Not Quite a Maia

Time and Space fell away as the two Valar descended unseen onto the field of a great battle where they silently observed the unfolding carnage.

A magnificent castle with soaring turrets and endless rooms was ablaze with light, its towers crumbling and walls pocked with gaping holes. On the grounds before it, hundreds of beings were gathered, opposing sides of good and evil. The side of Light stood directly before the castle facing the enemy in apparent submission, grieved and exhausted from the battle fought. Row upon row of them, many less than eighteen winters of Men, clothed in strange garments which may once have been colourful, but were now thickly coated in blood and filth. Open wounds spilled their life's treasure freely but still they stood, forms stiff with shock and denial.

The enemy they faced crowed triumphantly, evil sneers on faces rendered ugly with hatred. But not all of them were crowing; for amidst their ranks stood one taller than men, yet smaller than troll and nowhere near as hideous. Great waves of shaggy black hair and beard shook with grief as he clasped the limp form of a bespectacled boy who appeared as small as a hobbit child in his grasp.

The air was heavy with tense expectation.

Suddenly, triumphant words called out to the battle-weary masses defending their home. A tall, thin man with red eyes challenged them with evil glare, poison in every breath that issued forth from his vile mouth; around his feet a great serpent twined, uncommon in length and girth.

The Dark Lord.

His adoring followers threw him worshipful looks as the unnatural being spoke false words of treaty to the defeated onlookers, displaying the boy's body as a trophy of sorts. His weary opponents uttered cries of disbelieving horror, weeping bitterly before the dead body of their hero.

"Have they fallen?" queried Manwë of his wife.

"Observe and see who the true victors are," replied Varda.

A cry and a struggle drew his attention back to the battlefield. Another boy now stood between the opposing sides, yelling his scorn at the Dark Lord and giving hope to his friends, but he soon paid the price for his folly as an object descended upon him and consumed him in flame.

"Animals! They are no more than beasts that devour their young!" protested Manwë in outrage. "Magic is an art, a gift, yet they wield it with malice and hate."

"And Sauron does not? All is not as it seems," soothed his spouse. "Observe..."

The flames were suddenly extinguished as the object was drawn from the smouldering boy's head. Without missing a beat, he plunged his hand into the object's depths and drew a bejewelled sword and with one, smooth swipe, he deprived the rearing serpent of its head, sending it flying across the lawn to land at the feet of its master. The Dark Lord roared in outrage, incensed at the loss of his pet and sought to deprive the boy of his own life, but a subtle movement caught Manwe's eye and he saw the limp form of the child in the large man's arms point a stick and intercede on his follower's behalf. The curse aimed at the rebellious child careened safely away from him.

"He was not dead?"

Varda smiled at him. "Did I not say that all was not as it seemed?"

With the smouldering boy's act of defiance, the army at his back surged forward and at the same time fresh troops arrived as if out of nowhere. Part man-part horse figures galloped across the red-soaked lawn towards the enemy wielding bows and arrows with deadly accuracy into the ranks of hooded figures; the ground shook with the mighty steps of rampaging giants as they screamed and stumbled in painful rage, their eyes pierced with the razor sharp claws of flying beasts; coloured jets of light sprang forth from little wooden staffs held by most of the combatants - men, women and children alike - which they waved in furious, complicated patterns, causing jets of coloured light to burst forth upon their enemies in either offence or defence...or terrible retaliation. Screaming figures of all ages writhed on the ground in agonies untold, inflicted with wounds he had never seen the like of in all the millennia of his life - and many others that lay there moved not at all.

"What is this place?" asked the shocked voice of Manwë.

"'Tis Hogwarts, husband, on the day their war ended."

"A war of Wizards! I had not thought it possible to gaze upon magic on such a scale. That so many of them exist would be a wonder to many, if they witnessed not the scene before us now. Observe: they slay their children. Abhorrent creatures!"

"It is war, beloved and in such times, innocence is often the first casualty. But this day decides their future."

They wandered unseen amid the furious masses and saw that the battle spilled into the halls of the building. People tumbled from staircases and stumbled through doorways, eager to vanquish once and for all the threat of the Dark Lord. The evil being himself was engaged against several opponents at once, but his magic appeared to fail him, for every time he tried to end a life a shimmering wall of defence would appear out of nowhere and deflect his curses.

They were, apparently, not the only beings with the ability to wander unseen through the halls and Manwë knew the bespectacled boy must be present in the building too. His brave friend fought in tandem with another against a hideous creature, part man-part wolf by the look of him, though even his fierce appearance could not save him from his doom at their hands.

Finally, the risen child faced the Dark Lord and both Valar watched as the epitome of evil danced his last amidst the astounded onlookers.

"I have seen enough." Sapphire staff in hand, he clasped his wife's fingers and they departed once more into the depths of non-existence.

Back in their own halls, he turned to his wife. "Tell me more of thy Chosen One."

Varda smiled and did just that.

He remained silent for a while, pondering her choice. ""I am not at ease with this, my love. He is a child yet."

"Amongst the Wizards and Men of our world, perhaps. But amidst the Wizards of his own, seventeen marks the passing into manhood."

Manwë was not convinced. "He knows too little of struggle and responsibility. The people of the West will not harken to him."

"Nay, beloved. He has struggled all his life to find his niche. These last few years of his existence have seen him bloom and grow under the threat of dominion. He has united his people and taught them to stand against tyranny and depravity. Is this not what we seek?"

He walked slowly towards the garden adjacent to the room and entered it, breathing deeply of the fragrant blooms. She followed him, awaiting his response.

"I will not deny the deeds my eyes have seen, but his war and ours are not alike. His was one battle; Middle Earth's may be numerous. Will his magicks suffice against the force of so many?"

Varda circled his form until she stood before him. "The Wizardry of his kind differs from our own, it is true. But that does not make it insufficient: indeed, the power of his kind is like none our eyes have seen before. And his inherent altruism means we need not fear he will sway from the path we show him to use it with ill intent - such a thing is foreign to him."

"I do not refute that, wife. But he is so...young. How can we rob him of the quietude he has recently won to thrust him into another war? And even were he to accept this task, guidance would still be required to aid him on his way."

His spouse took a seat on the soft grass and the blossoms of the earth seemed to lean towards the light she exuded, delighting in her presence. Arching a brow at her casual repose, he quickly joined her and she leaned into the comfort of his arms, speaking softly.

"A companion with whom he may unburden his troubles and seek wisdom from would find no objection from my lips, husband," she offered submissively, stroking the hand which clasped her securely against her mate. "Let this guide be worthy of him; loyal, sturdy and able to defend them both, if required."

He laughed. "Thy words and tone betray thee, wife; for if thou hast not already such a one in mind, then I be the flying head of a dead serpent!"

Varda joined his merriment. "I confess that I have such a one in mind. One observed by thine own eyes in the heat of the battle." She whispered the name of her second choice and he laughed again, the tinkling of his musical notes drifting towards the trees and captivating the birds.

"How can I deny such wisdom? An able guide, a fierce protector! Let it be thus. Middle Earth will be little prepared for such a pair."

His wife smiled contentedly, and Manwë rested his chin upon her shoulder, hoping that the chosen two may be fully capable of filling the much worn boots of a wandering Maia - for the sake of them all.

And as they enjoyed the afternoon sun in the garden of the halls of Ilmarin, far away in time and space two figures lay in the temporary shelter of a devastated Hogwarts, grieved, yet victorious, weary, yet rejuvenated under the illusion of a lasting peace.