Chapter 1
By one of the towering walls of the White City of Kings stood a young elf maiden—unusual, enigmatic, and wrapped in the mystery of the night. A Lorien cloak draped over her slender form, its hood concealing her face, yet it could not hide the quiet intensity in her gaze. Her eyes, filled with unspoken thoughts, were fixed on the battlefield that stretched before her—a silent witness to the clash of light and shadow.
All around, the lifeless bodies of warriors and foes alike lay scattered, remnants of a fierce struggle that had only just ended. A weary smile touched her lips, though there was little warmth in it. Tilting her head back, she cast her gaze toward the heavens, yet it was not the stars she truly saw. Her mind wandered far beyond this place, beyond the cold stones of Minas Tirith and the restless hush of the wind that toyed with the edges of her cloak.
Slowly, she turned her gaze eastward. Darkness brooded there, thick and suffocating, and death itself seemed to breathe its icy whispers against their backs. Then, breaking the fragile silence, her voice rang out—soft yet clear, a melody laced with quiet foreboding:
— Sauron will be furious... — She felt a presence behind her but did not turn. Instead, she continued, her tone steady. — He has suffered great losses in this battle. But I fear this is not the end.
A firm yet gentle hand came to rest upon her fragile shoulder.
— We stood our ground, — a familiar voice reassured her. — Minas Tirith is safe.
She finally turned to face him. A Dúnedain ranger stood at her side, his keen eyes reflecting the silver glow of the stars and moon.
— Come, — he said, tugging at her lightly. — The dwarves have been looking all over for you.
She offered no protest, casting one last fleeting glance at the White Tree before following him toward the citadel’s great doors.
As they entered, her gaze swiftly found the table where her companions had gathered. The dwarves were deep in heated discussion, their voices rising and falling in animated argument, while the woman beside them struggled to bring order to the chaos.
The elf sighed softly and murmured just loud enough for the ranger beside her to hear:
— Ai, iNoeg terlainc...
A knowing smile flickered across his lips. They reached the table, and at once, the dwarves’ quarrel fell silent.
— Mithril, where have you been? — Gimli’s gruff voice broke through the quiet.
— Just out for a walk, — she replied, slipping into the seat beside her friend as the ranger joined the dwarves.
Laughter, the clinking of tankards, and the warmth of familiar voices filled the hall once more. But deep in her heart, the elf knew—this night was but a fleeting moment of peace, a breath of calm before the storm.
