It was naught more than two days in which Aragorn, Sam, Merry, and Pippin arrived in Rivendell, eager to check on the status of their wounded companion. The three hobbits did pause momentarily when they too were left dumbstruck at Rivendell's beauty. And for Aragorn the snow, which he had never witnessed here. Unlike the previous visitor though, they had purpose, and were determined not to stare too longingly. What none of them expected to find, to their joyous surprise, was Frodo at the front gates, chatting animatedly with Gandalf, who was gently smoking his pipe, and a stunningly beautiful blonde woman.

"Mister Frodo! Mister Frodo!" His attention grabbed, Frodo turns to find Sam shouting his name and dashing towards him at an alarming rate. Managing, just barely, to stand up in time, he's wrapped in the strongest of bear hugs a hobbit can manage. Before long, Merry and Pippin have joined in and create a giant blob of hugging hobbits. Aragorn, while pleased that Frodo is healthy and walking, is perplexed by his rapid recovery.

But his attention on the hobbit is quickly diverted towards Gandalf and the mysterious woman. Passing by the still mobbing hobbits, he approaches the two and gives a warm greeting, "It is a pleasure to see you again Gandalf." He turns to lock eyes with Elsa, "But you, my lady, are a stranger to me. I am Aragorn, a ranger of the North."

"And I am Queen Elsa of Arendelle, pleased to make your acquaintance. And before you ask, the land is quite far from here." At the mention of her title, the hobbits immediately stop their raucous mob hug, and all but one turn their heads to her. Aragorn looks momentarily shocked too, having taken a step back in order to get a better look at Elsa in full. Frodo and Gandalf are laughing internally at their reactions, having already become accustomed to Elsa the person rather than Elsa the Queen.

"Your majesty." All three hobbits and Aragorn say simultaneously, and while Aragorn and Sam give a proper bow, Merry and Pippin fall over each other trying to bow the lowest. Elsa's barely able to stifle a giggle at this, having to cover her mouth with her hand. She waves off the four of them.

"Please, Elsa is fine. I have no land here. Saying my title is more of a reminder…or force of habit." She smiles warily at the four newcomers, but before she can ask for introduction of the hobbits, the three of them conduct a disastrous cacophony of greetings,

"I am SamPipodoc, son of HamPaladoc." Was what Elsa heard, as the hobbits' voices jumbled together into a joyful but undeterminable discourse of talking.

Elsa merely cocks her head, speechless for a moment as she tries to determine a proper answer, but her mouth decides to speak first, "…I'm sorry, I'm confused."

The three hobbits' faces drop, then light up again as they prepare to repeat themselves enthusiastically, but before they can replicate such a disaster of introductions, Frodo steps in front of them, "If you'll allow me Elsa," he points to Sam first, "Sam, Merry, and Pippin."

"A pleasure to you three too."

While Elsa was sorting out the eager hobbits, who had never before seen a Queen in their lives, Aragorn and Gandalf were having a conversation of their own.

"So how did this woman happen upon Rivendell if she is indeed from a distant land?"

"Are you aware of the legends of The North Mountain?"

"The mountain of myth? It's said to not been seen in over two thousand years. Surely she couldn't have crossed it?"

"By her accounts, she has. Apparently it is the mountain in her kingdom." There is a small pause in their talk, as Aragorn processed this information, having also been well-versed in Elvish legends during his times in Rivendell previous. Gandolf continues to study Elsa during this silence, who was currently laughing over the antics of Marry and Pippin.

"Then this snow, which never I have seen in Rivendell…"

"Indeed, that is her craft." He takes a long draw on his pipe, before exhaling with a sunny smile, "What we have is a winter sorceress whose heart glows greater than all the stars of the night." He pauses to take another puff, and with a few complicated maneuvers that only a wizard could manage, blows out a snowflake, which drifts lazily on the wind, "Although it does take a bit to defrost her icy demeanor."

Aragorn is not one to roll his eyes, but he was sorely tempted to at the pun. Rather, he allows a small groan in protest, and walks away in search of Elrond or Arwen, whoever he encountered first. Gandalf merely chuckles and continues to observe the animated conversation of the hobbits and the polite reactions of Elsa. However, his positive outlook towards her is tempered by the nagging memory, the kind one finds in the deepest reaches of their mind, a prophecy he been spoken to many a years ago:

From a mountain far above will an avatar of winter appear,

Her powers great, create beauty but spread fear,

However, a force of nature, neutral shall she be,

Her abilities for Kings or Conquerors, none shall see.

Gandalf always disregarded such 'prophecies', summarizing them as nothing more than cheap word tricks vague enough to persuade lesser minded individuals to believe them. Yet, he couldn't shake the persistent thought that possibly for once, one of these silly messages might actually ring true. Another drag of his pipe reminds him of the ridiculousness of such thinking.

