This chapters a little short- sorry!
Some things I've forgotten to mention: this story is AU, so don't expect characters to live or die because they do in the appendices to LOTR. As for the catagory, some of yyou have probably noticed that I changed the catagory not so long ago. This story will, in the end, span almost every genre. The only ones that I'm going to miss, I think, are Western, Horror, Mystery, and maybe one or to more. There won't be much humor. The main genres are, however, family, friendship, trajedy, romance and adventure. Which is more than I'm alowed to have, so I'll probably just switch the genre marking from time to time.
Galadriel glided through the silent glade. The soft grass slid against her bare feet, and her silken gown barely rustled at her movements. To many Men, she would appear as a ghost.
For the second time since the destruction of the one ring, Galadriel went to consult her mirror. The first time, she had been faced by an all consuming fire that tore at her soul, and came close to destroying the powerful elf. She was saved by her husband, who, seeing her peril, pulled her away from the dangerous mirror.
She felt the fear in the pit of her stomach, and while she knew better than to ignore her instincts, Galadriel couldn't shake the feeling that something was changing, and the dying power of the elves would sustain this last vision.
The water splashed in that all too familiar sound as it trickled into the basin, and Galadriel looked into the mirror.
At first, only the swirling, consuming flames were visible, and Galadriel began to fear for her own survival. The flames, though seen through the mirror, pulled and teared at her, singed the essence of her soul.
Galadriel knew she had little time left before the flames completely destroyed her, and in a final, desperate attempt at survival, she poured her strength into the mirror in hopes of breaking free of the flames.
These attempts seemed to not avail, and Galadriel finally began to panic.
Pushing at the boundaries of the mirror with her mind, she tried to break free, but was unable.
In her panic, Galadriel didn't notice the figures taking shape in the flames until they were almost fully defined and the flames had lessened in intensity.
At first, Galadriel was certain that she saw the past, or some distant future, because in the current peace she could not believe in the existance of such atrocities. And yet, as the images became more and more clear, and the story began to take shape, Galadriel realized that she was looking at the paths of the near future.
The mirror began to show her the future with an image of men, toiling in what was clearly the heat of Harad. A whip leaped from a point beyond Galadriel's view, and struck one of the men. Galadriel resisted the urge to grind her teeth at the demeaning treatment, and, instead, watched, horrorstruck, as one of the men fell, exhausted from too much work in too much heat on too little food or water. He was trampled by his fellows.
Aragorn, at the head of a massive army, marched in righteous anger towards the south. An arrow flew from the troops behind him. The army of Gondor swirled in turmoil, searching for the traitor in its midst as its king fell, dead, from his white horse.
Legolas, armed only with a clumsy human knife, fighting in the shadows of some human town, defending himself against more men than she could count. A blade found an opening in his defences, and he fell, his lifeblood spilling onto the cold, unforgiving stones.
Gimli, defending the halls of his fathers with legions of dwarves at his back. His face face froze in shock as a Roparric arrow buried itself in his chest.
Arwen, immense pain on her face, raced into battle for Gondor, intent on dying for the country in whose service her husband had died. She fell quickly, and Galadreil watched as she faded quickly from the memory of the country she had given her life and her hope to.
A terrible betreyal, a decision made based on so many lies that Galadriel, watching, couldn't tell right from wrong, dark from light.
She saw men have to choose between the lives of their daughters or their wives, she watched families, divided, cutting each other down. Houses burned, and civilians fled from each other.
In horror, Galadriel watched the world consumed by greed and slavery.
And then it disappeared, merged into the void, became nothing.
For a moment, Galadriel held her breath, waiting for an alternate future, but nothing happened. Nothing changed. And then a blinding flash of light, and her a vision, slow and serene by comparison to the previous sights.
Thranduil, king of Mirkwood, walked along a beach that Galadriel instinctively identified as Valinor.
He stared across the sea, resentment in his eyes. A tear fell from the proud king's cheek, and he angrily wiped it away, only to have it replaced with another.
The surface of the mirror rippled, disturbed by the impact of a tear. Galadriel rocked back on her heels, her cheeks wet.
"We fought so hard. We won. Why so much more suffering? Why do we have to fight again, before the children born in the aftermath of the storm have written their first letters?" she whispered to the wind.
And, although Galadriel had not looked for it, the wind had an answer, in a strange haunting melody.
All that is elven does not shimmer
Not all traitors forever betray
Those who are young and strong still can whither
The victor does not always live to fight another day
To death and life alone or not goes
A seascape born without a cloud
A daughter-descendant of twilight to face her foes
And claim her inheritance as a queen proud.
Another quest, so soon after the last, Galadriel mused. And yet, Galadriel couldn't shake the feeling that this one wouldn't end as well as the last. No. Not nearly as well.