I'm alive! Sorry 'bout the long absence, but every time I sat down at my computer to type this chapter, I kept being consumed by guilt at the thought of all the other work I should be doing (namely preparing for my exams). I really hope this chapter was worth the wait ^^

Thanks to all those who reviewed my last chapter!

The Dropping of Eaves

It took me a while to find him – probably because of the sheer size of the place. You'd think that after spending a large portion of my youth in one of the oldest wizarding structures in Brittan, I would be able to navigate my way through the elvish city without too much difficulty, but Imladris was something else entirely. Part of the reason my search took so long was that I kept pausing to admire the scenery, or doubling back to take a closer look at details in the architecture. I couldn't help myself – there was just so much to see. Hogwarts may have dwarfed Rivendell in size with its towers and turrets, but the old castle was just that – old.

This place was...timeless. I couldn't for the life of me hazard a guess as to how old the city actually was. There was something disconcerting about the way everything could seem so undamaged and yet so ancient – as if Rivendell simply existed without being affected by the slow and inevitable wear of time.

Like the elves that lived here, the city screamed inhuman. Impossible. Wrong. Nothing should be immortal, nothing should last forever, but when Lord Elrond had gazed at me his eyes had held a crushing wisdom no mortal man could ever hope to gain. Not in one lifetime anyway, not even in a dozen.

I, on the other hand, was human. I moved too clumsily, breathed too loudly. I felt the eyes of every elf I passed linger on my back, but not one of them made to stop me with a question about my presence in their home. They were curious, yes, but only mildly so. We didn't belong on the same plane of existence, and I was probably just as interesting to them as an ant to a cat.

I felt like a stain on an otherwise immaculate landscape.

The second reason it took me so long to find the wizard was that every so often I would pause in my search, eyes sweeping towards the far side of the valley over the narrow path we had taken to reach the city in the hopes of spotting the company as they were leaving. But the dwarves and Bilbo were nowhere to be seen.

I shuffled along, checking one lavishly decorated room after another, growing more and more frustrated with every step. Where has that confounded wizard gotten to?

"You are searching for my father."

The melodious voice reached my ears as I was crossing yet another courtyard and I stopped in my tracks, glancing over my shoulder. An elven woman stood in an open archway, the morning light outlining her silhouette, highlighting the lustrous gleam of her rich dark hair. Her eyes were a piercingly sharp shade of blue. She took a graceful step forwards, a small smile playing on the edges of her full lips.

I blinked, a little startled by this sudden apparition. "Actually, no," I said slowly, "I'm looking for Gandalf."

Her eyes crinkled slightly in the corners as her smile broadened. "The Grey Wizard is in my father's presence, Miss Morgan. Where you find one, you will find the other."

I sighed. Was every mystical being in this world compelled to speak in riddles? "Where's you dad?"

She tilted her head, eyes traveling to the upper part of Rivendell I had yet to explore. I followed her gaze to an open air porch carved out of white stone overshadowing the city. A thin stream of water cascaded from the rocks supporting the structure, glinting in the rays of morning light.

"Right. And how do I get up there?"

The elf gestured to a door to the far side of the court yard. "Follow the corridor until you reach the tapestry of the Battle of Mount Doom. There will be a passageway to your left. Climb the flight of stairs at the end of it. Do not stop until you have reached open air."

"Thanks." I hesitated, then asked, "How do you know my name?"

She laughed softly, the sound like chimes in the wind. "Word travels swiftly. We elves seldom have the opportunity to contemplate something new."

I frowned. "What makes me new?"

"A female human traveling with a band of dwarves is rather uncommon." Her eyes trailed over my short, messy hair and masculine clothes. I would have felt offended, but her eyes held nothing more than open curiosity. "One might wonder why you find them so interesting."

"I have a beard fetish."

The elf cocked her head slightly to the side, a thoughtful expression on her face. "So it would seem."

