Chapter Fifty: The Mirror of Galadriel

Frodo's recovery was slow but steady under the training of the Elven physicians. However, the Elves did draw Aragorn aside a few days later to discuss the results of their treatment, and they were not entirely favorable. The deep stab should have killed him, but the strength of the Hobbit had prevailed in ways that astounded the Elves; still, they suspected that the wound, plus the increasing peril of the Fellowship's Quest, would reduce the Halfling to a short lifespan – providing he survived Mordor. Disturbed by this news, the Ranger went to speak with Frodo about remaining in Lothlorien while the Fellowship carried on. The Hobbit would not hear of it; he recognized Strider's need to move out of the Golden Wood as soon as possible, but that would not happen without Frodo among them.

"Also," as Frodo pointed out, "who else can be trusted with the Ring?"

Strider had to agree. Man was easily corrupted, Elf and Dwarf would not trust the other, and Merry and Pippin were not even considered options. That left Sam who refused to be parted from Frodo, Ring or no.

When Aragorn met up with the rest of the company later that day, with all of them anxiously awaiting news of when they could embark on the road once more, Aragorn informed them that it would be a few days yet; "We wait until Frodo is well."

Susan could not complain too much at this development, basking in the hospitality of the Elves, enjoying warm food and soft beds. But soon, the joy was beginning to wane; a surge of fear and determination were igniting her bones, making her itch for the outcome of their journey.

Edmund, on the other hand, was the first to get fidgety. He asked everyone to train with him, almost relentlessly. When Caspian would get tired of practicing with the two swords, Edmund would seek out Peter to spar with him. And when Peter grew bored, Boromir, Strider, or Legolas would be called upon. His last resort where Merry and Pippin, though they did participate more than once to satisfy the Just King's tireless need to swordfight. Even when Edmund went to sleep at night, his twin blades were one on either side of him, ready at a moment's notice.

The sleeping arrangements for the travelers were primarily in the trees on platforms where sleeping pallets had been rolled out. (The only exceptions were for the Hobbits and Gimli, who were a bit frightened of sleeping in trees and felt more comfortable in rock outcroppings on the ground.) One such platform in the trees was shared by Peter, Edmund and Caspian. The High King and the Telmarine Prince were still walking on eggshells around each other, and Edmund found himself only ever speaking with one or the other, never part of a three-way conversation among them.

On one night, Peter entered to find Edmund and Caspian deeply engaged in conversation. Peter noted with some discomfort that the two were as thick as thieves at times, as close as brothers – closer than some brothers; they even looked more like brothers than Peter and Edmund did, with their dark hair, similar interests in the night sky, and their unique abilities to use two swords. Peter undid his sword belt, feeling left out of the pair's conversation. A part of him wanted to join in, but another part wanted his brother's loyalty all to himself, not shared with the Telmarine. Peter was High King, and yet he watched two of his siblings growing more and more attached to the man who stole Narnia from him – well, from all of them.

"Pete, would you give up Rhindon?"

Peter turned to face Edmund in bewilderment. "Why? What for?"

Edmund could tell by the tone in Peter's voice that, although he asked with curiosity, he had no intentions of ever giving up the gift from Father Christmas. "To place at Aslan's Table."

Peter frowned. "Yes, Susan told me that Caspian here just wants to rescue his dad. We haven't the remaining swords, and we likely never will obtain them."

"But if we did have all the swords, would you give up Rhindon?"

"Maybe…" Peter's voice trailed off. Things would be different if all swords were accounted for; hopes and dreams would not be unobtainable fantasies like they were now. If all were within their grasp, it would be a matter of considering whether taking the time to return to Lothlorien would be worth their while, or if it would only steal time and hinder them from entering Mordor.

