Chapter Text
Title: Ardamire
What if Harry was not actually a potter but a finwean the Eldest son of Finwe and Miriel, who was lost before Finwe became a king?
There was a secret hidden deep in the house of Finwë, buried beneath years of silence and sorrow—one not even his second wife, or his sons and daughter, had ever known.
It was a promise made long ago.
Before Finwë became king. Before the Silmarils. Before the great songs and tragedies of the House of Finwë echoed through Arda.
Finwë and Míriel had once a child before Fëanor, a child known only to a few Valar and the most trusted friends of the High King.
The child was named Ardamírë "The Jewel of the World" a name given by Manwë himself.
He had Míriel's vibrant green eyes, like the first leaves of Laurelin in spring, and Miriel's starlight hair. A perfect union of their beauty and will. The child was bright, curious, gentle, and already showed signs of strange magic foreign to even the most gifted of Elves.
But a great disaster struck and Ardamírë was lost.
No body. No cry. No hope. Only silence.
Finwë and Míriel felt the bond snap and though Finwë mourned and moved forward, Míriel could not. Fading claimed her, slow and sorrowful, until even her fëa sought rest in the Halls of Mandos.
And Finwë, guilt-ridden and grieving, agreed to the secret. The Valar erased Ardamírë’s presence from the minds of all save the most trusted. A memory, a myth. He never told his children, never spoke of the pain again.
He died with that regret.Now, it was the Fourth Age.
Middle-earth was quiet. The Elves had returned West.
Legolas, sailing with Gimli on a small boat of elven make, marveled at the silver waters of the sea as they approached Valinor. It was peaceful.
Until an Elf fell from the sky and crash-landed directly on top of Legolas.
Gimli: “By Mahal’s beard—what in the blasted—?”
Harry: “Ow. Did I break something? I really hope not. Sorry. I didn’t mean to land on someone.”
Legolas: “I think my ribs cracked.”
Harry had no idea how he’d ended up here. One minute he was walking through the streets of Athens, looking for olives and wondering if he should try wine again, and the next minute—black hole. Literally. Under his feet.
Now, his hair was no longer a bird’s nest but smooth, flowing gold-brown silk. His ears? Pointy. His senses? Overwhelming. He was an Elf. Somehow.
He’d known for a while that he wasn’t a normal human. The trees whispered to him. Birds followed him. Small animals snuggled up to him in the forest like some kind of walking Disney cliché.
When he was young, he’d heard the wind speak.
So Harry who had faked his death after the war with the Goblins’ help just to live in peace wasn't too surprised.
Still, crash-landing on an Elf and a Dwarf was a first.
Surprisingly, the trio got along well. Gimli and Legolas helped him forge a fake identity—"A wandering elf from the East. Named... er... Harryon."
Harry: “Really?”
Legolas: “It sounds elvish.”
Gimli: “It sounds lazy.”
Harry: “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”
When they arrived in Valinor, they were welcomed by Oropher, Legolas’ grandfather, and two beautiful elleth his grandmother and mother. The reunion was teary. Emotional.Then came introductions.
When Harry was asked about his family, Legolas quickly intervened, explaining that Harry’s family was “still in Mandos,” and that he was an orphan of the old world.
The Elleth cried.
They hugged him. Adopted him. Took in Gimli too. Oropher complained. No one listened.Harry, for the first time in forever, found a family.
He lived peacefully. He met Gil-galad, who turned out to be Oropher’s best friend despite his dramatic denials. He even picked up music, art, and weaving. He was terrible at weaving. But everyone said it was beautiful anyway.
He was happy.Until the last ship docked.
And chaos bloomed in the House of Finwë.
Finwë’s secret had been found. A letter in old script. A memory shard. A vision in Lorien by Galadriel. The truth.
Feanor: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE AN OLDER BROTHER?!”
Nerdanel: “Wait—older? As in... before you?”
Fingolfin: “Father never said anything…”
Finarfin: “Why does this sound like one of those mortal soap operas?”
And then, one day, Feanor caught sight of him.
Harry: walking peacefully with a basket of fruit and flowers gifted by the Elleth, smiling as he hummed a tune.
Feanor: pauses dramatically
Feanor: My elder brother...!
Feanor: squints
Feanor: My younger brother…!
Feanor: nods, looking entirely satisfied as if this somehow made sense
Harry: ????
Harry: Who is this?