I was about to assure her (rather vehemently) that my interest in the dwarves' quest was strictly non-romantic when I saw a glimmer of humour dancing behind her blue eyes.

"Do not worry, Cassie Morgan," she said. "You needn't explain yourself to me." She turned her back and walked slowly towards the open arch, gazing eastwards across the lush green valley. "I understand the thrill of the unknown. As women we experience very few opportunities to see the world and to behold its wonders. We are expected to meet certain standards." She turned to face me once more, smiling wryly. "It very rarely occurs to men that perhaps a few of us want something more in life than a strong husband and healthy children."

"Uh huh." I wasn't entirely sure where this conversation was going but figured I might as well be polite and let her finish since she'd already given me the information I wanted. The elf however, had resumed her contemplation of the valley. "Sooo…through the door, down the corridor, first to my left and up the stairs until I hit the top?"

"Yes."

"Ta." I started walking towards the door. The elf called out to me once more as I laid my hand on the dark oak.

"I would not hurry myself if I were you. It would be prudent to let them conclude their matters before interrupting."

I frowned. "Why? What's going on up there?"

When she only smiled enigmatically I shrugged and pushed at the door. I guess I'll have to find out for myself. "Hey, what's your name?" I called in afterthought.

Her answering voice rang across the courtyard before the door had time to swing shut. "I am Arwen Undomeil, daughter of Lord Elrond." A moment later, the heavy wooden door closed behind me with an almighty boom, and I was alone in the dimly lit corridor.

Daughter of –

I glanced up in the general direction of the open air porch. When the elf had said that Gandalf was with her father, I'd figured the wizard was catching up on old times over a cup of wine with a friend. But if he was having a private conversation with the elven Lord…

'What is the meaning of this?' Elrond's voice echoed in my head. The wizard had deftly avoided the question, but his eyes had promised 'Later.'

I started walking at a brisk pace down the corridor, eyes peeled for the tapestry Lady Arwen had mentioned. This, I thought to myself, is going to be interesting.

The Grey Wizard was indeed in the company of Lord Elrond. I could see that much as climbed the last stone steps and emerged into the open. The location they had chosen was the perfect place to host a secret meeting. The delicate porch had been carved at the very limit of the mountainside, a steep drop on either side. There were no footholds visible on the stone supporting the structure, and I guessed they had been purposefully smoothed to keep curious ears from scaling the rocks underneath in order to reach the porch unseen. A thin path winded its way along the side of the porch, sloping upwards to the entrance of the pale structure. It was the only way to reach the porch.

I could glimpse Lord Elrond's figure slipping in and out of sight behind the columns as he paced in a wide circle. Gandalf was seated at a round table in the centre of the porch, speaking rapidly to someone I couldn't see but who obviously had his undivided attention. I craned my neck, trying to get a good look at the stranger, but an ornately carved pillar hid him from sight.

I considered my options. The winding path was devoid of ramparts, or anything that might help conceal me from the three figures on the porch. If I tried to sneak across I would be completely in the open, and there was a good chance I would be spotted. I mentally cursed the architects responsible. I had passed an uncountable amount of busts and statues during my search of the city, why couldn't they have stuck one or two on the path where they could be useful to me? Then again, I suppose that was the whole purpose of the blasted path to begin with.

Upon second glance, I noticed that there was a statue, a pale maiden sitting on a rock jutting out from the side of the pathway, but it was a little too close to the porch for my liking. How the heck was I supposed to reach it without being seen?

Their discussion might not even be relevant to my situation, but on the offhand that it was…

I needed to know what they were talking about.

Watching closely, I waited until Lord Elrond had turned his back once more before creeping out into the open and slowly making my way along the path, eyes riveted on the wizard and his companion, aiming for the statue of the pale maiden atop of the rock. Fifteen steps left. Neither glanced up, too engrossed in their conversation. Ten steps. I tried to tread as swiftly as possible. Seven steps. Lord Elrond was almost at the edge of the structure – he was going to turn soon. Five. I was almost there. Two –

A fourth figure emerged into view. She had been standing in absolute stillness by one of the pillars, and I wouldn't have noted her presence at all had she not suddenly stepped a little to the right. I froze.