Still, Peter had his own thoughts about the swords. Could they weaken Miraz? The lore said that it weakened all evil, even breaking some curses. While everyone else's minds were fixed on the greatest Evil, Peter looked to the servant of Sauron, who had pledged himself to Sauron in exchange for Narnia. If Miraz's stronghold on Narnia could be weakened, Miraz might try to flee. He already had Orcs knocking on his front door, sent by Sauron for Miraz's apparent betrayal for failing to turn in the Pevensies. If Miraz could escape, then the Orcs would pursue, or they too would feel the wrath of Sauron, albeit weakened, for failing to capture the traitor.

For Narnia's deliverance, more than just Sauron would have to be destroyed. If only Sauron and his Orc allies were wiped out, Miraz might yet be able to rebuild Narnia as a Telmarine province before the Pevensies could return to reclaim it. To ensure Narnia's return to Peter's own command, Miraz had to destroyed as well.

"I know where the remaining swords are," Caspian said, breaking through Peter's train of thought.

"You do? How?" asked Peter, sitting down on the other side of Edmund.

"After speaking with Susan and Legolas the other night, I wandered down to a glade and met the Lady and she told me to look into a pedestal of water she had just poured. She said I would see something of interest to me. I peered in, and there was Lord Elrond holding up a scabbarded sword. Before I knew what it was or who he was showing it to, there was a warrior in Elven armor with a blue glowing blade in hand. I wanted to get a closer look, but by then the scene had clouded and the leader of the Nazgul was before me, raising a black sword against someone I could not see."

"A black sword?" Peter grew thoughtful. "You think all the swords shown were the ones you now seek, yet only one of them glowed blue."

"I asked the Lady Galadriel about the things I had seen. She had not seen them, she claimed. I asked what she knew about the Witch-King's weapon. She said his sword, a Morgal blade, was buried with him, but when he arose, he brought it forth and fought against Radagast in Dol Guldur with it. The Wizard claimed the sword as proof of the return of the Witch-King of Angmar. The blade still resides in Rivendell under lock and key. The Witch-King does not use a Morgal blade like the rest." Caspian suddenly clutched at his shoulder, as if a pain had surged through his veins, catching him off guard.

"Are you all right?" asked Edmund.

Caspian gave a nod. "I must have sprained something training with you earlier."

"Well, get some rest," Peter told the Telmarine. "You'll be needing that shoulder soon."

Edmund watched as his brother stood and began toward the stairs that twisted down the outside of the tree. "Where are you going?"

"To get a drink of water."

After Peter had gone around the side of the tree trunk, Edmund turned back to Caspian. "Why didn't you say you pulled a muscle? I'd have gone easier on you."

Caspian shrugged, continuing to rub the spot. "It's fine."

"It's where your father stabbed you, isn't it?"

Caspian gave Edmund a glowering look. "Who told you?"

"Kili told us about the Ringwraiths attacking you when you reached Trufflehunter's. I guessed about it being your father that stabbed you. You want to see a man you don't remember be redeemed, so that your lone memory of him isn't of that night."

Caspian was silent and looking away. "Yes," he said at length. "Do you understand why breaking his curse is so important to me?" The Telmarine locked eyes with Edmund. "I would see his curse broken so that he can find peace. I fear that if Sauron is destroyed, his servants – both willing and unwilling followers – will be destroyed with him. I want some comfort in thinking that my father found his way to Aslan's Country."

Edmund glanced away. The Telmarines had done so many horrible things to the Narnians to obtain power, it seemed unlikely that they had ever followed the ways of Eru or Aslan – rather, they had pursued a life of conquest to obtain their own ends. Were these not the things that sealed their fate against the promise of Aslan's Country?

"You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan."

Edmund squirmed uncomfortably.

"Every traitor belongs to me. His blood is my property... That boy will die on the Stone Table!"

"Are you all right, Ed?"

"She has renounced her claim on the Son of Adam's blood."

It had been a high price to pay to save the world.

Edmund looked back at Caspian, still unsure of what the outcome of all this would be, but he knew that he and Caspian could never know the answer so long as they lived in this world. "I hope your father finds happiness."

Caspian smiled briefly. "Thank you."

