Chapter Text
When Lily Potter first laid eyes on her redhaired daughter, it came as no shock to either of the parents that she wanted to give her an Irish name. Thus, Brigid Potter was brought into the world under the strong influences of Lily’s ancestral heritage.
With Voldemort’s interest in the family thanks to an incomplete hearing of a prophecy, the new mother couldn’t spend as much time as she would have liked, doting on her daughter. Instead of what a mother with a newborn would have normally been focusing on, Lily was creating failsafe after failsafe in order to protect her daughter.
These various protections that Lily kept layering on her daughter took the form of fiery lights that eventually settled down around and into the young infant. The spells and enchantments were meant to keep Brigid safe from every conceivable threat that Lily could think of. Falling from a great height? Check. Scraps or bruises? Check.
A runic necklace designed to reflect spells similar to a Protego and was powered by Brigid’s own magic and could only be taken off by her, would be able to stop most spells as long as she had energy reserves. If Brigid was properly fed and watered, then this necklace worked perfectly.
Potions to strengthen her bones and muscles? Check. Sudden acceleration or deceleration? Check. Each and every single thing that Lily was able to think of was given to her daughter and James happily paid for whatever expense it required.
The final thing that Lily was able to add to Brigid’s runic necklace was an enchantment that would actively seek to influence the one that could give the most protection to her daughter. If Lily or James couldn’t take care of her, as long as Brigid survived any assassination attempts, the one who found her would seek to give her the most care they could.
Lily’s last line of defense was a sacrificial ritual that would activate if a killer went after Brigid after Lily herself was killed. Technically it would work to protect Lily if Brigid was killed first, but she had no intention of outliving her daughter and would place herself in the line of fire to activate it.
So much of Lily’s soul was placed into these protections for her daughter, that she didn’t realize the implications of what she might have done. It wasn’t quite the same as what Voldemort had done with his Horcruxes, but enough magic had mixed to create something similar.
When Voldemort eventually found the Potters and slaughtered the two parents, the protections on Brigid started activating with a swirl of fire. The Dark Lord himself thought it was a pitiful last attempt by them to scare him away with a flame storm, but he dismissed the flames to approach the child.
With a cry of “Avada Kedavra!”, Voldemort watched the curse sail toward the girl. The swirling flames had other ideas though. A great fiery explosion of wrath incarnate, erupted from the child’s necklace and with a feminine war cry, the flames devoured the spell, Voldemort, the house, and even the foundations of the earth underneath it.
Brigid fell through the cracks of the world towards an uncertain fate. The protections on herself made it so that the fall didn’t injure her, but the plummet continued for far longer than the spells had power for. Eventually, Brigid’s magic could no longer maintain the permeance of what should have lasted years, and they would fade as soon as the new caretaker received her.
Finally, after an indeterminate amount of time later, Brigid hit the ground in a controlled tumble that knocked several stones loose. This noise woke up something that had been slumbering for several millennia as the world shifted around it.
Growling in anger at whoever had disturbed his rest, Narohtar rose from the warm embrace of the magma that served as his bed and made his lumbering way over to the noise. He’d chosen this place deep beneath the mountains because it was far away from any living creatures that could intrude on his penitence.
After their defeat at the end of the War of Wrath, those that escaped the victorious forces of the Valar fled to the far corners of the world. Many held onto the corruptive force that Melkor instilled in them when he twisted their original souls to fit his own purposes and merely lurked in the shadows waiting for a chance to strike again.
With Melkor’s banishment and the waning of his power though, Narohtar was able to gleam some measure of his former self before he’d became ensnared by the Dark Lord’s clutches. The damage had already been done to his soul and body though, and despite no longer being beholden to follow his will, Narohtar couldn’t return to how things used to be.
His body was comprised of shadow and flame now and there was no way to shift back into the spirit he once was. The corruption permeated every fiber of his being and thanks to the actions he took while under the thrall of Melkor, Narohtar would be seen as a high-ranking enemy to be slain with the greatest prejudice by any forces that sided with the Valar.
So, Narohtar fled to the deepest corners of Middle Earth to lay in anguish at what had become of him after he’d begun his life. He planned on staying locked away from the rest of the world until its ultimate ending if not for the disturbance that now roused him.
Even if most of Melkor’s influence had left him, the taint on his soul would stay with him and rage was one of the all-consuming emotions that fueled his existence now. That was one of the reasons he wished to remain undisturbed so that he wouldn’t bring harm to any other beings for the rest of time.