Clad entirely in white, with hair like spun sunlight flowing down to the middle of her back, the elven woman stood tall and proud. In the dim morning light she seemed to shine as bright as the few remaining stars overhead. She turned to face the path and for a second, I was certain she had seen me, but her cool gaze passed over my still figure without the slightest sign of having noticed anything wrong. She turned once again to face the wizard.

I dove for the safety of the statue, heart hammering in my mouth. Once I'd collected my bearings I peeked over the rock and saw that the elven woman had circled the table and was now speaking softly to Gandalf. I strained my ears but heard nothing except the murmur of the wind in the leaves below.

Had she seen me? Unlikely. She would have warned her companions.

I glanced at the nearest column, trying to judge the distance, then waited until both elves were facing away from me before darting forwards. No one saw me reach the pillar, no one heard the soft smack of flesh against stone as I pressed my hands against the surface, shielding myself from view. I indulged in a small grin of victory and an even smaller sigh of relief before focusing on the discussion I'd gone to such pains to overhear.

"- should he side with the enemy? A dragon can be used to terrible effect." Gandalf.

I craned my neck and peered cautiously around the pillar, finally getting the full view of the scene. The wizard was leaning forwards slightly, elbows resting on the stone table, a relaxed air about him. Only his tightly-wound hands gave away any sign that he was under pressure.

"What enemy?" the man sitting opposite him asked. At first glance, there was nothing particularly remarkable about the stranger. He seemed old – as old as Gandalf – but it was less visible, perhaps because of his long mane of pure-white hair or the streaks of black in his beard.

But when spoke, his voice…I shuddered despite myself. There was nothing ordinary about this man's voice. It flowed from his mouth like a river, smooth and powerful, filling the silence with its deep timbre. "Gandalf, the enemy is defeated. Sauron is vanquished. He can never regain his full strength." I closed my eyes, hugging the pillar for support. His voice was captivating, mesmerizing with each syllable. It resonated with authority and influence.

Elrond stepped into my line of vision. "Gandalf, for four hundred years we have lived in peace – a hard won, watchful peace." I latched onto his words, desperately trying to distance myself from the Stranger's intoxicating voice.

The Grey Wizard unwound his fingers and shifted in his seat, eyes sweeping inquisitively over his three companions. "Are we? Are we at peace?" When none replied he pressed on. "Trolls have come down from the mountains. They are raiding villages, destroying farms. Orcs have attacked us on the run!"

The elven Lord nodded solemnly. "Hardly a prelude to war."

"Always you must meddle, looking for trouble where none exists!" This time when the Stranger spoke I was ready, but his voice still caught me by surprise. It was just so…compelling. I had no idea how Gandalf could sit so still and unfazed when he was being subjected to such a voice – I was having a hard time focusing, and it wasn't even directed at me.

The elven woman glided forwards. "Let him speak."

Gandalf took a deep breath and launched into his explanation. "There is something at work beyond the evil of Smaug, something far more powerful. We can remain blind to it but it will not be ignoring us – that I can promise you. A sickness lies over the Green Wood. The woodsmen who live there now call it Mirkwood, and they say…" he trailed off, seeming hesitant to continue.

"Well," the Stanger encouraged in a softly mocking tone, "Don't stop now. Tell us what the woodsmen say."

"They speak of a Necromancer living in Dol Guldur, a sorcerer who can summon the dead."

Gandalf's words shocked me from the Stranger's influence like a smack to the cheek. In my mind I saw the killing curse hurtle towards me, striking me to the chest. Avada Kedavra. My life slipping from my grasp as I dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut away. The memory faded and I pressed my forehead against the cold stone, listening with all my might.

