Disclaimer: The Wakabe Writing Firm does not own Lord of the Rings, nor does WWF make a profit from writing this.

A/N: Borrowing another computer while waiting for the return of our own, once they are fixed. Still trying to carry on as normal, whilst ignoring the pining writer in the corner who won't shut up about her baby being broken. Her wailing is annoying, but at least her angst fuels her writing. Wish us luck, and we hope you enjoy. - Isuzu (Ghost Secretary, Wakabe Writing Firm)

Prompt- Mirror: Gilraen

It was a lie. It had to be. There was no way that the person staring back at her was who it claimed to be. Where was the signs of a love lost, of a life destroyed, and the blackening of a life thought to be lived with one she had seen as an extention of her own soul? Where was the broken woman, the young widow that she had become? The face that stared back at her could not be her. No, that lovely young woman, with her blond hair that fell around her face, who had not a single tear in her eyes, nor the slightest quiver in her lips, could not be Lady Gilraen of the Dunedain. This could not be the widowed bride of the slain Arathorn II, mother of Aragorn.

But for all that she willed for the image to change, to become so distorted that she could no longer see anything in it, it did not change. The woman continued to breathe in time with Gilraen, and still stared back. She pursed her lips, and from below the edge of the border, a hand rose up and met her own. The coolness that Gilraen felt from the lying piece of glass did nothing to calm the storm that was brewing inside of her. She stared harder at the image, willing for it to change, to reflect the realities of the many past days of a journey through terror and danger to the safety of a realm she did not belong to. She willed to see her face age with sorrow and pain, to see the physical signs of her heartache and despair that she had locked behind iron door within during those dark days of uncertainty traveling to a house that could never be her home, only a haven for one she loved enough to still live for. She wished for tears to fall down her face, like the never ending raging river that was her grief. She waited for her head to fall back, and scream her fury and agony to a world that had become so dark and uncaring that it had taken from her a husband, and the family she had left behind in order to care for her beloved child.

At the thought of her last connection left to her husband, her breath hitched in her throat, and somewhere inside, she felt something crack. She closed her eyes, and drew into herself, unable to look upon the cool and calm woman reflected back to her, when all she desired was the ability to mourn.

Then, from the open windows of her room, a breeze blew in, a gentle ruffling of the thick curtains, that swept over to her, and almost seemed to hold her. The crack within herself grew larger, and slowly began to bleed out the anguish and misery that she had locked from herself during those dangerous days on the road to safety. Then, the wind blew by her ear, in a voice that she had thought herself to never be blessed to hear again. Gilraen. Just a name, just one name, but it was all she needed. A harsh sob broke from her lips for the first time in what seemed like ages, and finally, the wall shattered within her mind, and all of it came flooding out. She bent forward, bracing her hands on either side of the wall, sobbing in a way she had not done since she was a little girl. Her grief was real and raw in a way that shook her very bones, and she revied in its intensity, even as it stole her breathe. Her anger and fury flew from her center to her fingers, which clutched and clawed at the wall, making her fingers smart and her palms redden with the outbursts of anger that fell through them. Sorrow and emptiness turned her legs to jelly, shaking madly under the weight of the turmoil within her body. And still, it did not stop, as she poured out everything she had lost, and let the room bear witness to the destruction of her world and the havoc it had wrought upon her soul.

Finally, after many long eternities of rallying against the world, she opened her eyes. There was the Gilraen that was herself. Tears had left tracks down her red cheeks, with more still pouring from her eyes. Her eyes, which finally showed the pain and anger that she felt, stared back. There was a wetness from her nostrils, thick and dripping, so hard was she crying. Her forehead was creased with the pain of her life's partner gone, and she breathed heavily through her sobs, noisily giving proof to the weight of her grief that bore down on her, body and soul.

Finally, she sank down, no longer able to support herself, as she was slowly drained of everything for a time. Even as the storm calmed, she continued to cry, letting out a small sob every once in a while as her body began to shut down in order to protect itself. Slowly, she crawled to the bed, too exhausted to try and have dignity and stand. As she buried herself in the confines of blankets and darkness, she let herself smile a bit. Her sorrows were not gone. In truth, they never would be. But somehow, she would pull through, even if only to honor her husband and protect the last piece of her heart that still lived. Aragorn would live, even if she had to travel alone for the rest of her life, leading away the monsters that had taken Arathorn.

She closed her eyes, and let the nothingness of a dreamless sleep take her away from her strange new surroundings. She slept, knowing that when she next woke, it would be to a little boy, eager for the familiarity of his mother's embrace, and a sparkle in his eyes that spoke of a joy she had yet to rediscover, and tales of adventures that he had had with his new brothers. When next she woke, it would be time to start the process of moving on.