The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Reflection in the River

The air here was heavy, thick with an unfamiliar warmth that clung to Visenya's skin. The icy winds of Winterfell were gone, replaced by something altogether strange and unsettling. She stumbled through the dense forest, her heart pounding against her ribs as confusion gnawed at her. Every breath felt wrong, like the air itself had a different taste, a different weight. And the ground beneath her—the snow was gone, replaced by soft earth and leaves. Where was she?

She had to be dreaming. Or worse—this was the work of some dark magic. Her husband's last words echoed in her mind, about a "bigger future," but this? This was madness.

She stopped when she heard the faint murmur of running water nearby. Her throat was dry, and her legs ached from stumbling through the underbrush. The godswood of Winterfell felt like a distant memory now, and she couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that she was no longer anywhere near home. Not in the North, not even in Westeros.

Visenya moved toward the sound, pushing through branches until she found a small river winding its way through the forest. She knelt beside it, cupping the cool water in her hands and bringing it to her lips. As she leaned over the surface, something caught her eye. Her reflection stared back at her, but it was wrong. Utterly wrong.

Her hands trembled, fingers hovering above the water. The reflection was unmistakable—her long silver hair, once dulled with age, now shimmered with the vitality of her youth. Her face, once lined with the years of war and motherhood, was now smooth, pale, and unblemished. The eyes staring back at her were wide with confusion, but they were young eyes.

She reached up to touch her face, and her fingers brushed against smooth skin. Panic flared inside her chest. This was no dream—at least not any dream she'd ever known. This was something darker. Something powerful.

"What in the name of the gods..." she whispered, her voice hoarse with disbelief. Her eyes darted down to her hands—gone were the wrinkles, the signs of a life lived long and hard. Her fingers were once again delicate, youthful, steady. This was her, but not the her she had known for many years.

She shot to her feet, spinning in place, as if the world itself would shift if she just turned fast enough. But no—this dark wood loomed around her, tall, foreign trees casting long shadows across the forest floor. She wasn't home. Not even close.

Her hand flew to her hip, and she let out a breath of relief when her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her sword. It was a familiar comfort in an otherwise alien world—her sword, the one she had carried in her youth before marriage had seen her retire it. At least whatever dark magic had brought her here saw fit to leave her armed. Good. She would need it, she was sure.

The sound of movement in the trees snapped her attention forward. It was faint, barely more than a rustle, but it sent a chill racing up her spine. She unsheathed her sword in one smooth motion, the familiar weight of it steadying her, calming the panic that had threatened to overwhelm her. She wasn't defenseless. Not here, not ever.

Another sound. Closer this time.

Her breath hitched as she took a few cautious steps forward, peering through the thick foliage. The shadows were shifting, moving in ways that weren't natural. It was then that she saw them—giant, skittering creatures emerging from the darkness.

Spiders.

But not like any she had ever seen before. These were enormous, grotesque, with gleaming black bodies the size of hounds, their eyes like black pits, soulless and cold. Their long, hairy legs moved unnervingly fast as they crawled toward her. Visenya's heart lurched in her chest as she tried to process what she was seeing.

"What in the Seven Hells..." she whispered, gripping her sword tighter.

The first spider lunged at her with terrifying speed. Instinct took over. She dodged to the side, her sword slicing through the air with a practiced precision she hadn't used in years. The blade met the spider's leg with a sickening crunch, severing it cleanly. The creature shrieked in a high-pitched wail that set her teeth on edge.