The Silver Flame (LOTR)

Of Bonds and Barriers

Visenya stood in the courtyard, watching as the cool winds of Rivendell stirred the leaves in lazy spirals. The faint hum of the waterfalls in the distance brought a sense of calm to the air, though tension still clung to her thoughts. She had been spending more time in the healing chambers, assisting with Frodo's care as he slowly recovered from his grievous wound. She admired the resilience of the hobbit, but there was much still unknown about the power of the Morgul blade that had struck him.

As the days passed, she had taken to visiting Frodo more frequently, not only to help Elrond but to learn more about these hobbits—creatures so different from any she had ever known.

Today was no different. As she approached the healing chambers, she heard the soft murmur of voices. Inside, Sam was sitting by Frodo's bedside, his face furrowed with worry, while two other hobbits—Merry and Pippin, as she had come to know them—stood near the foot of the bed, whispering quietly to each other. They looked up as she entered, their conversations halting.

"Lady Visenya," Sam said respectfully, though his voice carried a weariness that had been there ever since Frodo had been brought to Rivendell. He had barely left his friend's side since their arrival.

"How is he today?" Visenya asked, her gaze settling on Frodo. His face had regained some color, and his breathing was no longer shallow, but there was still a fragility about him, a lingering shadow of the dark magic that had nearly claimed his life.

"Better," Sam replied, though his voice was strained. "Elrond says he's improving, but I can't help but worry."

Visenya gave him a small, reassuring smile. "It is natural to worry for those you care about. But Frodo is strong, stronger than he knows. He will make it through this."

Sam nodded, though his eyes remained on Frodo. Merry and Pippin exchanged a glance before Pippin, the more talkative of the two, spoke up.

"Lady Visenya," Pippin began, his tone curious. "You've been with us for some time now, but we still don't know much about you. Where are you from?"

Visenya hesitated, remembering the cover story that had been devised for her. She had grown accustomed to the lies, though they still felt foreign on her tongue. "I am of the Dúnedain, Aragorn's kin," she said, her voice steady.

Pippin's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? I had no idea you were related to Strider."

"Neither did I," Merry added, his eyes studying her with newfound interest. "Though I suppose it makes sense now, with the way you carry yourself."

Visenya chuckled softly at that. "And how do I carry myself?"

"Like you've seen more than your fair share of battles," Merry replied. "You've got that look about you—strong, but distant."

Visenya considered his words, realizing how perceptive the hobbit was. "Perhaps," she said, giving nothing away. "But there is more to strength than battle, as I'm sure you hobbits know well."

Sam finally looked up from Frodo, his gaze meeting hers. "Aye, that we do. Frodo's been through more than most would ever imagine, but he's still here."

"And he will continue to be," Visenya said firmly. "You have my word."

Her words seemed to bring some measure of comfort to the hobbits, and the tension in the room lessened. They began to talk more freely after that, sharing stories of the Shire, their home, with its green hills, cozy hobbit-holes, and simple pleasures. Visenya found herself smiling at their descriptions, a sense of warmth filling her as they spoke of a place that seemed so untouched by the world's darkness.

As they talked, an elderly figure shuffled into the room, leaning heavily on a cane. Visenya's eyes were drawn to the old hobbit, his wrinkled face kind but wise, his eyes twinkling with knowledge far beyond his years. This was Bilbo Baggins, Frodo's uncle and the one who had first brought the One Ring to Rivendell.

"Ah, Lady Visenya," Bilbo greeted her, his voice warm. "I've heard much about you. The hobbits can't stop talking about you, it seems."

Visenya gave a respectful nod. "And I've heard much about you, Master Baggins. It is an honor to finally meet you."

Bilbo chuckled, waving her off. "Oh, I'm no one special. Just an old hobbit who got a little too adventurous in his younger days."

The two shared a knowing look, and Visenya couldn't help but feel a deep respect for the hobbit. Despite his age, there was a strength in Bilbo that reminded her of the warriors she had known in her own world—those who had lived long enough to carry the weight of their experiences but never let it break them.

As the hours passed, she found herself growing more comfortable in the presence of the hobbits. Their simplicity and honesty were a breath of fresh air, something she hadn't realized she needed. For the first time since her arrival in this strange land, Visenya felt at peace.

However, that peace was soon disturbed when Boromir appeared at the entrance of the healing chambers.

His presence was imposing, as always. Tall and broad-shouldered, Boromir carried himself with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, his eyes scanning the room before settling on Visenya. He approached her with a determined look, clearly intent on speaking with her.

"Lady Visenya," Boromir greeted her with a nod, though there was a gleam of interest in his eyes that made her uncomfortable. "May I have a word?"

She sighed inwardly, already sensing where this was going. Boromir had been trying to engage her in conversation ever since his arrival, his attraction to her clear. But she had no interest in him, and the more he tried to approach her, the more she felt the need to distance herself.

"Of course," she replied politely, though her tone was cool.

Boromir wasted no time, stepping closer to her. "I've heard much about your skill in battle. Aragorn speaks highly of you. I must admit, I find it... fascinating."

Visenya raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Boromir continued, clearly trying to find common ground. "A woman of your strength and beauty is rare. I would very much like to get to know you better."

Visenya stiffened at his words, her patience wearing thin. She had no desire to entertain Boromir's advances, and his persistent interest in her was beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Boromir," she said, her voice firm. "I appreciate your compliments, but I am not interested in... whatever it is you're trying to suggest."

The bluntness of her words seemed to catch Boromir off guard, but he quickly recovered, a sheepish smile crossing his face. "I meant no offense, Lady Visenya. I only wish to—"

"I know what you wish for," she interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "But my focus is on the task at hand. We are here for a greater purpose, and I will not be distracted from that."

Boromir nodded slowly, though the disappointment in his eyes was clear. "Very well," he said quietly. "I meant no harm."

With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Visenya to exhale a breath of relief. She had no time for such distractions, not when the weight of their mission loomed over them all.

As the day wore on and the preparations for the council meeting continued, Visenya couldn't help but feel the tension in the air growing. The time for peace was nearing its end, and soon they would all be thrust into the darkness that awaited them.

But for now, she would focus on the small moments of quiet, the friendships she had begun to form, and the strength that still lingered within her. The battle ahead would be long and brutal, but Visenya was no stranger to war.

She would be ready.