The Whispers of Valinor

The Breaking of The Fellowship

The morning arrived silently, the sun just beginning to rise over the horizon, casting its pale light across the vast fields.
The world around them felt heavy, and the weight of the journey seemed to settle into every step they took.
The Fellowship had broken camp and began their trek through the dense forests, yet there was a tension in the air, as though they were being watched by unseen eyes.

Aurêlia stood at the front of the group, her golden hair catching the light as her piercing eyes scanned the trees. The Ring, that cursed object, was still on Frodo's finger, and the unease in her chest deepened as they walked. She could feel its pull from miles away, a silent force trying to worm its way into her thoughts.

She glanced to her sisters. Ithara, as always, was looking ahead with a calm determination, the quiet strength of the earth in her every movement. Althaea, however, was pensive.
Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, but there was a restlessness in her posture, as if she were waiting for something, something that would soon arrive.

As the group moved forward, the silence between them deepened. Even Pippin and Merry, usually full of mischief and energy, walked with their heads down. Sam and Frodo trailed close behind Aragorn, the latter's face pale, his usual resolve crumbling under the weight of the shadows.

And then it happened.

The first sign came as a whisper in the wind an unnatural chill, a shiver that ran through the trees.
A rustling sound, faint at first, like the brush of cloth against leaves, then louder, until it was a low, malevolent growl.

"Shadows,"
Legolas whispered, his voice carrying the weight of a warning.

Before anyone could react, the air was filled with dark figures twisting shadows with eyes that burned with an unholy fire.
Frodo gasped, clutching his chest as his breath grew shallow. A terrible, familiar pain shot through him.

"Protect him!" Aragorn shouted, unsheathing his sword. "Get him to safety!"

But it was too late.
The shadows surged forward, closing in on Frodo, who staggered. Sam rushed to his side, but the shadows were too powerful.
They swirled around him, whispering words of madness, of corruption, as Frodo began to fall, unable to resist.

"We have to move!" Gandalf called, raising his staff, its light blazing. "Now, quickly!"

But before anyone could respond, the sound of hooves reached their ears.
The sky split with a burst of light as Arwen appeared, her steed charging through the shadows.
Her face was calm, but her eyes held the steel of a protector.

"Give him to me!" she demanded, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Aragorn hesitated, then nodded grimly, lifting Frodo into her arms.

"Ride swiftly," he urged. "Do not look back."

With a powerful kick of her horse, Arwen sped off into the woods, leaving the shadows in her wake. The Fellowship stood in stunned silence as they watched her vanish into the trees, the distant echo of her galloping hooves fading into the night.

The group remained frozen for a long moment, their hearts heavy. It was then that they realized Frodo was gone. Sam was with him, but the Ringbearer had slipped from their grasp, and there was no turning back.

"Come," Aragorn said, his voice steady despite the storm within him. "We must continue. Rivendell is our only hope now."