The Silver Flame (LOTR)

The Stirring of Shadows

Nightfall had long since come to Edoras, blanketing the city in a stillness broken only by the occasional creak of wood or the soft murmur of a sleeping breath. Inside the communal room, where the Fellowship and the Riders of Rohan rested, the atmosphere was heavy with anticipation of battles yet to come. Gimli snored, his deep, rhythmic rumble filling the room, while Pippin tossed and turned, eyes wide open as he lay beside Merry, his thoughts plagued by worry. Visenya stood in the shadows by the window, gazing out at the stars, her sharp features bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight.

From where she stood, she could see the faint silhouettes of the mountains, their peaks cloaked in mist. Her mind drifted back to Winterfell, to Cregan's side, and for a fleeting moment, the peace of those frozen lands called to her. But that life was lost to her now. Middle-earth had claimed her, and soon she would have to face her role in the war that loomed on the horizon.

Inside, the air was thick with the weight of troubled dreams. She turned her gaze to Aragorn, who quietly left the room with his pipe in hand. Her eyes followed him as he made his way to the fire, where Éowyn lay resting, her golden hair glowing softly in the firelight. Visenya watched the interaction between them, a quiet, private moment. Éowyn stirred, her voice breaking the stillness.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice hushed, still heavy with sleep.

"Not yet dawn," Aragorn replied, his voice low as he gently covered her shoulders and feet with a blanket.

Éowyn's hand darted out, grabbing his. "I dreamed I saw a great wave, climbing over green lands and above the hills," she murmured. "I stood upon the brink. It was utterly dark in the abyss before my feet."

Aragorn remained silent, listening as Éowyn continued.

"A light shone behind me but I could not turn. I could only stand there, waiting."

Visenya's heart clenched at the description of the dream. She knew well the feeling of standing on the precipice, unable to look back at the light behind her. For so long, she had lived in the shadow of her past, of what had been.

"Night changes many thoughts," Aragorn said gently. "Sleep, Éowyn. Sleep while you can."

As he withdrew his hand and exited the Golden Hall, Visenya silently followed. She stepped out into the cool night air, the biting wind brushing her silver hair off her shoulders. Aragorn approached Legolas, who stood like a sentinel beneath the open sky, his keen eyes trained eastward, toward the gathering darkness.

"The stars are veiled," Legolas said, his voice carrying a note of unease. "Something stirs in the East. A sleepless malice. The Eye of the enemy is moving."

Visenya shivered slightly at the mention of the Eye. She could feel it too—a presence pressing on the edges of her consciousness, like a weight that threatened to suffocate.

"I can feel it as well," she said, stepping into the light, her voice soft but resolute. Aragorn and Legolas turned to look at her, surprise flickering in their eyes at her silent approach. "It is a force that gnaws at the mind, relentless and suffocating."

Legolas inclined his head slightly. "It is growing stronger," he said. "Soon, it will be upon us."

Inside, a quiet rustling broke the moment. Pippin, ever restless, had risen from his bed. Visenya glanced through the doorway and saw him creeping toward Gandalf, who sat in an eerily peaceful slumber. Her brows furrowed. Pippin was not one to let curiosity lie, and the gleam in his eyes warned of trouble.

"What are you doing, Pippin?" Merry's whispered voice carried through the room, but Pippin was too focused, his gaze fixated on the Palantír cradled in Gandalf's lap. As Pippin gently lifted the orb, a sense of dread filled the room.

"Fool of a Took," Visenya muttered under her breath, stepping swiftly into the room, but it was too late. The dark orb came alive in Pippin's hands, its surface glowing with a menacing light. His body tensed, his eyes wide with terror as the stone's power gripped him.

Outside, Legolas snapped to attention. "He is here!" he said urgently, his eyes narrowing as he felt the presence of Sauron reach across the distance, seizing Pippin's mind.

Inside, chaos erupted. Merry screamed for help, trying to pull the Palantír from Pippin's hands, but it was too late. Pippin was locked in the grip of the dark power, writhing in pain as Sauron's will tore through him. Visenya rushed forward, her hand instinctively moving to her sword, but Aragorn was faster, diving toward the hobbit and wrenching the stone from his grasp. He fell to his knees, the force of the effort nearly breaking him.

The Palantír rolled across the floor, still glowing with dark power. Gandalf was awake now, his eyes blazing with fury as he threw a cloth over the orb, snuffing out its light.

Visenya knelt beside Pippin, her heart racing. He was gasping for breath, tears of terror running down his face.

"Pippin!" Merry cried, grabbing his friend's shoulders.

Gandalf bent low, his face close to the hobbit's. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice sharp.

Pippin sobbed, turning his head away in shame. "Forgive me, Gandalf!" he wailed.

"Look at me!" Gandalf's voice softened, his expression gentler now. "What did you see?"

Visenya's gaze hardened. Whatever Pippin had seen, it would be important. She watched closely as the hobbit struggled to find his words.

"A tree... there was a white tree in a courtyard of stone... it was dead. The city was burning."

Visenya's breath caught. Minas Tirith.

Gandalf's face turned grim. "Minas Tirith? Is that what you saw?" he pressed.

Pippin nodded, his voice trembling. "I saw Him! I could hear His voice in my head!"

"And what did you tell Him?" Gandalf's eyes narrowed, his tone urgent now. "Speak!"

"I told Him nothing!" Pippin cried, his voice filled with panic. "He hurt me! But I didn't tell Him anything about Frodo... or the Ring."

Gandalf straightened, his expression unreadable. Silence filled the room, the weight of the revelation settling over them all. Visenya rose to her feet, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she watched Gandalf carefully.

"What do we do now?" she asked quietly, though she already knew the answer.

"We ride for war," Gandalf replied, his voice low and determined. He turned to Théoden, who had joined them, his eyes filled with a grim determination.

"There was no lie in Pippin's eyes," Gandalf said. "A fool... but an honest fool he remains. He told Sauron nothing of Frodo and the Ring."

Théoden nodded slowly, but his expression was troubled. "What does this mean for us?"

"It means Sauron moves to strike Minas Tirith," Gandalf said, his tone grave. "He will not stop until the city burns. If the Beacons of Gondor are lit, Rohan must be ready for war."

Théoden's gaze hardened. "Tell me, Gandalf... why should we ride to the aid of those who did not come to ours? What do we owe Gondor?"

Visenya's hand tightened on her sword. Gondor might not have come to Rohan's aid, but this was no time for old grudges. The fate of Middle-earth hung in the balance.

"I will go," Aragorn said firmly, stepping forward. "They must be warned."

"No," Gandalf said sharply. "You must come to Minas Tirith by another road."

Visenya watched as Gandalf's plan unfolded. The path ahead would be perilous, but there was no turning back now. She knew her place in the coming war was clear—to stand by these men and fight for the future of this world.

And as Gandalf prepared to ride for Minas Tirith, she knew she wouldn't be left behind.

Darkness was coming. But so too was their resistance.