A.n. Hi guys. So I had this empty note book and I was wondering, what should I do with this, next thing I know I was holding my fountain pen and writing my next fanfiction.

Summary: harry potter was banished from earth when voldemort tried to kill him. Raised as a prince of middle earth, he is smart, handsome and mysterious. But what has this got to do with the fellowship of the ring? Even more confusing are the 3 fighters that seem to have developed a crush on him and the dwarf who is acting like a mother hen! What is arda coming to? Slash!

Disclaimer: I do not own lord of the rings or harry potter otherwise this would be a proper book and I wouldn't be on this site! Please note any characters you don't remember reading about in a book or seeing in a film probably belongs to me.

N.t.r. Dear readers,

Should you have any questions or suggestions for this or any other fiction that belongs to me I am all ears. I will reply, and any suggestions I use that you have suggested I will give you credit for.

Now on with this fanfiction.

Prince of the hills

Chapter 1 ~ the prince arrives

31st October 1981-Godric's hollow

The streets of Godric's Hollow were quiet. The muggles, finished their Halloween celebrations, had returned to the warmth of their homes. One figure, however, remained. Wrapped in a dark hooded cloak, it was impossible to see any of his features other than a cruel smirk that revealed perfectly straight white teeth. Despite the early winter chill, he stoically refused to pull his cloak tighter. To set on his destination to pay the howling wind any heed.

Tonight would be big. Probably the biggest night in his career as a dark lord. For tonight, he would finally be rid of the annoying thorns in his side that were the potters, but more importantly he would be rid of the one threat to his power. The thrice damned prophecy child. A spy of his, had been spying on Dumbledore when the prophecy had been told. The meddling old man had been looking for a divination teacher at the time. The woman, Sybil Trelawney, he had been interviewing had been failing miserably for the job, despite her claims to be yet another seer in a long line of them, when she had spouted a prophecy shocking everyone who had been following the interview and even some who hadn't.

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

Born to those who have thrice defied him,

Born as the seventh month dies...

That was all his spy had managed to hear but it was more than enough to make him angry.

He was the dark lord Voldemort. Most people were to scared to even say his name. Like a child could ever defeat him! He would be a rally point for wizarding Britain however and that couldn't be allowed.

His followers had been down this street before in their attempts to find the potter, but they couldn't see it. He could. He knew the secret.

The potters had chosen the wrong secret keeper. Had they stayed firm on their decision to use the traitorous black they might have survived longer. Ironically it was black who suggested he act as a decoy, he would have to live with the fact for the rest of his live. How deliciously tragic!

Worried that the were wolf was a spy, the potters had chosen the worst choice possible. The rat had been so scared for his life that he had squealed the secret easily making the fidelius charm useless.

He could see it. A small cottage, warm and cosy, stood innocently at the end of the street. He could see James potter, recognizable by his large glasses and messy black hair, through the window, laughing at, presumably, something his mud blood wife, lily, had said. It was disgusting that a pure blood, light or not, would want to marry a muggle born, no matter how smart or pretty said muggle born was.

The small white gate swung open without resistance, surprising voldemort who had been expecting a bit more resistance. He felt the tingle of magic as he passed through the wards but didn't stop to unravel them as he usually would. The door to the cottage opened as easily as the gate, needing only a wave of his wand for the lock to break. By now the occupants of the house had clued onto what was going on, to bad for them it was to late to do anything about it. He cackled.

James potter was waiting for him inside, ever the gryffindor he faced him with courage and honour but no amount of courage could stop the killing curse and his body soon fell lifelessly to the floor.

Unaffected by the life he had just taken, the dark lord glided up the stairs, following the wails of the child he was here to kill. The door to what he assumed was the nursery was more stubborn than the front door, the mud blood had probably boosted its lock with a spell of some-kind. Not wishing to waste any time trying to unlock it, he sent a 'bombarda' at it, cackling with glee at the scream he received as the door was blown to splinters.

"Not Harry! Please not Harry!

The red head was standing between him and the cradle, fear evident in her eyes yet she was still determined to protect the child. He pointed his wand at her in preparation to kill her but paused when he remembered his spy's request.

"Stand aside you silly girl... stand aside now!" He ordered.

"Not harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!" She pleaded. Fed up of the girls snivelling, he let the fatal words escape his lips, watching with satisfaction as she screamed for the final time and fell limp in a similar fashion to her husband. Now for the child. After tonight nobody would dare go against him, the potter family would be an example of what happened if you went against voldemort.

