She sat in absolute silence, feeling the clear, cold water drip slowly over the crystaline stone. Drop...by drop. The water, like rage, slowly impacting the implacable stone, unyielding as time itself. Yet, in years and years, eons perhaps, the water will make inroads through the stone, eventually breaking it asunder through sheer persistence.
So too may rage destroy time, she reflected, drop by drop...and smiled softly beneath her blank silver mask.
A silent emissary awaited her attention, masked as they all were. The face cold and silver and emotionless, only the emissaries eyes were visible, dark and gleaming. That silver mask was the symbol of their order...cool and calculating and relentless, unaffected by random changes in fate, hidden from foes and allies alike. Patient. Unfeeling. Anonymous.
She did not look up. "Yes?"
The emissary cleared his throat. "Our spy sends word...the Stranded make ready to leave filthy Breeland with their misfit band. It seems the Unsealed fools learned what they wished to know with their necromantic sport, yet failed in their hoped for outcome and drew the notice and opposition of their rivals. That situation is unchanged for the moment, balanced and she still must wait, so it is not a concern as of yet."
The woman nodded her head gracefully, chuckling softly at their hamfisted arrogance. "What else?"
The silver mask of the emissary tilted forward slightly as his voice lowered. "The ring wielders' agent says he is preparing his ground in distant lands even now, but will continue to bring the fallen back, as he has agreed. The message you sent to the Stranded through his auspices was certainly received...but he warns that more is known then should be known and the realms of possibility grow blurred. Their numbers increase..the missteps of the Angmarim have left the misfits...renewed, more resolute. Something is changing for reasons unknown..but he will not be clearer. "
The woman still had yet to move. "Damn the Manslayer and his Angmar slaves, but he is of no matter yet save as our puppet. We will deal with him as well as those pitiful Numenoreans in due time, as planned...for now, The Masked wait. Let the Stranded come even if they lead an army. If they are true to their natures, their idiotic games and pretensions will cause the fool Elrond to do our work for us. What of she?"
A long, awkward silence hovered before the emissary spoke again. "The daughter of Aegrod remains amongst them, also emboldened...she has sent messages that she will speak for the Stranded before the Lord, as well as for some female of the last born...Addiela." The emissary stepped back, knowing his herald was near done.
For the first time, the woman moved, looking up to allow the smooth, unbroken features of her blank, eyeless mask to catch the torchlight and reflect the black stones walls of the cavern. "Eventually she will meet the same fate as her sire...but for now...she was buried once, she can be buried again, harmless in her self-imposed tomb. Now leave me."
As the emissary melted into the darkness, the woman returned her eyeless gaze to the crystal-pocked stone. Just as the water shatters stone, so shall their rage shatter time itself. Mistakes will be corrected...and justice will be done.