"That's absurd. No such power exists in this world." The Stranger made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "This 'Necromancer' in nothing more than a mortal man, a conjurer dabbling in black magic."

The wizard hastily ploughed on. "And so I thought too, but Radagast has seen –"

"Radagast?" The Stranger's voice cracked like a whip, harsh and sharp, his eyes seconding the notion. "Do not speak to me of Radagast the Brown. He is a foolish fellow."

"He's odd, I grant you," Gandalf amended, "Lives a solitary life, but –"

"It's not that. It's his excessive consumption of mushrooms. They've addled his brain and yellowed his teeth."

As the Stranger launched into a detailed enumeration of the Radagast's many faults I gritted my teeth in frustration. No, no, no! They were moving away from the subject! I wanted – needed – to know more about this Necromancer. Goddamn you, listen to the old crackpot!

A sudden movement brought my attention back to the scene in front of me – or rather, an absence of movement. The elven woman had been slowly pacing around the table throughout the whole conversation. She now stood motionless as a statue, pale blue eyes fixed on the wizard as he extracted something from the folds of his grey cloak. Gandalf carefully placed the object on the stone table and I immediately recognized it as the dagger Radagast had found, though it was still wrapped in the dirty yellowed cloth.

I held my breath, anticipation stirring in my gut. I felt as if I were on the verge of some great discovery – an answer to all the questions that had been brewing in my mind from Day One in Middle-earth. I blinked hard against my fatigue as a small knot of pressure started to build in the back of my head. Now was not the time to indulge in a headache, not when I was so close to finally knowing…

"What is that?" Lord Elrond asked, reaching out to remove the fabric.

"A relic of Mordor," murmured the white Lady.

Elrond's hand jumped back an inch. He hesitated, sharing a wary glance with the Stranger, then ever so carefully lifted the dirty fold, revealing the cruel weapon beneath.

There was a short moment of stunned silence as everyone contemplated the dark blade resting on the table. I was once again struck by how cold the dagger looked. Even the sunlight negated to reflect of its blackened steel.

Elrond was the first to breach the silence. "A Morgul blade," he hissed.

"Made for the Witch-king of Angmar." The white Lady took a graceful step towards the table, tilting her head slightly to glance questioningly at the wizard. "And buried with him. When Angmar fell the men of the north took his body and all that he possessed and sealed it within the high fells of Rhudaur. Deep within the rocks they buried him, in a tomb so dark it would never come to light."

And yet, here's his dagger. This Witch-king's tomb couldn't have been as well guarded as everyone seemed to think it was if it had been raided and stripped of all valuables. I felt my brows furrow in disappointment. This was hardly the answer I'd been hoping to uncover.

The pressure continued to build, spreading to my temples and forehead. I shook my head absently, trying to dismiss the irritating sensation.

"What proof do we have this weapon came from Angmar's grave?" the Stranger asked with his mesmerizing voice. He seemed to be trying to regain some vestige of control over the discussion after this unexpected turn of events.

"I have none," Gandalf said, almost apologetically.

"Because there is none! Let us examine what we know. A single orc-pack has dared…"

The pressure suddenly piqued to an uncomfortable level and I clutched my head against the sharp pain, gritting my teeth as a smooth voice invaded my thoughts: 'Your mind is well-protected, child.'

I bit back a cry of surprise and clamped a hand over my mouth to prevent any sound from escaping. What the hell –?

'Calm yourself.' Barely a whisper, gentle and soft as a summer's breeze – yet it filled my find, commanding my attention. 'I mean you no harm.'

My knees buckled as a fresh wave of pain washed through me. I bit down hard on my tongue, tasting blood. Get out of my head! I pleaded mentally, recognizing the signs of a Legilimency attack. I didn't know the first thing about Occlumency, and so I braced myself against the inevitable onslaught of memories that were bound to follow. Please!