He turned his gaze from the mud blood on the floor to the quiet child watching him from the crib. Voldemort glared at the baby. He'd just murdered the things mother right in front of it and he wasn't even upset. It must be some family trait in potters that made it impossible for them to be scared. What was that muggle saying? Like father, like son? Yes, that was it. He would take pleasure in watching the life leave those emerald orbs just like he watched the life leave the merry brown eyes of the brats father.

'Avada kadavra' he intoned with relish, watching the green light streak out of his wand and fly towards the child. That was when all hell broke loose. The curse, to which there were no known survivors, hit the child before rebounding, turning on its caster. Soul was ripped from body, and a magical tension that had been waiting to be released for years snapped, setting of an explosion which knocked down wall and part of the tiled roof. In all the confusion, no one was around to see little harry vanish into thin air.

day 54, firith, third age ~ middle earth, iron hills

It was a lonely day in the iron hills. The iron hills were more like small mountains than hills and virtually inaccessible if you didn't know the paths. Grouped closely together, the walls of the mountains sloped down to create a natural bowl like valley. A castle built in a similar style to rivendell, filled half of the valley, the rest was given over to the small village that had grown up around the castle in the time it had been here.

The village was empty now. It had been that way for 30 years since the queen died during child birth. Her husband was still around but hadn't been the same since. He was old now, his blue eyes had lost their sparkle and his long blond hair had turned grey and lost it's shine, he had a haggard look, a look which was mirrored perfectly by the castle. Spiders webs were in every crevice, the floor was littered with uneven tiles and chunks of marble crumbled from the once beautiful pillars. The servants who usually took such care of the castle and its grounds had lost heart along with their king. The excitement that had run through the veins of everyone in the vicinity when they found out the queen was pregnant had long since faded leaving only a sense of emptiness in its place. Now it took all the strength they had to get out of beds and make the meals. They only ever left the confines of the castle to get food, so paid no mind to the multitude of weeds in the gardens or the withered remains of what were once her majesty's favourite orchids.

The stables, which were once filled with stallions and mares with better pedigrees than even the rohan horses, now were in various states of disrepair, the fine horses it had once housed were turned lose in the paddock to do as they pleased.

The gloomy mood that had settled over the valley scared off the few visitors that found a path. It was very lonely indeed.

The king, Nendaer, was staring listlessly out of the window, watching storm clouds colouring the sky above black. The wind picked up, its screams swirling around the valley.

Strange he could hear the warning thunder, yet a single drop of rain had yet to fall. If he had been in his right mind, he would have wondered why, but as it was, he wasn't, so he didn't.

Lightning arched down from the sky, linking the ground to the clouds like great pillars of energy. Not a single bolt, despite the impressive quantity of them, hit the castle walls. It was a miracle really.

Storms like this were strange in the iron hills. If their were storms they were usually snow or hail storms. Even stranger than the storm though was the lightning currently cleaving the sky in two. It wasn't white, or the rare occasional blue or pink. It was green. Emerald green.

A single bolt, the most impressive in the whole storm, raced down from the cloud. It impacted with the large square plot of soil in the centre of the courtyard, creating a multitude of equally green sparks. The thunder that followed, reverberated off the mountain walls, echoing around the valley like the cry of a giant warg.

Then everything stopped. The thunder silenced, the lightning stopped flashing and sunlight filtered in through the murky blackness of the clouds.

The inhabitants of the castle held their breaths waiting for the next rumble of thunder, not daring to believe that, what was quite possibly the greatest and strangest storm ever to ravage the iron hills, was over. What reached their ears however, was a noise they never expected to hear again. For the noise they heard was the wail of a child.

day 54, firith ~ valinor

The valar watched with smiles of pleasure as the mortal named Nendaer, picked up the recently orphaned child and took him into the warmth of his castle.

It had been risky sending the child to middle earth. Death had claimed the child as his champion, dooming the boy, who was already burdened with a prophecy, to an immortal fate. Had he grown up in his home world, he would have watched as his loved ones died whilst he didn't age a day past 20. It would be a lot less painful for him if he grew up in a world where there were other immortals that he could live with if he so wished

The prophecy had made things a little bit harder than they would have been if the boy were normal, however fate had been appeased when they pointed out that the Longbottom child also fit her prophecy's conditions.

Having decided that the young immortal had more to gain in middle earth, the valar had used the chaotic magic, that always hummed in the air on samhain but was increased by the wild magic used to harness the killing curse, to send him there.

If the valar had anything to say about it the child would never want for anything. Well maybe a mother, but you can't have everything.