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The Omen
Celeborn was discomfited.
It was not the recent death of Mithrandir that caused his mind such unease, though that in itself was a dreadful blow both to Middle-earth in general and to him personally.
Neither was it the presence of the Fellowship per se, though he knew its presence would spell the doom of his beloved Lothlórien one way or another.
Nay, his discomfort stemmed from another source altogether …
His mind wandered back to a time months before, to the dream which had unsettled him so greatly that he had scarce been able to rest in peace since. Over and over again the scene played in his mind: a grey ship sailing toward far distant shores, bearing a tall figure in white upon its deck, and one simple verse borne on the wind until it reached his ears, filling them with its melody.
Haunting him with its promise.
What bitter choice awaits thee!
What sorrow may yet be thine!
When Moon and Sun together
In fair Lothlórien shine.
Many long days he had spent analysing his dream, looking for some meaning other than that which it seemed to portend, refusing to believe his love would ...
His train of thought was disturbed when something stirred below the talan. Celeborn moved swiftly to gaze over the balcony at the earth below. Despite the darkness, his sharp elven eyes were more than able to perceive the motion of two small figures exiting Galadriel's garden; he recognised them instantly as the Ring-bearer and his faithful servant.
And because of the darkness, he was more able to discern the lights which surrounded each one.
Silver and gold …
The Lord of Lothlórien bowed his head as sorrow found him at last.
THE END