A strong sense of dread had kept its grip around her fëa from the moment they had crossed the pass. Images of what this land promised had haunted her dreams with increasing regularity. The red sky, the heavy air, and apparitions of a deep, black nothingness were the most frequent. But recently the fiery menace behind it all had appeared, laid its hateful gaze upon her and spoken of doom in a voice that was soundless yet painfully loud. Now they ride towards this doom through the lifeless landscape, the fellowship of Elves and Men. The petite elleth lingers behind as her horse picks up on its rider’s hesitation. Her trembling hands tighten around the reigns. The menace had kept on trying to convince her: “The Westmen are dead! Long gone! The foolish hope of one unwilling to get his own hands dirty, will send you all to your doom!” The words echo in her mind like a pounding headache. Then she pulls her hooded mask down over her face and spurs her horse forward, against her better judgement.
The group crosses yet another smog-covered vale. Peaks of black basalt stick out from the dead soil like the teeth of a monstrous creature. Rotting brown grass muffles the thumping of the horses’ hooves. Then it silences altogether, when the Ranger who's taken on the role of party leader stops his steed, and raises his hand to tell the others to halt as well. He turns to face them, and a low voice sounds from underneath his hood: “It seems we have arrived.”
The horses are left behind, hidden between the basalten teeth. The masked elleth thinks to each one of them of tranquility, safety and hope - thoughts she cannot muster up for herself. Then the Elves and Men continue on foot to their destination: a black fortress that contrasts from the horizon, illuminated by fires of poisonous yellow and green.
Each step ahead adds more weight onto her spirit and she tarries behind yet again. As the group reaches the fortress, the images from her nightmares have entered her waking vision. A small, cloaked figure awaits them and leads them across the drawbridge. Though no living being hinders them, black apparitions lurk in every corner of her vision. Attempts to close off her mind to their presence, affect them not.
She struggles to even lift her feet anymore, but somehow she finds herself inside. Then all is revealed. The long-pending doom is upon them. They all saw the treachery coming but walked with open eyes into the trap. The fire of evil flares up, lays its eye on them, and laughs a soundless laugh of victory. She shuts her eyes but this helps naught, the lidless gaze remains ever piercing. She feels it drain her already weakened will. The surroundings fade, silent words of hatred thunder through her mind: it wants her end, wants her dead. She falls to the ground, her hröa and fëa writhe in agonizing pain. Darkness envelops her and her resolve crumbles into nothingness.
Though when she is drained of what had seemed to be all her strength, not all is over. Amidst the void of darkness, there remains a light. The light is weak, but indestructible by even the hating gaze of fire. The light is unbroken, ever unharmed by the efforts of darkness of today or of long gone ages. All that it succeeds in, is to lay it bare once more.
