The snow bent beneath her and it took long moments for her eyes to focus; she drew herself up in the hazy green light and the world swam. She had never quite known disorientation like this, so sudden and complete, so enduring that it was hard for her to focus, but she drew herself up, nonetheless. Had she fallen? The idea was ridiculous, but the pain that lanced through her left arm was severe.

Without thinking, Galadriel closed her hand and drew on the power of her ring. The familiar sensation was wrong, it burned behind her eyes and the pain in her hand was magnified by her efforts. She swayed with the force of the conflict and, as the discomfort faded, her vision settled.

She was surrounded by others; she knew none of them. Above them, curled in the air, was a tear in the world. The power that poured out of it was listless and unfamiliar, unknown to her and dangerous for that simple fact alone. When it coalesced it was with a sickening crack, then the creatures it spawned were upon them.

Galadriel was not so recovered that she could spare the time to seek escape. Her senses fought her and these creatures were both numerous and terrible. She threw out her hand and, with the force of her will, she cast them back. Unfortunately, the effort failed to destroy them and dazed her in the process. She required a weapon.