To my surprise the pressure receded, and with it the pain. I clutched at the pillar with sweaty palms, shaking uncontrollably.

Barely fifteen feet away, the meeting went on undisturbed.

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to dispel the quivers riding up and down my spine. Who the hell was that?

I almost jumped out of my skin when the smooth voice answered. "I am Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlorien." She seemed to brush the surface of my consciousness, barely a whisper in my mind. 'And you are Cassiopeia, daughter of Isaac Morgan of…' she trailed away uncertainly and my thoughts immediately strayed to my hometown, '…London. Great-Brittan,' she finished.

I felt my heartbeat accelerate as panic griped me in its clutches. She knew my name. She knew my father's name.

I sucked in a sharp intake of breath as the pressure reappeared on either side of my scalp. Then, almost in answer, a stab of harsh pain resonated through my mind and I let out a low moan, unable to contain myself. The pressure disappeared almost instantly.

'Curious,' Galadriel murmured distantly, with the air of a detached professor examining cause and effect. 'You are resisting me, child.'

What? Confusion clouded my thoughts. No, I'm not. I braced myself against the pillar, ready to turn heel and bolt at the slightest sign of another attack.

'Now then, Cassiopeia,' the Legilimens chided. 'I wish no harm to come of you.'

Really? I growled, anger quickening my pulse. You've got a funny way of showing it, you mind-rapist!

'Hush,' she murmured, a slight note of irritation colouring her tone, 'Do you think I was fooled by your earlier display of stealth? You tread lightly enough for a Mortal, but there are other ways to detect an unwanted observer.' As if to drive her point home she increased the pressure a third time and I threw my head back as the answering pain vibrated through my scalp.

Okay, okay, I get it! I thought desperately, suddenly afraid. This was no ordinary elf I was dealing with. Galadriel had power and, as far as I could tell, the detached indifference to use it unhindered by moral code.

And yet… three times she had probed my mind with her Legilimency skills and no memories had been forced to the surface under her influence. She knew what I was thinking upon the moment, but the rest of it – my past – remained hidden from her.

'Yes,' she breathed, viewing my thoughts as plainly as if she were reading an open book. 'I was able to catch a glimpse before you took note of my presence and shut me out. The pain you feel is the result of your struggles.'

But I wasn't struggling. I'd only ever read about Occlumency – there was no way I could erect a mental barrier strong enough to withstand her attacks, so how was I blocking her?

'Hush child.' She gently pulled my attention away from my current train of thought and directed it to the conversation taking place beyond the pillars. 'Your mind is full of questions and doubt. Mithrandir possesses some of the answers you so sorely seek.' And then she was gone in a whisper, her presence fading from my consciousness entirely.

Relief flooded me in tangible waves and I slowly started to edge away from the column, determined to vacate the scene before the elven Lady decided to invade my privacy again. I had barely moved however, when her deep voice echoed across the porch, cutting across the other three's discussion: "And what of Cassiopeia Morgan? You are most concerned by her fate, Mithrandir."

There was a pause in which all eyes swivelled to the Lady of Lothlorien. I waited with baited breath, one hand still pressed against the pillar.

"Cassie?" Gandalf chuckled in a poor attempt to mask his discomfort. "Forgive me my Lady, but I was not aware you had perceived her presence in the Valley of Imladris." He waved his hand. "A mere oversight on my part, I assure you, and hardly a matter for the White Counsel to attend to."

I frowned. Something in his tone sounded…off. Like he was trying to move the discussion along to a less hazardous subject.

I wasn't alone to notice the wizard's evasiveness. "Who is she Gandalf?" Elrond asked. The Stranger leant forwards ever so slightly in his seat, scrutinizing the old man with his cold eyes.

"Oh, no one of importance," the wizard said airily. "Only the daughter of an old friend. I promised to keep an eye on her while she sedated her thirst for adventure."

The elven Lord wasn't fooled. "Surly you have felt it, Mithrandir? There is a troubling power in that child – I saw as much in her eyes when she introduced herself."