Sadly, for whoever had journeyed down the near fathomless pit, Narohtar would not be able to control his rage in slaughtering whoever it was. Forming a fiery sword from the depths of his soul and breathing flame into his torso to ignite the dark depths, he left the field of magma behind to smite the creature that roused him.
Turning a corner, Narohtar felt in unknown magic wash over him, the likes of which he hadn’t felt anything similar since before his corruption into what he now was. So strange was the magic that he almost didn’t notice when his rage no longer took hold of him for that brief moment. Looking down at where the source of the magic came from, Narohtar saw in the glow of his fire, a young flame-haired human child.
He blinked before that same familiar, yet not, magic returned and before his eyes the baby shifted into his own likeness. Startled at seeing such a drastic change happen to someone outside of his own perspective, Narohtar rushed the babe to try and prevent her from suffering the same fate as him. He didn’t know how he’d work his corrupted magic into preventing the child from becoming one like himself and he still didn’t realize his rage had shifted into something else.
An overwhelming need to protect the small child that lay before him had replaced all other priorities that he once thought he knew. The transformation into a child of the species that had been named Balrogs was swift.
Before Narohtar’s eyes her skin shifted into a black so dark that it sucked in all light that wasn’t her own. An internal flame seeped through cracks and gaps that seemed to constantly move and reform as if her skin was a smoke that wouldn’t stay still. A tail and wings of the same properties as her skin grew smoothly and two cute little horns extended from the edges of her forehead.
The most defining feature she had before her transformation was her red hair and green eyes. Her fire red hair now turned literally into its descriptor and her eyes glimmered like blazing emeralds the likes of which Narohtar didn’t think possible.
Still reeling in shock, he gently bent down and picked the young girl up in one of his massive hands. He didn’t notice that his sword had already dissipated as he was more concerned with just how little his daughter was.
Where did that thought come from? He asked himself. So deep in his own act of penitence that he’d recently been in, Narohtar couldn’t imagine he’d one day have someone to look out for. All the rest of the Balrogs that Melkor had made had been males so the thought of having a family never grew.
With the strange magic that had turned the human child into a miniature Balrog though, Narohtar was feeling emotions that he’d given up so long ago in grief. The thought of having someone just like him, but who hadn’t gone through the same horrors and regrets he had was something he never in a million ages would have anticipated.
He had a chance to raise something away from any corruptive force that might have done her harm. Once these thoughts had settled into his mind, the old return of Melkor’s influence came back, but it wasn’t the same as it once was. The rage was now of a protective manner, and he’d do anything to protect the child he now intended to raise.
She’s so small though. Narohtar fearfully thought. What if I lost her? He asked himself before his resolve solidified. No, that just means I’ll need to be extra vigilant. Narohtar vowed to himself before returning with her to the magma fields.
His initial warmth had cheered the young child who he’d yet to name and the presence of more heat in the cool depths of the roots of the world brought a relaxation to his new daughter. Thinking he couldn’t just go on calling his daughter that without bestowing a name upon her, Narohtar began brainstorming ideas of what to call her.
“Mírë.” He said to his new daughter. “For you are the most precious jewel that I have.” Narohtar spoke to the newly dubbed young girl. She was still too young to understand his naming of her, but with time he hoped she’d come to love that he viewed her as such.
Over the next several days and weeks, Narohtar gentled the inane babbles of the former human words that Mírë had grown up with and started teaching her Quenya. While it wasn’t the Valarin that Narohtar had grown up with, he came across its many uses during the long years of fighting throughout the First Age and he had become accustomed to it.
At first Narohtar was worried about feeding his precious Jewel because he remembered that she wasn’t originally one of his race and was still a child. He’d debated the risks of being sighted by rising to the surface in search of food for her, only for Mírë to not exhibit any symptoms of hunger. In fact, just by being in his mere presence, his daughter seemed to be absorbing some form of nourishment and was steadily growing larger.
Once she had grown past her dependent stage for him, Narohtar began teaching her how to access her powers. He couldn’t teach her how to sing the world into shape as the ability had been stripped from him with his fall and corruption, but he was able to teach her how to summon items from within herself.
“Is it only weapons that we can summon father?” She innocently asked.
A well of shame brewed inside Narohtar at such a simple question, but in his defense, his whole life after Melkor’s enslavement of him had revolved around war and death. The thought of using his power to summon things not of war never occurred to him.
“I suppose we can try to summon other things, but we are creatures of fire, Mírë.” He responded to his daughter. “Magics that don’t revolve around that would be beyond us like the summoning of rain.”
