Damiarena had spent several days traveling on foot when she finally came into the borders of Lothlorien. She was footsore, her clothes still partially covered in orc-blood, and longing for a cooked meal.
She was greeted by the tree wardens, and immediately granted audience with Galadriel. Most knew that Damiarena shared blood-ties with the lady of the wood, her mother being the grand-daughter of Orodreth, Galadriel's brother. They were eager to oblige her requests. She was taken to one of the great platforms in the mallyrn trees. Galadriel and Celeborn were both already in the middle of their evening meal.
The three spoke of the pressing events of middle earth, and it was not a joyous reunion of brethren sharing a meal, it was more akin to generals discussing battle-tactics. Damiarena was taken to a place to rest, and even with all the disconcerting thoughts reeling in her mind, sleep found her almost as soon as she closed her eyes.
It was at the most an hour before the sun would rise when she was awakened by Galadriel's footsteps, it was a deliberate action she knew, for the elf could refrain from making a single sound when she chose. Damiarena rose and followed her kinswoman.
"Come, your heart is heavy. Perhaps the mirror shall cast some light on the darkness," she spoke softly as she almost floated down the steps into the small clearing containing the mirror. The two elfwomen were silent as Galadriel slowly poured water into the basin. A deep silence surrounded them, not even the scurrying noises of small animals could be heard. Damiarena watched the last drops hit the gathering pool apprehensively.
The water was dark, and suddenly it began to almost swirl with light as images came into focus. Her heart ached as she saw the familiar trees of Mirkwood, a place that had felt like home to her for hundreds of years. She saw familiar faces, paths in the wood that she had walked down countless times, and she could stand to bear it no longer. As she sought to look away, her gaze was held fast by the darkness that crept over the wood. Hundreds of orcs, streaming in through the trees, hacking, burning, tearing defenseless elven children apart with their bare hands. It seemed as if the people of Mirkwood had been caught unawares, and the wood was consumed by death. The image slowly faded, and she could then see the charred remains of many trees around the hall of Thranduil. The wood was blackened, and the people who stood around the entrance were shrouded in black. Laying in the middle of the hall on a stone brier was the body of King Thranduil. His once eternaly youthful face was pale, his hands folded atop his chest. She could hear the weeping of many men and women fill the hall, echoing mournfully. The throne at the back wall of the massive hall stood empty.
Damiarena could feel hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she saw the mirror clear.
[i] Please, show me no more... let that be all... let that be all... it is enough.... [/i]
Yet the mirror stirred anew with yet another vision. Once again it showed her the hall of Mirkwood, yet this time the throne was not empty. Upon the throne sat Legolas, son of Thranduil, rightful heir of Mirkwood. Beside him on the throne reserved for the Queen was a woman with a cold beauty, eyes the colour of a frozen lake, flaxen hair tumbling to her waist in loose waves. A mirthless smile was on her lips, which were as pale as her skin. It was then that Damiarena noticed that the people gathered before the two thrones were all dressed in rags, their faces dirty and sorrowful, the children looking famished, their cheeks sunken. Upon the handsome face of Legolas, tears slowly made their way down. The woman on the other throne was clutching a small
dagger in her hand, and she began to laugh.
[i] Who is this elven woman? And what is the meaning of this all... why would he let his people starve... why would he let his people suffer so... oh the misery, the hurt in their faces... they were there to beg for the compassion they came to expect from him... weren't they... oh let it stop, let it stop... how much sorrow must i see? how much darkness can there be in the future? [/i]
Yet the mirror would not relent, for it cleared and then swirled with more colours, for a third time showing her the hall, the thrones, the man she had loved for far too long. This time his face showed no emotion, and beside him sat a woman with a rosy complexion, rich brown hair and a pleasant smile. She held his hand affectionately, yet he did not seem to notice. Then began a stirring in the people gathered, and suddenly the vision came to an end. Slowly the hall was revealed again in the waters of the mirrow, showing naught but a tomb. The woman with the pleasant smile stood over the tomb weeping, her face pale and drawn. A single white lily she placed on the tomb. The mirror went black, and a thick white smoke poured forth, as if the water had been heated by the turmoil within the visions.
Damiarena stared into the empty water, not knowing how to react, her tears making small ripples in the water. Her heart was pounding wildly within her chest, and a painful knot had been building in the back of her throat. She dared not speak, for she knew her voice would break.
"The mirror has shown you things that have not yet come to pass. If the path you have chosen is tread, that is where it shall end. There are two forks, they both end in sorrow," Galadriel spoke softly, yet firmly. It was hard to ignore a voice such as hers.
"Dearest kinswoman, the mirror has shown us the fate of one I value more than my own life. It is a dark fate no matter which fork the path takes, what is it that i must do to spare him such pain?" Damiarena finally spoke through her tears. She looked up at Galadriel's calm facade pleadingly.