Alone in one of Rivendell's countless patios, Gandalf was puffing on his pipe as he gazed into the stars; specifically, one star in particular. Well versed in the astronomy of Middle Earth, the vibrant icy blue light in the sky is a new one to him. Having appeared concurrent with the arrival of Elsa, to be precise. If compared side by side, one could easily mistake this star for one of her eyes. Gandalf found it beautiful to gaze at, and has done so for the third night in a row, growing to appreciate more this new wonder of the night sky.

As he's gazing and smoking, he notices in the corner of his eye Elsa silently approaching, still in her formal wear. But this is a polite silent approach, meant not to disturb the peaceful setting, thus he decides to allow her to speak first.

"Excuse me, Gandalf." He turns his eyes away from the star to focus them on its duplicates in Elsa.

"Hello Elsa, what brings you to me?"

Elsa's hands are rubbing over each other, an old habit that still lingers, as she readies herself for her question, "Pardon me for prodding, but what exactly is going on here?"

Gandalf's smile falters just a little bit, "I'm afraid you will have to be more specific than that."

Having stopped her hands from wringing each other, she instead crosses her arms and gives him a hard glare, "You, me, Aragorn, and the hobbits. Specifically Frodo. Why are we all here? I seriously doubt we've been brought to an ancient Elvish city steeped in history and magic for a mere vacation." She waits some moments for Gandalf to respond, growing ever the (slightly) more frustrated at his silence. Just as she's about to continue, though,

"Yes, we are gathered here for a purpose." He takes another hit of his pipe, and, looking back at the star, lets the smoke billow out without form, "But I do not wish for you to be involved, there is no need for concern." He turns back to Elsa, whose glare has grown harsher.

"I believe somehow bringing Frodo back earlier than expected already makes me involved." The two share a moment of silence; Elsa waiting for a response; Gandalf wondering if she had anything to continue on. Eventually Elsa goes for broke, "It's that ring, isn't it?"

While Gandalf was able to recognize that Elsa was a perceptive woman, the fact that even she, who, to his knowledge, was never regaled the story of Sauron and his ring, could immediately point it out was still surprising. But how was something that now occupied his thoughts.

"Now what makes you say that?"

Elsa rolls her eyes, becoming frustrated with his attempts at deflecting her inquiry, just as Frodo and Sam had been doing previously. "Because every time I'm interacting with, or simply in the presence of Frodo, I hear this…whispering. Usually it's muffled, but there was one instance in which I noticed that the chain on his neck was looped through a ring. Somehow it had gotten out of his undershirt. Just by looking at it, the whispering was now actual words, still undecipherable though, and I could feel this…dark, dark presence. Now do you honestly expect me to ignore that?"

Gandalf's face has finally fallen, as there is no more reasoning to be had for him to hold back. Elsa was far more acute to her surroundings than he originally estimated. But it was disturbing that the ring could speak to her with just mere proximity. Gandalf himself only heard it during the brief moment it was held in his hand. Either Elsa was of a weaker will than he expected, or her magic was of such power that the ring was practically throwing itself at her. He was unable to decide which possibility would be worse. With a rather exasperated sigh, he readies his mind for a monologue that is sure to follow,

"My dear Elsa, it is the ring. Tell me, have your heard the tale of the Dark Lord Sauron?"

Elsa shook her head, but the tone of Gandalf's voice when he spoke the name sent an unnatural shiver crawling down her spine. This gave rise to a simple, but unnerving thought: the story he had in mind would be an extended one, and none of it pleasant, and worse than any fable of horror she had listened to.

Gandalf talked long into the night, recounting the rise and fall of Sauron and his impact on Middle Earth. From his beginning as an Ainur who was good in spirit; his temptation and seduction into an ally of Morgoth; his time as chief enemy to all of Middle Earth; to his demise at the slopes at Mount Doom. He also factored in the legacy of the rings, why the one ring Frodo leaves adjacent to his heart is feared above all, and that the only method of destruction is the pit of Mount Doom itself. During his discussion, he would glance at the new star, taking notice that it never wavered from its spot. Completing his tale, he inhales another plume of smoke to relieve his lungs, and mind, of the weariness which accompanies any individual who finds themselves in the position to explain Suaron.

