The Silver Flame (LOTR)

Whispers of Destiny

The air in Thranduil's chambers was thick with tension as the Elvenking paced before the hearth. The flickering firelight cast long shadows on the walls, giving the room an eerie, almost otherworldly glow. Seated nearby, smoking a long pipe and watching the Elvenking with a measured calm, was Gandalf the Grey. His weathered face was etched with curiosity as Thranduil recounted the strange events that had brought them to this moment.

"She speaks of dragons as if they are her kin," Thranduil said, his voice low but filled with frustration. "She claims to have ridden one, to have bonded with such a beast in her world. Yet, she knows nothing of Middle-earth, not even the simplest histories. It is as if she has fallen from the sky, untouched by our wars, our struggles. And yet..." His voice trailed off as his gaze drifted toward the window. "She is not entirely ignorant of battle."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "You mentioned that Legolas and your guards found her in the forest? Battling the spiders?"

Thranduil's eyes flickered with a strange mixture of admiration and wariness. "Yes. She was surrounded by them—those vile creatures that have plagued our realm for centuries. And yet, she held her ground. Not just held her ground, but fought them with skill and ferocity. She is no stranger to the sword, though her tactics were... unorthodox."

Gandalf puffed on his pipe, his keen eyes glinting with interest. "Unorthodox, you say?"

"Her movements were swift, but there was something almost reckless in the way she fought. It was as though she had no fear of death, no care for her own life. She fought as if... as if it was all she had left." Thranduil's brow furrowed as he recalled the sight of the woman—no, the warrior—who had appeared in his realm. "And there is more. She speaks in a language I have not heard in millennia. Numenorian."

That caught Gandalf's attention. He straightened in his seat, his pipe momentarily forgotten. "Numenorian? Are you certain?"

Thranduil nodded, his expression grave. "It is not a language easily mistaken. She used it as though it were second nature, as though it were her native tongue."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Numenorian... that is a language nearly lost to time. Few remember it, save the Dúnedain. And even they only carry fragments of its former glory. You are right to be wary, Thranduil. This woman... this Visenya... she is an enigma."

Thranduil sighed, running a hand through his long, silver hair. "She claims to have come from a world beyond ours, a world of humans, dragons, and beasts unlike any we know. She spoke of her children, her husband... as though they were but moments ago living, and yet the weight of years clings to her as surely as it clings to us. And now she is here, lost and confused, with no knowledge of how she arrived."

Gandalf was silent for a long moment, his sharp mind turning over every possibility. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm but resolute. "She is no ordinary woman, that much is clear. Whether by some design of fate or a gift from the Maiar, she has been brought here. For what purpose, I cannot yet say. But I suspect that her arrival is no accident. The world is changing, Thranduil. Darkness is stirring once more. Perhaps she has been sent to aid us in the fight against the evil that spreads across Middle-earth."

Thranduil's gaze darkened. "Aid us? She is but one woman, Gandalf. A stranger to this land and its people."

"One woman, yes," Gandalf agreed, "but if what you say is true—if she is indeed a dragon-rider, if she bears the knowledge of a world beyond our own—then she may hold powers and abilities we have yet to understand. And even if she does not, her skills with a sword could prove invaluable in the battles to come. We need every warrior we can muster."