'Anarchy?' asked Anorwen, startled. She looked around; the streets were quiet, and the moon beamed clear in the sky above. The city was asleep and the stones in the white walls glowed with the peace that had consumed the usual havoc of the day. Anarchy seemed the farthest thing from the truth. Behind the curtained windows and closed doors, Anorwen found it hard to believe that the people of Gondor were amassing for war. Again she looked up at the moon, as the sadness of Eithan and the words of Tarias, and the bright, foreign faces of the elves swirled uncomfortably in her head. But instead of the cool white smile it normally bore, Tilion's vessel seemed to stare woefully back at Middle Earth, as thought it knew what was coming and could do naught about it. Anorwen looked to it for answers, as though it would interpret her thoughts for her and tell her what to do. She'd been named for the sun, but the night sky had always been more to her liking. It had so much more to say. Alas, the stars read only 'change,' and something told the maid that the days as she had known them were come to a close.