Elsa had remained silent in the story's entirety, absorbing all and keeping her questions for after. Although throughout it she eventually found herself rather enthralled than studious of this legend. For all she knew, this easily could be an excellent addition to that adventure aisle of her library. In a way, she was left slightly disappointed at the end, nearly expecting a resolute conclusion instead of this 'to be continued' cliffhanger. And yet, her one reaction to this fantastic regaling is,

"Whoa." Gandalf lets loose a small chuckle at this, having never heard people react to Sauron outside of fear or concern. Elsa, meanwhile, is currently mired in thought over the rich history of this land and its connection to one particular conqueror. The current line of thinking occupying her mind is her attempts to find another conqueror from history she believed comparable to.

It was difficult, as any conqueror, lord, leader, etc who came to power by force and depicted as utterly brutal she thought to compare reigned hundreds of years past, and she knew how time skewed depictions of these Kings. Granted, the same could be said for Sauron, considering this is thousands of years we're talking about…but her mind would consistently remind her of that ring, and everything she felt when in proximity. So now the question is, what do I do?

Sighing, she returned her gaze to Gandalf, only to realize she had spaced out longer than assumed, as he was back to gazing at that blue star. Looking at the brilliant blue orb herself, she failed to discern what fascinated Gandalf so.

"Gandalf, is there anything…special about that star? I keep noticing you gazing at it."

He smiles at her inquiry, and puts his pipe down, it being bereft of its plant. "I have been on Middle Earth many years Elsa, and have spent many nights looking upon these lights. And in all those years, that star is the first new one I have ever seen."

Both continue their gazing at the icy colored sphere. Elsa, seemingly having missed the use of 'on', or ignoring it, guessed she could become accustomed to its beauty, however…"How new are we talking about?"

Gandalf's small smiles drops, a reflection of his indecision on a reaction: happiness due to the beauty it and the woman it accompanies; or concern because he is convinced that is a sign of destiny, one that he wishes not for her to become involved with.

"Two nights ago. And the strange part is it has yet to move since."

"Two nights ago…wait what? TWO nights ago?" She jerks her head towards the wizard, seemingly in disbelief of this apparent coincidence.

"Indeed. Within the day you appeared. Funny, isn't it?"

Elsa merely ogles at Gandalf, her jaw slightly adrift from closed. Yet again, her mind is a practical maelstrom of questions and troubling lines of thoughts. Frankly, she was quickly tiring of these mental episodes. Once more, there is silence as Elsa racks her brain to regain cohesive thinking and calm this swirling storm inside. The extended quietness bothers Gandalf little, as he understands that Elsa has much to still learn about Middle Earth.

Eventually Elsa surrenders her attempt to focus and resumes gazing at the blue star. The silence that permeates throughout the patio is comfortable, as the wizard and the ice sorceress have quickly developed a kindred friendship these past two days, despite multiple moments that leave Elsa with looks of blatant confusion during or because of her inquiries. After some undeterminable amount of minutes, Elsa speaks one more question that persistently lingers,

"Gandalf, does destiny exist here in Middle Earth?"

Gandalf, having a different opinion than Elrond, answers slowly but surely, "That, Elsa, is a question I have yet to see answered."

It is not the fresh sunlight, the chirping birds, or even the gentle rumbles of the nearby stream that wakes up Elsa. No, it is her dreams that jolt her to consciousness. Although any dream that rises a person so violently is surely a nightmare. She groans into her hands that are currently supporting her head, hoping to the…well, whatever Gods or higher beings that inhabited or reigned over Middle Earth, that the Elves make strong coffee. As she rubs her eyes Elrond enters.

"Morning Elsa, sleep well?"

Bringing her eyes away from her palms and towards Elronds', she offers a weak smile, "Decently, sure, but could've been better." She refrains from retelling the nightmare, wanting to not worry her host, "But I could use a pick me up."

"…A…'pick me up'?"

"Oh! Right, sorry, guess some phrases are still lost in translation, even in the same language…" She grumbles the last part under her breath, "I mean would you happen to have coffee or tea?"

"I know not of this coffee you speak of, but we have plenty of herbal teas to choose from."

"Then tea it is. Anything that specializes in alertness is preferable, if you please."

"Of course, right this way." He gestures towards the frame without door, and strides out himself.

"I will follow in a moment." She calls out, still wanting to (secretly) recover a bit on her own.

What was that dream? I know it took me a while for my ice nightmares to disappear, but this was entirely different. As Elsa ponders over her night, she is walking around the room to prepare herself for the day. I mean, from I've heard dreams are possibly mere manifestations of the subconscious, she fixes her hair into a braid over her shoulder, so where the HELL did that eye of flames come from? She pauses mid-thought, eyes wide, Great, this has got me so worked up I actually cursed…she glances around the room, as if she actually found it necessary to remind herself of her solitude, and paranoid apparently, like someone would actually hear my thoughts swear. With a wave of her hand her ice nightgown is back to a full on ice dress. And as she walks out to catch up with Elrond, And that eye…spoke? Similarly to the ring. Should I inquire? ...Maybe later, there appears to be a summoning of importance today, and I don't want to add any worries to their platter.

