burning circle)

₰ í vamme voro eis un tyelde.

(That never has an end)

The lament echoed within the halls bringing with it a strange mixture of sadness and hope.

₰ Ter- talt lillassea ar hríve loss…

(Through falling leaves and winter snow)

₰ I úrin indóme visit tai.

(The sun will visit those below)

Voices, yet unheard, sang along with the Ainu, sharing in his joy and pain, revelling in the symphony as the last souls present within the halls started ascending towards their ultimate journey.

₰ Ter- tuilë laire ar laírë wilya…

(Through spring meadows and summer sky)

₰ I úrin indóme kal- on tye ar ni.

(The sun will shine on you and I)

… … …

₰ …I kal indóme péle- -o tan ro.

(The light will return from high above)

₰ An -yes na- mime hon ar sina Arda na- mime mel…

(For it is my heart and this world is my love)

The deep hums faded away and for the first time in decades, the last of the men succumbed to an unassailed slumber traversing to a plane no mortal had ever gone before.

Soon the Halls of Mandos where the spirits of all creations gathered to await their different fates, faded into nothingness as the last remnants of the Flame imperishable engulfed the place, leaving behind nothingness.

A farewell resonated in the void as the last guardian of Arda faded away from the realm, taking with him the last hope for the Children of Eru Ilúvatar.

'Emme are ilya -esse cín kal sí…ontáro.'

(We are all in your light now…father.)

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~ Review please ~

A/N – 1. Legend :

• Ꞛ - Black speech

• - Valarin, Quenya, Sindarin, elvish languages…

• Veduí Shaei – Last of the men

• Veduí Cënnan/ Veduí Cëntáno – Last Potter in Quenya/Sindarin

1.1 The first song where Námo laments his past is called Midsummer's Song by Eurielle.

I have used a translator for much of the black speech, Quenya and Sindarin or Valarin phrases so it can be a bit rough if passed through various grammatical hoops that Tolkien created for his languages.