They camped early in the midst of the setting sun, accomplishing their long travel that they had endured that day. Anyaelia stood alone upon the shillings of the river bank, staring thoughtfully into the clear water. The light of the Silmaril shard casting long shadows around her, giving a gloomy appeal to her surroundings. She stirred as the noise of their camp drew louder, Gimli and Boromir had rushed to the fire, trying their best to resuscitate the dying flames. Her eyes wandered to the sky as she stared transfixed at the Stars of Varda, twinkling as they sang their silent song.
“Your path you have chosen yourself, none can sway it, but only you can change it.”
Anyaelia glanced to Aragorn who stood next to her, pipe in mouth and eyes gazing upon the stars.
“And your path?” She asked quietly.
“Is undecided. I live in exile, in fear of what I might become, of the weakness of Isildur.” He answered slowly.
“Weakness may hold strength in Men, Estel, but to deny your past is-” Anyaelia fell silent.
Aragorn’s eyes flickered onto her, “Alike that we are. Royal by blood, but alike in heart.” He smiled warmly.
“Is my decision right? Or have I condemned my kin?” She asked, her mind reliving her biiter tears upon Legolas’ chest early that morn.
“Only you can answer that.” Aragorn said and turned away, the smell of Old Toby lingering in the air.
Only she could answer it… Saruman grinned to himself. The Uruks he had sent away, but a surprise followed them. A being to rid of Anyaelia, and capture the Jewel of Tears, the Silmaril shard. His clawed hands traced over the charcoal-made picture, the beast’s teeth snarled and curved, overlapping its wide snout. A strange fire burning in its eyes, captured by the thin lines of the charcoal work. A Dragon. The direct descendent of Glaurung, alive and in his keeping. For the dungeons of Isengard held many things that no eye had passed over.
He tore his gaze from the book and turned to the Palantir, his use of that was not just contact with Sauron, but to prob deep into Anyaelia. Speaking to her as a voice that she thought was apart of her. Guiding, twisting and turning her against herself. He spread out his fingers and twisted them downwards above the Palantir. His eyes closed and a shadowed vision of Sauron came to him instantly.
“News of the Maiar?” The soundless voice hissed.
“The Jewel of Tears will be in our grasp, and her death by the hands of Carangurth. You shall have command of Middle-earth, and I, Valinor.”
The noon sun shone brightly down upon the river, many hours before they had beheld the beauty of the Argonath. Now, as the sun drew nigh, the Falls of Rauros roared endlessly and they drew their boats up to the banks of Parth Galen. As Anyaelia emerged from her boat, stretching her tired legs before her, she froze. The air was trembling with a fear she could not comprehend, dread had taken over her. No natural sound was heard, no calling of the birds, or the silent sounds of forest creatures. All was still. Sooner than it had begun, all vanished, and sound came forth like a withheld stream. She glanced fearfully at Legolas’ who’s hand was squeezed upon his bow tightly. He had felt it as well. The other’s hadn’t, however. Boromir and Merry had disappeared in search of wooden logs, whilst the other Hobbits had taken rest by Gimli.
“What is wrong?” Anyaelia blinked quickly, Aragorn was standing face to face, Legolas by his side, looking at her worriedly.
“I felt something.” She whispered. “Sound was stripped-“
“-and Death was near.” Legolas finished, “I felt it as well.”
Aragorn looked at the Elves in silent concern, “What does this all mean.”
“I am not sure.” Anyaelia replied, shaking her head.
“Where is Frodo?” Aragorn swung his head around immediately, Merry was standing rigid, logs balancing uncanily in his arms. Sam has gotten to his feet, glancing around the camp wildly, Anyaelia’s eyes had fallen upon Boromir’s shield. Power Desirable, she thought to herself, he wants the Ring.
“We must split up, and find him immediately!” Anyaelia urged, as she ran quickly past the others and into the forest cluster.
The glade was dimly lit, but she found her way through quickly, there were no tracks upon the ground for her to follow, and quickly became frustrated.
Anyaelia’s head snapped around, the voice had come from farther into the glade, she darted into the direction hoping that all was not lost. That Frodo had kept the Ring, and denied Boromir’s want for power. The sound’s around her disappeared, the only sound was the quickened pace of her heartbeat. She froze suddenly, as the trees in front of her bent and parted. The creature, garbed in blue scale, froze all that it touched as it came forth. Its teeth, glistening white as pearl, snapped at the air and froze into physical form. Its red eyes flickered wildly as it closed its distance between itself and Anyaelia.