There was an awkward silence during which Gandalf shot a wary glance at the Stranger. "Well…" He seemed to choose his next words carefully, "She has a certain…talent about her, I give you that, but hardly –"

"You have found another one." It wasn't a question. The Stranger's eyes were now hard as steel as his keen gaze bore into the wizard's – and I was suddenly reminded of a raptor circling its prey.

For a second, Gandalf hesitated, then his shoulders sagged slightly and he said, "Yes."

"Another what?" Elrond's question echoed my own silent inquiry, gaze sweeping between the two men seated at the table. Galadriel simply resumed her slow pacing.

The Stranger remained silent for a while longer. When he finally spoke, his voice bore none of the enthralling cadence it had before. Sharp and curt, his words reflected the anger within. "How long did you hope to keep this hidden from me, Gandalf?"

The wizard met his rage with steady calm. "I did not think it necessary to trouble you so early in my findings. I had hoped to gain a little more knowledge and present to you a case based on fact – not speculation." There was a hint of reproach in his tone.

The Stranger bristled. "Fool!" he hissed, "That was not your decision to make. You should have brought her to me immediately."

Gandalf bowed his head. "Perhaps," he admitted, "But I can now affirm that Cassie's situation differs greatly from the other we have encountered. She bears us no ill will."

"Indeed?" The Stranger's tone had a mocking lilt to it. "Did she tell you that? Tell me Gandalf, did she inform you of her agenda in our land?"

"I have not yet questioned her on the matter. She is reluctant to trust, you see, and –"

"And yet you seem to have imparted a great deal of trust to this near-stranger!" He waved his hand curtly, signalling an end to the matter. "You will bring her before me at once, Gandalf, and let us pray that your oversight has not cost the lives of innocent."

The Lady of Lothlorien paused in her pacing. "Cassiopeia is not of this world," she murmured, turning to face the wizard.

Something seemed to pass between them and Gandalf's brow furrowed ever so slightly. His eyes twitched to her left, falling on the pillar behind which I was hiding. "No, my Lady, she is not."

Galadriel nodded thoughtfully. "And she is not the first you have encountered."

This time, it was the Stranger who answered. "Two span ago, a troubling rumour came to my attention. A number of farms and small villages were being raided in the north, their inhabitants found slaughtered in their beds. Survivors spoke of a foul demon attacking at nightfall, a monster that killed with a single flash of green light. For many days I followed the trail, journeying from one thrashed household to the next, until finally, I stumbled upon the culprits." The Stranger chuckled darkly. "A man and woman, half-consumed by madness – yet possessing great power, magic such as I have never encountered… No. They were not of our world."

Silence fell, heavy and oppressing. From behind the pillar my mind was reeling from this onslaught of information. I pressed my forehead against the cool stone, willing for someone to ask the question that was fighting to breach my lips.

Galadriel obliged: "What became of them?"

The wizard stirred in his seat. "Saruman insured a swift execution, ending all hope of ever learning how they came to our world." He shook his head in desolation. "Perhaps if the man had been captured alive his companion might have surrendered peacefully."

The elven Lady tilted her head to one side, eyes unfocused. "The woman fled."

"Indeed, my Lady. We have been unable to locate her since." Gandalf's voice became earnest as he searched the Stranger – Saruman's gaze. "You know I did not approve of your decision, which is precisely why I wished to avoid this confrontation. Hear me now old friend: Miss Morgan poses no such threat."

Saruman's eyes iced over, and when he spoke his voice had recovered some of its terrible force. "I will be the judge of that, Gandalf Greyhame."

Bilbo was right. It was a bitter thought, although not all that surprising. Gandalf had never questioned my story, never doubted my sanity. He had known the truth from the moment he set eyes on me, before I had even figured out the half of it. It stung a little to think that he'd played me for so long without my noticing.

