Golden Starlight

Chapter One

Raryn woke to the sounds of screaming and fire. He froze and felt a lump rise in his throat. No, he thought. It was just a dream. Just a dream. He dragged himself out of bed and ran out. Gasping, he stopped, his face a mask of terror. Hundreds of Orcs...the house smoking... It was all too much. Suddenly there was a figure. "Mother," he screamed. He ran to her, crying out in terror. She stopped and looked at him. "It's me."

"Go," she shouted. "Go to Minas Tirith. I will be there."

Grimly, he nodded and got on a horse. "Don't worry," she cried. It trotted off, slow amid the terror. The village got further and further behind. He glanced back. It was chaos. "NO," he wept, watching his mother stagger to the ground, the blade dug into her back. He clung to the horse, feeling the tears run down his cheeks. Gasping, he collapsed onto the horse's back, sobbing. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Then an image came into his head. It was his mother. "Be strong," she said. "No matter what, be strong."

Cyrith lay by the shore, eyes closed...feeling the sea splashing at her feet; swelling through her, pulsing, flowing. She sighed, and let the waves wash over her bare. feet. Peace like this was hard to come by. She often came here to escape. And now especially after rumours of orcs marching to attack. She guessed she was a coward, to leave her village now. Sighing, she tried to forget about it.

The wind was tousling her hair, growing stronger. Suddenly a shower of water tumbled over her Gasping, she sat up, tunic soaked with water. Her eyes flung open. And he stood there. A majestic figure rising from the water, crown strung with seaweed. He towered over her, foreboding. She gulped, and knelt, bowing her head before him. "My Lord..." This was Ulmo, lord of the waters. She nodded her head in respect. Then, he spoke. "Middle Earth is in grave danger," he said, voice like the chopping of wind across the water. She gasped, and tried to speak, but the words were stuck in her mouth. "And you are the one to save it." Cyrith felt her eyes widen. Why would he choose her? She was nothing special. Finally she felt able to speak. "Why me?" she cried, voice carried away in the wind. "You have something that other Men do not. And you will need it." He paused, lowering his voice. "Morgoth is back." She staggered back, hearing her heart pounding, loud her head. Morgoth... He was too powerful. This couldn't happen. "You need to find the Silmarils, and destroy them. If he gets his hands on them, he will be unstoppable," he said, leaning forward. "No," she cried "I can't do this!" He leant forward more, becoming more desperate. "You have to! Take this!" He flung something out the water. It was like nothing she had seen before. The sky glittered off it, dancing in a thousand, no, a million lights. She backed away. "A Silmaril," she murmured. But she couldn't do this alone. "Go to Minas Tirith. Seek Gandalf's council," he told her. "He will know what to do. Then he descended back into the depths, stirring the water. She picked it up, and flinched as it burned her skin. "Ouch," she cried, carefully wrapping the jewel in her bag to conceal the light. Standing up, she glanced back over the water. It was still.

Morgoth ripped the chain off his chest, scattering metal in all directions. Slowly, he stood up, testing his muscles. He had been idle for far too long. Instinctively, his hand went to the Iron Crown on his head. He ran his fingers over it, noticing how empty it was without the Silmarils. He had to find them. And then, then he would be invincible. Abrubtly, a stab of light stung the corner of his vision. Someone had a Silmaril. And he would stop them.

Cyrith ran through the hills, feeling the darkness tugging at her. It was becoming stronger, binding her, plunging through her body. Grimacing, she staggered on. She had to get to Minas Tirith. The darkness wrenched at her chest, tearing. She gasped, and tried to scream but it was snaking across her mouth, stilling it. Finally the city came into view. With her last strength, she limped across to the entrance. Collapsing at their feet, she looked up. They were standing before her, easing the consuming darkness. "Gandalf," she choked, as the Silmaril rolled out her bag, and she slipped into unconsciousness.