A/N: The fey, in my stories, are about as tall as hobbits. Maybe a little taller in some cases. But, for the most part, they're the height of hobbits.
Kerra stood upon the platform in one of the ancient trees that surrounded the Autumn Gate. Her guard duty was almost over, as she had pulled the predawn to lunch shift for today. Although she was one of the highest and most respected fey warriors, she still worked with her subordinates on simple guard duty. It only served to increase her legendary status.
Her fey senses, not accessible to the other races, were hinting at a darkness building at the edge of the wood. It could not enter yet, its powers not strong enough to overcome Ré-Nancet's formidable defenses, but it was gaining strength. She could feel it stirring, its sources of power coming from far away, and the origin's name chilled her to the bone.
Mordor...
She shook her head to clear her thoughts. She was a fool to be worried; the fey were strong and powerful. It must be the wine from the banquet the night before that was clouding her mind. Lord Radik had known about this danger long before she had, and he was planning the defenses even as she sat there.
But...what if there was a chink? What if there was a breach in the defenses? Even the tiniest hole in a floodwall could let in the waters. She tried to push away her dread, but ever since the One Ring had entered Siobhangé, she had been even more watchful than ever. She bore no ill will against the Fellowship; no indeed, she could only admire them, especially Frodo, for taking this burden upon them. And she was no friend of the Dark Lord; too many of her friends and kin had suffered at his hands for her to feel anything for him but the bitterest hate. She would support the Ringbearer in whatever capacity she was able to.
Anemosi, too, knew of the danger. With powers developing that few could perceive, the Lady Radika was sensitive to the growing threat like no other. She was ignorant of one important fact, however: the One Ring would corrupt any who possessed it, but in Anemosi's case, the Ring would sap her strength the longer she was exposed to it. It could not corrupt her mind; the Power that rested in her, like it had in her mother, was too strong for even Sauron to claim her without a terrible loss to himself. The One Ring, however, would weaken her, making her Power fight for control over her body against the influence of the Ring, and the battle would destroy her.
*Fool!* Kerra thought sadly. She loved Anemosi as a younger sister, and was as fiercely devoted to her welfare as Sam was to Frodo's, but she was not blinded by her affection for Anemosi. She knew of Anemosi and Sam's attraction to each other (very little passed Kerra by), but she dreaded just how far the romanticism of the situation would carry Anemosi. Heedless of the danger to herself or the rest of the Fellowship, Anemosi wanted to accompany them on their quest to destroy the Ring. She was too foolhardy for her own good, accepting no moderation in anything she set out to do. Anemosi was not a creature designed for anything except the extremes in everything she did. When she loved, it was with her entire being, and forever; and, when committed to a cause, she would never abandon it, not for anything. Her very greatest strength, her very pureness of existence, would be her undoing. The Power that protected her from the Ring would consume her, and she would suffer like no other creature ever could. And Sam, poor little Sam from the Shire, he would suffer as well, for his fate was so intertwined with Anemosi's that one could barely tell them apart.
Kerra sank to the floor. She had never felt more alone than in that devastating moment of truth. Her world hung on the brink of death, hovering over a grave, and everyone would suffer before it was over. The armies of hate were marching, and only a few last bulwarks of the good stood in their way. Yes, the powers of the elves and the fey were great, but there were so few left...and a hobbit carried the fates of them all. Would he have the strength to save them, at the bitter end?
Kerra may have been a warrior, hardened by centuries of battles and
blood and death, but she was not made of steel, and she could still weep.
And so she did, weeping until her heart was empty. *My world is changing,*
she thought. *The evil is coming, and we are powerless to stop the advance.
How will this end? Oh, Sweet Lady, it will end in pain....*