You need to leave, Cass. I had already stayed far too long. Every second spent skulking out of sight was a second wasted in my escape – for I knew now that Rivendell was no longer safe. Saruman (as I remembered from the old man's ramblings) was the head of Gandalf's order – the most powerful wizard of all five. I wanted nothing to do with such a man, especially if he'd already eliminated one of my own and was considering doing the same with me.

But before I could slip away quietly, I felt the tell-tale whisper of the white Lady invading my conscience. 'Forgive me, child," Galadriel murmured, gentle as autumn rain, "But this needs to be done."

What –? I suddenly experienced a pain so severe I thought that someone must have sliced of the top of my head. The pressure had returned in full force, prying at the mental barrier I didn't even know existed, pulling it apart inch by inch, tearing, ripping, until –

The stone pillar swam in front of my eyes and vanished; image after image racing through my mind like a thousand photos so vivid they blinded me to my surroundings… I was five, playing with a toy broomstick I had gotten for my birthday, adrenalin coursing through my veins as I swooped around the garden… I was eight and Derek Campbell was pushing me into a corner of the playground, laughing as I trembled in fear… Sparks flew from the wand I was clutching in Olivander's shop and I swelled with pride… A weedy looking boy started at the sound of my name as McGonagall called me to the front of the Great Hall, holding the Sorting Hat aloft…

I fell to my knees, panting. Galadriel delved deeper, shifting through layer upon layer of memories, viewing my life as it flitted before my eyes…

… Snow spiralled from the enchanted ceiling, melting before it reached the table… I sat in a dark corner of the library, scanning the list of deceased in ancient news articles, a sickening feeling twisting in my gut… The Triwizard champions dived into the freezing water of the Black Lake, disappearing in a ripple of waves…

No, I moaned feebly, trying to push her away. Get out…

… Draco scowled from across the table… My mother slammed the front door, warning me not to return… Flames engulfed the castle, red-hot and angry, consuming everything in their path… The green light rammed into my chest. I crumbled onto the pavement, and suddenly the world was too bright. Darkness fell and I was left floating in nothingness…

Galadriel paused, letting the memory bubble to the surface, watching it take shape…

… Thud thud. My back arched as a cold hand closed around my heart, forcing it to beat, pumping blood through my veins…

A snarl erupted from the depth of my mind, low and menacing. The white Lady paid no heed, too absorbed in the memory of my death to notice the threat. Something stirred deep within me, slowly emerging from the dark pit in which it had been hiding. It growled and lashed out, drawing on my magic, screeching a single word that resonated through my head like thunder: 'MINE!'

The pillar swam back into focus. I clamped my hands to my mouth, drowning out a scream. Inside the circle of columns Galadriel inhaled sharply.

"My Lady?" Elrond. I heard the scraping of chairs as the two wizards rose to their feet.

"Ed' i'ear ar' elenea!" Her voice was barely a whisper. "What madness is this?"

I scrambled heavily to my feet, tottering backwards a few steps and slamming into something solid, throwing me off my balance. A hand grasped me by the shoulder, pulling me away from the edge of path and the steep drop beyond. I raised my head and recognized Lindir.

The elf frowned. "Miss Morgan, what on earth–?" He stopped, eyes swivelling to the pillar behind which I had been crouching and back to me, putting two and two together.

I knocked his had away. Ignoring Lindir's cry of protest I bolted down the path, rushing past the statue of the pale maiden, and leaped down the dimly-light staircase out of sight.

I've been building up to this chapter for some time now, and I feel kinda anxious about how it turned out. I hope nobody found it too confusing ^^'

And yes, I am aware that I fiddled a little with the timing in this chapter (Lindir should have interrupted the meeting waaaaay earlier than he did in my version) but there was a lot of stuff I wanted to cover.

What did you all think of Galadriel? I couldn't find a proper description of her mind reading so I based myself on Legilimency.

Wow, I think this is my longest chapter yet! Please review!