“What’s rain father?” Mírë asked.
Looking around in fear so as to not have his daughter wish to go find natural occurrences of it, Narohtar settled on the underground swamp that was further back from their normal resting place. “The water that pools in the lake over there can fall from the sky in small drops called rain.” He told her.
“Oh.” Mírë acknowledged. “When does it rain?” She went on. “The swamp over there only ever sits still; I’ve never seen rain hit it before.” Mírë told him.
“That’s true.” He replied. “We don’t live in a place where it naturally occurs due to our being beings of fire.” Narohtar told his daughter. Thinking of a way to keep her from furthering her line of thought, he told her the disadvantages of water.
“You know how the water extinguishes our living flame if we don’t constantly keep it lit?” He asked her to which she nodded. “That is why we live down beneath this mountain so that we cannot be hurt whenever it rains from above.”
“How often does it rain above us?” She continued to his frustration.
“Too often for us to safely live in the above world.” He tells her firmly.
He hoped that that would be the end of that part of the conversation, but she then started a new related line of questions.
“Does that mean you’ve been up there before?!” She excitedly asked. “What’s the world like above us? Are there beings of water or air up there?”
“In a way, yes.” He explains. Even thought he tries to end her questions, Mírë’s adorable glowing green eyes and the way her tail swishes back and forth in eagerness melts any resistance that Narohtar has to deny her questions.
“There are beings that fly on great wings that make the sky their home, large creatures that swim in the great oceans, and many smaller land dwellers that use the frequent rains to live amongst the trees and plains.” Narohtar told her.
“What do plains and trees look like?” She went on.
“If you could imagine a great ball of flame that spews light upon the ground beneath it, that gives a stationary object energy, and combined with water, a flammable object produces items that can be consumed by other creatures.” He started. “These objects have many branches that hold smaller objects called leaves that suck in the light and produce air to breathe.”
“And what of the plains?” Mírë asked. “Or our mountain that you said we live under?” She continued pestering him.
Releasing a loving sigh, Narohtar kept up his descriptions. “The plains are an expanse of land that have no walls to contain them. They go miles in each direction and are only broken up by groupings of trees called forests, flowing or sitting water called rivers or lakes, and mountain chains like the one we live under.” He went on when he saw Mírë’s awestruck face just imagining what it might look like.
“The last I saw of them, the mountains above us were great slopes of rocks with deep chasms between them covered in a form of frozen water called snow.” Narohtar told her. “I picked these mountains as my home because they were far away from any other race that would see myself as an enemy.” He told Mírë.
“An enemy?” She asked confusedly. “What are those?”
Heaving a deep breath, Narohtar prepared to tell her about his prior life. “I wasn’t always the peaceful soul like I am now.” He began. “Long ago I was convinced by a friend to support his claims on how the world should be run and, in my naivety, I fell for his lies.” Narohtar went on.
“My trust led to my enslavement and corruption into the form you and I currently are.” He told her. “I was blinded by aggressive emotions and felt like the world was against me and those that trusted the being I followed. It led to us doing terrible things to the other races and we fought for many years convinced that our way was the correct path to take.”
Narohtar took a steadying breath as he went on. “We eventually lost, and I fled rather than face the punishment for my actions.” He let out. “At the time, my rage was still the strongest emotion I had but I knew I stood no chance against the survivors who won.”
“It was only after I’d spent so long hiding that I realized the things that I had done in service to my former master.” Narohtar told Mírë tiredly. “I chose to no longer interact with the world I helped create and awaited my death which would come with the ending of this world. I felt I couldn’t enjoy anything this world had to offer and chose to self-isolate…until you came along.” He finished.
“You weren’t originally part of my race but strange magics, that I suspect had Eru Ilúvatar’s influence, changed you into my likeness to give me a second chance.” He said through burning eyes. “I don’t deserve your wonderful kindness that you’ve brought me, but I’ve been trying my best to raise you the best I can.” Narohtar told her.
The pair were silent as Mírë digested the avalanche of information that her father dumped on her. Her young mind couldn’t quite grasp everything she’d been told, but she understood that her father was sad because of mistakes he had made in the past. Making up her decision, Mírë got up from where she’d been sitting and hugged Narohtar.
“I’m glad I have you regardless of what you did in the past.” She told him. “If not for you, I’d probably have ended up dying alone down here with no one to take care of me.” Mírë went on. “I love you father.”
Narohtar was floored by his daughter’s unconditional love for him and returned the hug with equal strength. They stayed quiet in their embrace for an untold amount of time before he returned her statement of love. “And I, you daughter.”
