The Silver Flame (LOTR)

Shadows of the Night

The pale light of dawn broke over the plains, illuminating the ragged band of Uruk-hai marching in grim silence. Bound to the backs of two of their brutish captors were the hobbits, Pippin and Merry. Pippin squirmed to get a better look at Merry, who was slumped unconscious with a gash on his brow.

"Merry! Merry!" Pippin called out, voice strained. He received no response, only the unsettling sounds of the Uruk-hai marching forward.

Suddenly, one of the Uruk-hai raised his hand, signaling a halt.

"What is it? What do you smell?" barked Uglúk, the leader of the band.

"Man-flesh," a Man-flesh Uruk replied, sniffing the air hungrily.

"Aragorn!" Pippin whispered to himself, desperation creeping into his tone.

"Enough of this! They've picked up our trail! Move!" Uglúk ordered, his voice a harsh command cutting through the tense air.

The Uruk-hai quickened their pace, and Pippin felt a spark of hope at the thought of rescue. He struggled to reach his Elven brooch with his teeth, tearing it from his cloak and letting it drop to the ground. He winced as a heavy foot stomped onto it, but it remained unbroken, glinting faintly among the grass. He whipped his head around looking for the silver haired beauty... and a few feet away he saw her silver strands slung over the shoulder of another Uruk.

"Get a fire going!" Uglúk barked, his irritation palpable as he stopped the march.

"We're not going any further till we've had a breather!" a Mordor Orc chimed in, grumbling about the lack of food.

Pippin crawled over to Merry as the Uruk-hai began to gather wood for the fire. "Merry! Wake up!" he urged, shaking his friend gently.

Merry blinked, disoriented, and let out a soft groan. "I think... we might have made a mistake leaving the Shire, Pippin."

"What's making that noise?" Pippin asked, his gaze darting toward the trees that loomed ominously in the distance.

"It's the trees," Merry replied, his voice weak.

"What?" Pippin frowned, puzzled.

"Do you remember the Old Forest? On the borders of Buckland? Folk used to say that there was something in the water that made the trees grow tall... and come alive."

"Alive?" Pippin echoed, his heart racing at the thought.

"Trees that could whisper. Talk to each other. Even move," Merry murmured, lost in thought.

As Pippin opened his mouth to respond, one of the Orcs, Ma'hur, cursed loudly. "I'm starving! We ain't had nothin' but maggoty bread for three stinkin' days!"

"Yeah. Why can't we have some meat?" another Orc suggested, eyeing the hobbits and the unconscious woman hungrily. "What about them? They're fresh."

"They are not for eating!" Uglúk roared, shoving at the Orcs.

"What about their legs? They don't need those. Ooh... they look tasty!" Grishnûkh chimed in, grinning with malice.

Uglúk shoved him again. "Get back, scum!"

The tension thickened as the other Orcs grew restless, murmuring amongst themselves about carving up the hobbits. Pippin and Merry exchanged terrified glances.

Suddenly, a blade was drawn, and Pippin recoiled in horror as Grishnûkh advanced with malevolent glee. "Go on, call for help. Squeal! No one's gonna save you now!"

Just as hope seemed lost, a spear pierced the Orc's back, and chaos erupted as Riders of Rohan burst forth from the trees, ambushing the Orcs with fierce determination.

"Merry!" Pippin yelled, gesturing for them to escape as the battlefield descended into mayhem. They crawled towards the treeline, dodging bodies and thrashing limbs.

Just as they thought they might make it, Pippin was turned onto his back, seeing a pair of thrashing hooves bearing down on him. "ARGH!!!" he screamed as the world turned to chaos.

Visenya was drifting in and out of consciousness, the chaos around her a mere whisper in the background. As she regained her senses, she saw the two hobbits, struggling against their bonds, and she summoned her remaining strength.

"Run!" she shouted hoarsely, but Pippin shook his head defiantly.

"We're not leaving without you!" he insisted.

"Go! I'll hold them off!" Visenya urged, her voice barely a whisper as the weight of her injuries threatened to pull her under once more.

With a fierce cry, she lunged at an approaching Uruk-hai, summoning the last of her energy. She managed to take him by surprise, but it was fleeting. The creature was too strong, too heavy. She was taken down beneath him, her strength waning as darkness began to close in.

In her final moments, she saw the flash of a spear as it pierced the Uruk-hai's back, killing him instantly. Visenya felt the rush of adrenaline, but her body succumbed to the injuries she had sustained—the arrow in her side, the blow to her head—everything closed in around her, and she slipped into unconsciousness once more as his dead weight pulled her down to the ground.

The clash of steel and cries of battle faded away as Visenya lay surrounded by the fallen bodies her vision fading in and out. The Riders of Rohan had triumphed, the remaining Orcs dispatched, but the battlefield was a haunting scene of carnage. They piled the bodies together, forming a pyre of sorts, the scent of smoke beginning to fill the air.

As flames started to lick at the remnants of the dead, Visenya began to stir once more. She woke up, disoriented, the heat of the flames surrounding her. But instead of burning, she felt a strange warmth enveloping her, a sense of calm amidst the chaos. Once again, she was unburned, just as she had been in her bedchambers in Winterfell.

Visenya sat up, the ashes of the burned bodies covering her, naked yet unashamed. The flames danced around her, illuminating her form in an ethereal glow. She stumbled out of the fire, disoriented, only to find herself surrounded by the horse lords of Rohan, their eyes wide in disbelief.

"By Bema..." Eomer murmured, stepping forward. He was tall, handsome, and the very essence of strength. He caught her as she stumbled, wrapping his cloak around her with a gentleness that belied his warrior's heart.

As he looked into her eyes, a spark ignited within him. "No mortal has ever withstood fire like this," he whispered, awe mixing with confusion in his gaze.

Visenya felt herself sway, the world spinning as fatigue swept over her. She fainted in Eomer's arms, her beauty radiating even in her unconscious state, leaving the horse lords in stunned silence.

In this pivotal moment, Visenya had not just survived; she had awakened a legend among the horse lords of Rohan, destined to play a crucial role in the battles to come. The fire had not consumed her, but rather transformed her, drawing her closer to her purpose in this new world.