Faikar - LotR

CHAPTER ONE

Burnished gold, that of a fading sun settled upon the valley. Nestled in the arm of a mountain, Imladris, the Last Homely House East of the Sea was a dream to behold. The sound of falling water was ever present and a light mist floated from the deep falls, sparkling like dew in the air. Auburn, gold, and emerald leaves rose and fluttered in a flurry as they were windswept off the ground, trailing around the woman as she made her way through the white stone courtyards with sure feet. Though autumn had a clear hold upon the land, the air was warm and filled with the scent of flowers and trees.

And yet, even surrounded within the beauty of the valley, a taint lingered. Shadows were darker and deeper, taunting from corners and hidden places. Caution seemed to be on the wind, a strange pause, as if the world was holding its breath. A presence laced the air, a murmur, low and harsh. Even now she could feel the draw of the One Ring. A part of her clawing, fighting, and screaming for what could be hers.

The woman stopped suddenly, the fallen leaves sweeping past her. Small ears twitched as her sharp hearing picked up the rising volume of arguing voices and with a quickened step, she followed in that direction.

"You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master."

Coming upon what was the edge of the Council, she waited, hidden behind a pillar and encased in shadow.

"Merry, who's that?" She had seen the two Hobbits when she reached the top of the stairs, only half visible as they crouched between the railing and the bushes surrounding the courtyard, but she didn't give them her attention. For it was taken by the small, seemingly innocent, golden piece of jewelry isolated on a platform.

The other Hobbit's reply was lost as a great blast sounded through the valley. The dwarf had actually tried to destroy the Ring with his own axe and was blown back as it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Calmly, as if the previous incident had not happened, the Lord of the valley turned his attention to the dwarf, who was now being helped from the ground by his envoy.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess." His gaze, stern and unyielding as it bore into those seated around him, was the opposite of his supposedly unaffected and slow drawling speech. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

I feel you.

The woman froze. Her blood, now an ugly mix of fire and ice in her veins, seemed to slow as her body tightened. An inky blackness spread through her mind, twisting, weaving, searching. It's low rasp echoing across her thoughts.

You cannot hide.

Pain was a raging inferno and biting slices amongst her mind as she fought the dark temptation back, not feeling the sting of her nails as they dug marks into her palms, nor the creaking of her bones from her clenched fists.

Dark One's Daughter.

"Never trust an elf!"

She winced, thrust from her mind, brought back to the present as the evil taint receded, only to see the tension thick and tempers high. Elves were standing and she noticed one, seemingly familiar, trying to hold the others back as the foolhardy dwarf offered them insult. Men had risen and were shouting nonsense, adding to the chaos around them.

She watched as the wizard too, fell into temptation and rose with frustration written into the wrinkles on his face. "Do you not understand that while we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it!"