I open my eyes. The world around me is bleak, but the storm has passed. And I... I'm untouched. Dry despite the rain, unruffled by the wind. Whatever magic I threw up around me has held, held even against Saruman's vast power. I endured against him, and now... now he's given up. Moved on. Let me be.

The rain has begun to thin, trailing back the way it came.  That seems odd for a storm, but this is no regular storm. The wizard's distant voice is still bellowing commands across the sky, while the scuffling army of clouds is retreating back up to the mountaintops, as though returning to its original course from a simple detour.  A detour which, I soon come to realise, has left my company scattered.

I scan the rain-soaked plain for signs of my companions and their horses.  I saw the horses bolt, so I doubt any of them will still be nearby.  In the wake of the storm, a deadly mist has settled over the land, seemingly intent on tricking even my Elven eyesight into thinking I've found my companions, when in reality, I'm about as lost as I could get.

'Tel?  Lëa?  Glorfindel?'

My cries gain me no response. 

'Fírion?  Tauriel?  Fíria?'

Silence.  I wander on, feeling the strange bubble of magic around me fade to nothing as the rain finally ceases.  I try hard to focus on the squelching of my boots into the sodden earth, the only sound other than my own breathing that pierces the unnatural, unfaltering quiet.

'It's me, Erainiel,' I call out after another minute. 'I'm alright.  Is anybody out there?'

A noise behind me, and I whip around, my hands poised to ignite—only to be faced with Glorfindel emerging from the mist, soaked to the skin, with his golden hair plastered to his head.  His sword is drawn, and upon seeing me, he lowers it in relief. His magic reaches out to mine in greeting, but if he's wondering why I'm still completely dry, he certainly doesn't show it.

'Thank Ilúvatar, you're alive,' he breathes. 'Have you had any sign of the others?'

'No, nothing. I'm guessing you haven't, either.'

He shakes his head, then cranes his neck towards the jagged peaks in the distance. 'The winds have changed. The storm heads northwest, back along the mountains.'

I step closer to his side, my nostrils filling with the scent of fresh rain that clings to his skin and clothes. 'You and I both know that storm isn't being controlled by winds,' I say quietly.

He meets my eyes for a moment. 'Indeed. Do you know what is controlling it?'

'Magic.'

'Whose magic?'

I hold his gaze, unblinking while our powers mingle tauntingly in the small space between us. 'You know exactly whose magic. You heard him just as well as I did.'

'I wanted to be sure,' Glorfindel says gravely, 'I was hoping I might have imagined it.  But if you heard him too, well... that can only mean one thing.  The wizard Saruman is after the Fellowship.  They must be trying to cross the Misty Mountains.'

'Why did his storm come after us, though?  Did he think we were them?'

He bites his lower lip, and something warm coils in my chest. 'I don't know,' he says. 'Perhaps.  Or perhaps he knew exactly who we were, but still thought us worthy targets.  We are part of the threat to him, after all.  Especially considering six out of our original seven have very powerful magic.'

I look him in the eyes again.  Yes, six of us do have very powerful magic, but we both know mine is something beyond that.  He can feel it.  He's trying to pretend like he can't, but he's been able to feel it since the moment we met.

'He's very powerful, too,' I say—a challenge, almost. To see whether he'll bring up what he knows lies within me, what he knows is the reason why I emerged unscathed from a wild storm. 'He created an entire storm and controlled it.'

'He may still be afraid that one of us is stronger. That would explain why he tried to kill us.'

I cross my arms. 'We're not dead, so he failed.'

Glorfindel looks me over, the corner of his elegant lips quirking upward. 'No, not yet.'

'The others can't be dead,' I say firmly. 'They must be around here somewhere.'

As though I conjured them from thin air, Alëaren and Telamír promptly come stumbling out of the thinning mist, clinging to one another and looking deathly pale. Tel's mop of typically full, bouncy hair is matted, while Lëa's many braids are tangled and frayed like a poorly done knot of ropes. I rush to embrace them—repressing the urge to recoil at the dampness I am met with—and hold them both tightly. Thank the Valar they managed to find each other. I can only hope to say the same for the remainder of our company.

'Raini... Have you seen my parents or aunt anywhere?' Tel asks hopefully, as we release each other from the embrace.

It pains me to tell him that I haven't, and neither has Glorfindel. At the news, Tel's face falls, but Lëa narrows her eyes—calculating.

'Where's the nearest civilisation to here?' she questions—mainly to Glorfindel. 'Perhaps they will have thought to rendezvous there.'

Glorfindel pauses, considering. There isn't much for him to go on, seeing as in spite of the mist gradually clearing, we are still stranded in a virtually featureless plain with little more than the grass and the occasional meagre thorn bush for reference. 'By my reckoning, it'll be Lothlórien,' he says after a moment, 'we're still in the Wold, I think. There's no fast way of getting back to Imladris from here, and I'm assuming Lothlórien is a more pleasant option than any village of Rohan.'