"Perhaps I may find one more answer..." she answered as she poured more water into the mirror. Damiarena did not claim to know much of the magics that fueled the mirror, but one thing she was certain of. It was not wise to consult the mirror more than once in a night, for most minds were too weak to accept knowing so much of what was to come. Foresight was the bane of hope more often than not, and most who had asked too much of the mirror had fallen into madness. Yet Galadriel knew the strengths and weaknesses of her kinswoman well, and did not wish to let matters stand as they were.
Damiarena pleaded silently in her heart for answers to ease her troubled mind as the mirror started showing brighter colours once more. The walls of Minas Tirith were clear, and soon the mirror drew focus inside it's walls. A large chamber, the King's audience chamber she recognized, appeared before her. It was filled with people in bright garb, flowers in women's hair, and the pink freshly scrubbed cheeks of small children beamed with excited grins. Lively music played, and everyone in the hall cheered loudly as Aragorn stood.
[i] King Elessar... so you shall be known, old friend. My heart is at ease knowing that at least you will live to fulfill a joyful fate... [/i]
She was surprised to find that he was standing over two elves; one with hair that shone like the rays of morning's light, the other with hair as dark as a moonless night. They both rose to their feet, and her heart froze.
[i] Why... that's me... now what in the Valar's names would I be dressed like that for? Even on days of celebration I have never taken to wearing dresses such as that... much too frivolous.... even when I first came to meet the Elven-King of Mirkwood I wore a far simpler dress... [/i]
She was standing before King Elessar with a stange light in her eyes as Legolas stood beside her. Their hands were clasped together in front of them, and a long white ribbon was placed across their interlacing fingers. King Elessar took a step towards the two, the crowd immediately hushed and tied the ribbon into a loose bow. Cheers rose from the audience, filling the entire hall and streaming into the streets. Damiarena saw no more of the scene as it faded into the hall in Mirkwood once more.
[i] oh please no more sorrow, I beg of you.... let no more tears be shed in the woodland realm... [/i]
She only saw the people in the hall, all well-dressed and rejoicing. The image faded once more, and a deep, dark wood came into the water. She saw herself dressed in plain clothing once more, stooping over an athelas plant, picking the little flowers carefully. From the shadows themselves came a man, his face serious beneath a neatly cropped white beard, a halo of light around his head as it reflected off of his silver hair. Dark blue robes with runes of power embroidered in silver thread stirred silently in the breeze. In his hand he held a longsword, and brought it forth in a powerful thrust, catching her straight through her back and out her chest. She saw herself arch her back in agony, then take one last look at the sword-point before her eyes, dark with her own blood. The wizard in blue robes withdrew the sword and walked away without a single glance back.
As the mirror steamed and hissed, Damiarena reeled back, clutching at her chest, stumbling backwards through the roots on the ground. She caught herself on one of the stone embankments surrounding the clearing, and stared forward at nothing with wide eyes.
"Damiarena Di'Isilian," Galadriel's voice speaking her name firmly snapped her back into the present world, "I have seen what you have seen. Tell me, kinswoman, do you truly value the life of the elven prince over yours?"
"Yes," Damiarena managed to gasp.
"Then nothing remains to be said. But remember, your path still lies before you. Choose wisely."
She was given a horse, and rode out of Lothlorien with a heavy silence encircling her. Galadriel did not offer her any warm words of parting, for she knew that they would be unheard.
She was greeted by the tree wardens, and immediately granted audience with Galadriel. Most knew that Damiarena shared blood-ties with the lady of the wood, her mother being the grand-daughter of Orodreth, Galadriel's brother. They were eager to oblige her requests. She was taken to one of the great platforms in the mallyrn trees. Galadriel and Celeborn were both already in the middle of their evening meal.
The three spoke of the pressing events of middle earth, and it was not a joyous reunion of brethren sharing a meal, it was more akin to generals discussing battle-tactics. Damiarena was taken to a place to rest, and even with all the disconcerting thoughts reeling in her mind, sleep found her almost as soon as she closed her eyes.
It was at the most an hour before the sun would rise when she was awakened by Galadriel's footsteps, it was a deliberate action she knew, for the elf could refrain from making a single sound when she chose. Damiarena rose and followed her kinswoman.
"Come, your heart is heavy. Perhaps the mirror shall cast some light on the darkness," she spoke softly as she almost floated down the steps into the small clearing containing the mirror. The two elfwomen were silent as Galadriel slowly poured water into the basin. A deep silence surrounded them, not even the scurrying noises of small animals could be heard. Damiarena watched the last drops hit the gathering pool apprehensively.
The water was dark, and suddenly it began to almost swirl with light as images came into focus. Her heart ached as she saw the familiar trees of Mirkwood, a place that had felt like home to her for hundreds of years. She saw familiar faces, paths in the wood that she had walked down countless times, and she could stand to bear it no longer. As she sought to look away, her gaze was held fast by the darkness that crept over the wood. Hundreds of orcs, streaming in through the trees, hacking, burning, tearing defenseless elven children apart with their bare hands. It seemed as if the people of Mirkwood had been caught unawares, and the wood was consumed by death. The image slowly faded, and she could then see the charred remains of many trees around the hall of Thranduil. The wood was blackened, and the people who stood around the entrance were shrouded in black. Laying in the middle of the hall on a stone brier was the body of King Thranduil. His once eternaly youthful face was pale, his hands folded atop his chest. She could hear the weeping of many men and women fill the hall, echoing mournfully. The throne at the back wall of the massive hall stood empty.