“Can we work on some more magic?” Mírë asked, finally moving on from the emotional trip they’d had.
“Of course.” He replied and thought of just what else they could use their internal fire for besides just weapons.
Several more years went by as Mírë continued to grow and learn from her father. While they had wings, they could only use them to glide unlike the eagles he told her about. Mírë learned more about the world above, she experimented with her powers and came up with magics that her father had never thought her capable of. They were close to what he used to be able to do, but none of her magic lasted as long as their own inbuilt fire spells.
However, after being couped up in the bowels of the mountain her whole life and being constantly denied the chance to see the outside world until she was older, ten-year-old Mírë snuck away from her father as he was sleeping and climbed one of the tunnels that led upward. She just wanted to take a peak outside the mountain to catch a glimpse of what her father’s stories described. Maybe she’d even see rain! She excitedly thought as she crept ever upwards.
Farther and farther, she climbed, and it seemed like an endless ascent as she left the roots of the world behind in her quest for adventure. After what seemed like an unknown age of propelling herself upward, Mírë thought she heard noises.
A steady clanging against rocks was heard and when she started across one of the tunnels that led sideways instead of up, Mírë heard vocalizations. They were in a language that she couldn’t understand and would ask father as soon as she got back, but for now she wanted to explore a little bit more.
Continuing on in the ever-twisting tunnels, Mírë didn’t even think to keep track of which way she was going, only ever following the sounds of whoever was making those noises. After a time, the noises got loud enough that she guessed they were right around the corner and indeed could see light bending around it.
Stepping out as the ever-curious child that she was, Mírë wished to see the beings that were under her father’s mountain. She kept quiet so as to not scare them off and observed what the short little beings were doing.
Why are they hitting the rocks with those tools? She asked herself. Looking more closely, Mírë could see that they were pulling a shiny silver rock from the dark stone and taking it away. Curious as to the reason why, Mírë looked at the wall she was standing next to and grasped it to tear a chunk off.
The little creatures heard the groan of the rocks crumbling and finally saw her dark shape with her inner flame set low. Holding up the silver rock in her hand, Mírë asked “What do you need this for?”
The little creatures though shouted in alarm at her presence and ran away from her. “Wait! Come back!” She requested and pursued them to let them know she just wanted to talk to them.
Unbeknownst to Mírë, the voice of a Balrog was not a pleasant sound and what sounded like perfectly friendly Quenya to her, sounded like an angry volcano with rocks sliding to the Dwarves. On and on Mírë chased after the little creatures, intent on asking them what they were doing, but they just kept running away from her.
More strange objects appeared as she followed them that looked like either tools or items that the little creatures made and Mírë’s curiosity reared its head as she started asking questions to the beings running away. They eventually slipped through several doors that were much too small for Mírë to slip through and she lost sight of them.
“Oh phooey!” She grumbled as she realized she scared the creatures off. Looking around at the mini fires the beings lit, Mírë observed the various things they left behind. So preoccupied with looking at all the strange things, Mírë didn’t notice the passage of time as she beheld these new wonders.
Narohtar got up from his sleep and noticed his daughter wasn’t with him. Thinking Mírë took off playing in one of the other magma lakes, he went off in search of her, not realizing she’d gone upwards towards the surface.
The Dwarves that had run for their lives from the Shadow and Flame demon reported what had intruded on them to their higher ups and that trickled all the way up to King Durin VI. “A demon is in our home?” He asked of his generals.
“Yes, my Lord.” His subordinate replied. “We have over two dozen witnesses that were chased from the lower levels by the being pursuing them.”
“This is troubling news.” Durin mused as he thought of what to do. “Those levels are where the newest veins of Dragon Silver are, aren’t they?” He asked, already knowing the answer.
“They are my Lord.” Another subordinate replied.
Durin thought some more on how they’d best fight the Demon of Shadow and Flame. “We’ll need to bring water with us to combat the Demon’s flames and light to make sure it can’t sneak past us and strike us unawares.” He began. “Send a hundred warriors to take care of the Demon so that we stand the best chance of getting rid of it without it getting away.” He told his generals.
“At once my Lord.” They responded to carry out his will.
“Mírë!” Narohtar shouted. “Mírë where are you!?” He cried out, listening desperately now to try and hear where his daughter may have gone. He’d been searching for hours and there was still no sign of where she might be.