'Will they not have just carried on home?' asks Telamír.

'I'm not sure, but if we head north, we'll have a fair chance of intercepting them if they're heading there or Lothlórien. It's likely they will try to follow the Anduin, so we should aim to do the same. The river Limlight lies to our north, then the Field of Celebrant is open for passage to the Lórien forest,' Glorfindel says, 'and don't worry—I'm not going to make us run all the way.'

'You're not going to make us do anything, because you're not in charge of us,' I counter.

He lifts a brow, assessing my challenge. 'I may not be, but who here actually has experience with travelling long distances through the wild on foot?  I do believe that description is limited solely to myself.'

'So what does your experience tell you?'

'That we aren't safe here, and I know how to survive it.  There will be packs of orcs all around here hoping to intercept the Fellowship from whatever way they cross the Misty Mountains—or just fetch a high price off some royal travellers coming home from Imladris.  Sauron and Saruman will both have spies everywhere, and do you remember last time Sauron's hordes came anywhere near someone with Star blood?'

'I don't remember, but I've certainly been told.'

War.  Death.  Destruction.  No one was left untouched by the wrath that came in the fight for my mother, not even innocent elflings like Eirwen had been at the time that Sauron's forces kidnapped her and imprisoned her in Gundabad.  Half the kingdom had to be rebuilt, and our army was severely depleted by the end of it all. 

'Good,' says Glorfindel.  'So you know the kind of thing a power like yours can cause in people.  How valuable you are to the dark powers of this world.'

'I know perfectly well, and would prefer not to be lectured on it.  I've had enough of that in my lifetime already; Fínegel invaded my kingdom when I was twelve.'

'And if I recall, you sneaked out in the dark after my ada and played right into Fínegel's hands,' Alëaren says without looking up.

Glorfindel shoots her an impressed glance, then turns his dangerous smirk on me.  'Those lectures clearly worked wonders on you, then, Princess.'

'Be that as it may,' I reply, 'I know the dangers of me being out here, but that's a risk I have no choice but to take now.'

'And I will make sure your risk is not taken wrongly, by ensuring all of your safety until you rejoin your companions.  You would be wise to heed any advice I give you, as it's sure to spare you from getting lectured.  Or killed, for that matter.'

I feel his magic shift again, still wide open for mine to feel.  None of the others were ever like this, and I think now it's because they don't have the capacity for it.  Whatever the Valar gave Glorfindel upon his rebirth was something sharper, more sensitive than night magic—or even Star magic.  For all my mother's vision capabilities, I have never felt her communicate like this.  Glorfindel might just be the next most powerful person here... after myself. And no one really knows it except me.

It would seem he and I are both concealing the potential that truly lies within us. The only difference is, he probably knows the limits of his great power. I do not—especially after what I was able to do against Saruman.

Limits isn't a word that occurs to me when I think of the power inside me.

'I understand,' I say.

'Good,' Glorfindel says again. 'We're not in Imladris anymore, Princess.  This is the big, wide world, and without your experienced companions here, I'm the best hope you've got.'

'I suppose I could've been saddled with worse,' I remark, and his blue eyes flash.

'You certainly could.'

Without warning, some memory, some trace of the storm comes rippling through me, in strange whispers of thunder and hisses of lightning that slice through my veins.  And the voice—the voice of Saruman, of his spell, of how he tried and tried to break down whatever it was I had put between us... but couldn't overcome it. Couldn't overcome me.

Glorfindel seems to notice my somewhat glazed expression, for he leans a little towards me, his brows furrowed with concern. 'Erainiel? Are you alright?'

'Yes, I—I'm fine.'

'We will find the others again, don't worry about it.'

'It's not that, it's... I'm confused,' I say, very wary of my words. 'Something happened that I don't understand.'

'What happened?'

'The storm, it... it didn't touch me. I could shield myself against it. Maybe I imagined it, but... it didn't feel like my normal magic. Valar, this sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud. It doesn't matter.' I turn away from him dismissively, cursing myself for even hinting at my struggle. He's not supposed to know that I don't fully understand my own power. No one is.

'Are we going to go soon?' Telamír calls. Valar damn him for managing to sound bored.

'Patience, young Prince,' says Glorfindel.

'I'm sixty-one!' Tel says indignantly.

Glorfindel ignores his protest. 'Look, we'll leave now if that so pleases you.'

'I would have thought it pleased you, seeing as you're so worried about Erainiel.'

Glorfindel stills, the faintest trace of a blush staining his cheeks. 'My concern is for all of you, as you are all royals of Mirkwood.'

I try my hardest to look at the floor, even while Tel saunters up to me wearing an irritating grin. 'See, Raini?' he says smugly, 'he's just as much in denial as you are.'

***