Disclaimer:
Tolkien's, not mine.dream in grey
She stands by the lake of Lórellin, so close that her feet are almost touching the water. Everything is so still that even if she looks down instead of up, she can still see the night in the water. A perfect reflection of the sky above---stars, and Tilion colouring everything with a faint silver.
There is a pitcher in her hand, filled with water not taken directly from the lake, but from one of the many fountains of Lórien. Raising it carefully she pours the water into a basin at her side. She blows on the water and stares intently at it for a long time before straightening up and turning her gaze back towards the lake.
"What did you see, Lady?"
A voice and a presence behind her. She turns to greet him.
"You are the Master of Visions. Should you not be able to tell me?"
He does not answer.
"It is too long since I walked in your gardens," she tells him.
He smiles. "But did you not walk in a part of them even in Middle-earth?"
"My realm over there was but a memory, and a dream. And now, it is nothing more than a memory of a memory."
"Is that not my realm?"
She bows her head slightly in acknowledgement. "Perhaps."
Her feet are bare, and she reaches one out to the water, touching it with her toe and watching the ripples that appear. "Is it not strange there are waters just like this there as well?"
"But they are the same waters. There were things that the change of the world could not separate. Many things may change, but the waters will ever be the same."
She draws her fingers across her forehead, as if brushing away stray strands of hair, but not one of hairs has ever been out of place. "I saw grey," she then says, answering his earlier question. "Grey skies, and grey rain, and endless waves. And my husband's face, framed by grey hair."
A pause, and he waits. "It used to be silver," she tells him.
"Grey is sadly unappreciated. It is said to be the colour of old age, and decay and dullness. People forget that it is also the colour of rest, and healing, and hope."
He seems to be looking far away, and she follows his gaze to look upon an island in the midst of the lake.
"My lady's gift is greater than mine," he says.
She nods in understanding, and soon she has faded away, back into sleep.
In the morning Arien rises as always and rays of sunshine fall through a window facing east. And as the Lady Galadriel awakes on Tol Eressëa with sunshine on her face, on another island the Master of Dreams and Visions falls into a dreamless sleep.
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