{Section Break}

"Why do you hide in the shadows?" The Lady of the Golden Wood did not even look toward the solidary figure who was standing in the shadow of the trees, watching her. She glided past, not even stopping to get his answer. Peter slowly crept forward and fell into stride behind the Elf.

"I was only just walking back from the stream," Peter said awkwardly and almost silently, not wanting the Lady to think he was spying on her, even though he had changed course to see where the bright Elf was going.

"Has your drink satisfied you or do wish for more?" she asked over her shoulder as she descended some steps. Before Peter could comprehend what she was asking, he saw her raise a pitcher filled with water from a fountain. "There is more, is there not?"

"Yes," Peter began slowly. "You showed Caspian something."

"You will not see what he has." She turned toward a pedestal on which was a shallow basin. "Come and see what you will."

"And what will I see?" asked Peter as he came down the steps and circled the tiny courtyard until he was standing before the Lady and the pedestal.

Galadriel tipped the pitcher and water spilled into the basin. "Even the wisest cannot tell. The mirror tells a great many things. Things that were, and things that are, and things that have not come to pass." The water ceased cascading from the pitcher and the Elf stepped back, waiting for Peter to make his decision.

The Human stepped up to the pedestal and looked down at the water. His reflection was immaculate in the smooth surface of the water. Perfect. And there was a crown on his brow; his tattered clothes from his adventure were replaced with the majestic robes he once wore as king. His image faded and there was Sigrid, with a circlet of gold over her loose, flowing, honey-colored hair. Then her peaceful blue eyes held despair. Her hair was wet; her clothes soaked. She looked up at Peter with hopelessness. A wall of water was pouring over her. She raised her hand toward him. As the water covered her, her eyes returned to that peaceful gaze. Then she was completely gone behind the rushing blue waves.

"Sigrid!" Peter screamed into the mirror.

Presently, he realized he was looking out over a sea from behind a young woman. She turned around and it was Lucy, her face filled with curiosity. "I wonder who lived here?" she asked as the scene continued to pan outward so that Peter could see that Lucy was standing amongst ruins. Then Susan's voice was heard.

"I think we did."

"Look!" Lucy exclaimed, situating her siblings in a line before a grassy field outlined in smashed rock walls. "Imagine windows there." She pointed. "And tapestries there. And a glass roof." All four siblings were standing in a line on a broken dais in the same order they had sat in their thrones on coronation day. Peter watched as the image of himself comprehended what Lucy was saying.

"Cair Paravel," both he and his image said at the same moment.

"Catapults," Edmund said. "This didn't just happen. Cair Paravel was attacked."

The real Peter on the other side of the mirror grimaced with the memory that Cair Paravel was being besieged by Orcs when he and his siblings had left Narnia. The Orcs had gotten hold of one of Miraz's catapults.

His castle, his kingdom – they were all gone!

Peter watched the mirror grow foggy, then there he was again in crown and lavish clothes. Peter did not know what this meant after everything else he had seen. Did this mean that even though Narnia had been reduced to ruins, it could be rebuilt? That he and his siblings would become rulers again? Suddenly, he noticed that his image had long brown hair. Why, that was not Peter in kingly dress, but Caspian!

"Usurper!" Peter shouted, flying into a rage. He raised his fist, intending to strike the mirror, when a hand with a vice-like grip grabbed his arm. It was so tight, painful, and strong, Peter let out a scream as his entire limb went numb, unable to fight against the restraining force.

Galadriel released Peter's arm, and the High King instantly went to nursing the coming bruise. "What did you see, my king? Things that were, things that are, or things not yet come to pass."

"If that is the future, I do not want it."

"Why not?" Galadriel returned the pitcher to beside the fountain. "Is it so bad?"

"It is not what I want."

The Elf walked toward the stairs. "And if it were what you want, then it would be good and right for all?" She began up the steps, then paused and glanced back at Peter. "What standards you have set! You who call yourself a protector of your people – High King!"

And she left.