[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Tasa screamed in horror as she felt a cold and unnatural something prod the barriers of her mind. The very feel of it was wrong in every way.

Let me in. It ordered firmly, searching for a weakness. Tasa screamed again, still trying to fight the ravenous birds. Her golden hair was stained red with the blood that sprayed from above. Limbs and feathers were strewn about her and Malris. He fought amazingly, desperately, but calm. Tasa fought two battles, not knowing which was more dangerous to lose, not caring to find out.

She felt the cold tendrils of thought forcing their way in. She cowered, shrinking toward the wall and toward the warm comfort of Malris. He would protect her... he would not let her be harmed. She dropped her dagger first, clutching at her face with her free hand. There were eyes... she could see eyes, crazed and cold, uncaring and hateful. She wept as she tried to push the vision away.

A cold wind that affected nothing but Tasa pulled at her sword arm, demanding a blood tribute, tearing her sword from her. She held on with as much will as she could muster but it was not enough. Her blade whipped through the air, barely missing Malris. She shrunk against him and he dared not to look, too busy fending off the danger from above.

He is mine, the voice hissed. He was mine and will always be so.

Tasa strove with the voice, with the eyes. She could feel the harsh presence of orcs. She feared for Malris. Her mind was assaulted from all sides. She tried to call to him but her message was distorted and he heard nothing.

She closed her eyes and gasped. She could see faces clearly now, angry, hideous, relentless. She opened her eyes and closed them once more, trying to replace the fear with the bright whiteness of Malris. She began to feel warmer. The assault became less forceful until Tasa felt little sign of it. She gasped for breath, steeling herself for the next attack.