Early afternoon orange-yellows had started spreading through the sky when Elsa was observing a conference. Specifically a gathering of what she was informed to be numerous leaders of various kingdoms of Middle Earth who desired the defeat of Sauron. It was additionally her first meeting with dwarves, specifically with a stern but occasionally boisterous fellow by the name of Gimli. Although she didn't comprehend the apprehensive glares he shot any elf he laid eyes on.

The council had proceeded calmly enough. All agreed that the prevention of Sauron's rise to power is of utter importance. The dilemma was how. The understanding was the necessity to demolish the ring, but even that stewed some dissidents. Men argued for it utilization as a weapon of war, but Elrond and Gandalf quickly shot that down, reminding all of Isildur's failure. The dwarves were little better, suggesting burying it deep within a lost and cursed mine. The elves offered the least, providing nothing more than 'it needs to be unmade'.

Frodo grimaced occasionally, flashes of the flaming eye temporarily searing his brain.

The bickering experienced a brief interlude in the form of Gimli attempting to run his axe through the damnable object only to be greeted by a shockwave and shattered weapon instead.

One instance involved Frodo inquiring why the eagles couldn't simply fly them to Mordor, and Gandalf refuting it, claiming something along the lines of them being allies, not servants.

The simple idea, walking, created the most turbulent response. It started when a man, Boromir, exasperatedly claimed, "One does not simply walk into Mordor." From there the discussion delved into the finer discourses of war debate: full-blown arguments. Gandalf attempted to placate the rising tempers, but was little successful. Words fly, accusations buzz, and no progress is made.

This matters not to Elsa, none of it does. Outside of introductions, she has retained silence, withdrawn into her own mind. For the entire duration of this council, her focus is captured by one thing: the ring. The whispers she heard in previous encounters were gradually gaining volume and intensity. Even as the surrounding voices become frantic and livid, all she hears is the ring.

The ring loves this. It understands their desire to be rid of it and defeat its master, but it is all too convinced of their imminent failure. This cockiness reaches a crescendo when Frodo manages to quell the arguing men, elves, and dwarves by proclaiming that he would be the ring-bearer.

To Elsa, this cacophony of cackling is becoming too much to bear, and nobody notices her vibrantly shaking in her frustration and annoyance. She is too absorbed into her thoughts and sense, all pertaining to the ring, to be aware of a bombastic entrance by three hobbits proclaiming their allegiance. Or an elf offering his bow; a dwarf his axe; and two men with their swords. As all stand and applaud this newly formed 'fellowship', the ring is, for all intents and purposes of comparisons, howling with laughter. Elsa can take no more.

"ENOUGH!" All heads whip towards her, eyes wide in shock and confusion. Her exclamation quiets even the ring, it too unsure of what Elsa will do.

"If I can't destroy this ring then I WILL silence it!" Surging forward, she's halfway there before anyone attempts to impede her. But with a flick of her wrist a wall of ice bursts from the ground, blocking the pursuer and generating a multitude of gasps. Once she arrives at the stump where the ring lays, blue streaks of ice and snow erupt from her hands, enveloping the ring. Elrond turns to Gandalf, worry etched in his face. But Gandalf does not reciprocate the concern, his curiosity winning over, again.

The ring levitates into the air as Elsa pours more energy into her magic. Initially, it starts wobbling ever so slightly. Within seconds, it is spinning. Slow rotations to begin, proceeding to an increasingly faster rate before it is naught but a blur. Suddenly, a loud crack emanates concurrently with a burst of bright blue light. The light stuns all and the crack reverberates throughout Rivendell and the surrounding valley.

Moments pass as men, dwarves, elves, hobbits and a wizard alike regain their bearings. Gandalf is the first to notice a quite relieved Elsa holding a small block of ice in her hand. A block of ice that appeared as solid as steel. A block of ice with the ring encased within.

Elsa is not only relieved, but she is wearing among the most guile smirks possible. While she would never adorn the ring, it was now under her firm control. And the ring was now most definitely silent.

In a barren landscape blanketed by ominous dark clouds and perpetually drizzling ash stands an imposing black tower. Rising ever higher into its own hellish heaven, it is the control center fixture of this surrounding parched land. Atop this prominent structure sits the flaming eye of Sauron, who watches all. His gaze is focused on the kingdom of his opposition when the unthinkable happens: he can no longer feel the ring.

During the thousands of years he spent wandering his personal limbo, he always maintained a connection with his ring of power. But now, there is nothing but an icy cold void in its place.

So Sauron screams.