It was only after this most recent call out, that Narohtar finally heard something, but it was like he was splashed with an ocean’s worth of cold water that chilled him to his core. An unspeakable cry of agony and despair reverberated throughout the entire mountain and Narohtar recognized his daughter’s voice behind it.
“FATHER!” He heard coming from far above him and Narohtar’s already sunken despair sunk even lower. Feeling like the very wind itself was giving strength to his rush, Narohtar flew up the tunnel that led upwards and out of the mountain.
Another cry of heart throbbing anguish and pain came from his daughter and Narohtar felt the familiar rage that he’d suppressed ever since he’d gained his daughter take hold once more. Giving his own answer to tell his daughter he was on his way, Narohtar released the loudest shout he could. “DAUGHTER I’M COMING HOLD ON!”
He was met with another cry of pain before he found what level she was on. He didn’t have time to twist through each and every passage and instead used his massive bulk and rageful magic to smash walls aside to reach his daughter faster.
When the last wall between himself and his daughter fell, Narohtar witnessed something that would carve into his soul for the rest of his life. Mírë was trying desperately to defend herself from a horde of Dwarves that were attacking her with axes, halberds, spears, crossbows, and water.
Narohtar didn’t spare any more time than that initial glance before his resolve set, and he swept into motion. Sweeping his injured daughter behind him, Narohtar ignited his full fiery fury and summoned a great battleaxe that he used to cleave the entire front rank of Dwarves in half.
Not giving the vermin a single chance to regroup, he lit up a wall of fire behind them and smashed each and every one of them to pieces in vengeance for what they did to his daughter. He didn’t stop until it was just him and his daughter alone in the alcove.
Hearing his daughter making noises of pain behind him, Narohtar took a moment to reach out to her and hold her. She had dozens of wounds from the Dwarven weapons, and her internal fire was fluttering weakly.
“Easy there Mírë.” He gently cooed. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.” He kept reassuring her.
His daughter clung to him like her life depended on it and he listened as she explained what she was doing. “I only wanted to see a glimpse of the outside world.” She said between hisses of pain. “Your stories always gave great imaginations and I wanted to see them for real.” She went on.
“I heard noises and voices and wanted to see who else lived higher up in our mountain, so I went further.” Mírë told him. “When I asked them what they were doing with the silver rock they ran away from me. After they left, I looked at their things because we don’t have any of their curious little things down in our home.” She told him.
“I didn’t know they were going to come back and attack me.” Mírë finished as she hugged her father even tighter.
Narohtar absorbed what his daughter told him and decided on a course of action. “I’m taking you back down to the magma fields.” He gently told her. “I can’t forgive these Dwarves for hurting you, so I’m going to force them to leave.”
Rubbing his hand along his daughter’s fiery head, Narohtar looked into her dim green pools of flame. “After I’ve gotten rid of them, I’ll take you to see the surface.” He promised.
Balrogs couldn’t cry due to them being creatures of flame, but Mírë was experiencing every emotion associated with it as her father took her back down to safety in the depths. Once she was ensconced in the sweet comfort of the warm molten rock, Narohtar went back up with a quiet determination.
Once he figured he was far enough from his daughter that she couldn’t hear him, Narohtar unleashed his rage. The Misty Mountains didn’t have any volcanoes apart from the moving one that was emerging from their depths.
No Dwarf was spared his onslaught as he carved a path through the lower levels of their civilization. Guards and patrols tried to slow or stop him, but nothing in this age could compare with the being who’d fought against gods, demigods, and heroes of legend from the First Age.
Level by level, Narohtar swept through all who opposed him. Renowned warriors, whole legions, famous nobles, none could quench his rage. Until at last, the king of the Dwarves and his son stood before him with the greatest remaining host they could muster to put a stop to the slaughter.
They may have wielded a powerful enchanted ring and boasted the best armor and weapons you could make out of what they called Dragon Silver, but flames cared not for that puny power as the flesh burned all the same unless you had the magic to defend against it.
Fire whips, shadow smashes, and when he grew personal Narohtar used his bare hands to rip Dwarves apart as he tore through the last remaining defenders of the upper levels of their kingdom. The survivors only existed because they fled the mountain before he could get to them.
Not sensing a single other living Dwarf in the mountain, Narohtar went back to where his daughter was well on her way to recovering. “The mountain is clear Mírë.” He gently told her as he picked her up in a hug. “Would you like to see the outside world now? Its safe.” He told her, but Mírë could only shake her head in fear.
I'm putting this here to make sure I don't give permission for this story to be used in any other form of media that is not posted by myself on the AO3 website. -Rubbernecking.