Damiarena could feel hot tears streaming down her cheeks as she saw the mirror clear.
[i] Please, show me no more... let that be all... let that be all... it is enough.... [/i]
Yet the mirror stirred anew with yet another vision. Once again it showed her the hall of Mirkwood, yet this time the throne was not empty. Upon the throne sat Legolas, son of Thranduil, rightful heir of Mirkwood. Beside him on the throne reserved for the Queen was a woman with a cold beauty, eyes the colour of a frozen lake, flaxen hair tumbling to her waist in loose waves. A mirthless smile was on her lips, which were as pale as her skin. It was then that Damiarena noticed that the people gathered before the two thrones were all dressed in rags, their faces dirty and sorrowful, the children looking famished, their cheeks sunken. Upon the handsome face of Legolas, tears slowly made their way down. The woman on the other throne was clutching a small
dagger in her hand, and she began to laugh.
[i] Who is this elven woman? And what is the meaning of this all... why would he let his people starve... why would he let his people suffer so... oh the misery, the hurt in their faces... they were there to beg for the compassion they came to expect from him... weren't they... oh let it stop, let it stop... how much sorrow must i see? how much darkness can there be in the future? [/i]
Yet the mirror would not relent, for it cleared and then swirled with more colours, for a third time showing her the hall, the thrones, the man she had loved for far too long. This time his face showed no emotion, and beside him sat a woman with a rosy complexion, rich brown hair and a pleasant smile. She held his hand affectionately, yet he did not seem to notice. Then began a stirring in the people gathered, and suddenly the vision came to an end. Slowly the hall was revealed again in the waters of the mirrow, showing naught but a tomb. The woman with the pleasant smile stood over the tomb weeping, her face pale and drawn. A single white lily she placed on the tomb. The mirror went black, and a thick white smoke poured forth, as if the water had been heated by the turmoil within the visions.
Damiarena stared into the empty water, not knowing how to react, her tears making small ripples in the water. Her heart was pounding wildly within her chest, and a painful knot had been building in the back of her throat. She dared not speak, for she knew her voice would break.
"The mirror has shown you things that have not yet come to pass. If the path you have chosen is tread, that is where it shall end. There are two forks, they both end in sorrow," Galadriel spoke softly, yet firmly. It was hard to ignore a voice such as hers.
"Dearest kinswoman, the mirror has shown us the fate of one I value more than my own life. It is a dark fate no matter which fork the path takes, what is it that i must do to spare him such pain?" Damiarena finally spoke through her tears. She looked up at Galadriel's calm facade pleadingly.
"Perhaps I may find one more answer..." she answered as she poured more water into the mirror. Damiarena did not claim to know much of the magics that fueled the mirror, but one thing she was certain of. It was not wise to consult the mirror more than once in a night, for most minds were too weak to accept knowing so much of what was to come. Foresight was the bane of hope more often than not, and most who had asked too much of the mirror had fallen into madness. Yet Galadriel knew the strengths and weaknesses of her kinswoman well, and did not wish to let matters stand as they were.
Damiarena pleaded silently in her heart for answers to ease her troubled mind as the mirror started showing brighter colours once more. The walls of Minas Tirith were clear, and soon the mirror drew focus inside it's walls. A large chamber, the King's audience chamber she recognized, appeared before her. It was filled with people in bright garb, flowers in women's hair, and the pink freshly scrubbed cheeks of small children beamed with excited grins. Lively music played, and everyone in the hall cheered loudly as Aragorn stood.
[i] King Elessar... so you shall be known, old friend. My heart is at ease knowing that at least you will live to fulfill a joyful fate... [/i]
She was surprised to find that he was standing over two elves; one with hair that shone like the rays of morning's light, the other with hair as dark as a moonless night. They both rose to their feet, and her heart froze.
[i] Why... that's me... now what in the Valar's names would I be dressed like that for? Even on days of celebration I have never taken to wearing dresses such as that... much too frivolous.... even when I first came to meet the Elven-King of Mirkwood I wore a far simpler dress... [/i]
She was standing before King Elessar with a stange light in her eyes as Legolas stood beside her. Their hands were clasped together in front of them, and a long white ribbon was placed across their interlacing fingers. King Elessar took a step towards the two, the crowd immediately hushed and tied the ribbon into a loose bow. Cheers rose from the audience, filling the entire hall and streaming into the streets. Damiarena saw no more of the scene as it faded into the hall in Mirkwood once more.
[i] oh please no more sorrow, I beg of you.... let no more tears be shed in the woodland realm... [/i]
She only saw the people in the hall, all well-dressed and rejoicing. The image faded once more, and a deep, dark wood came into the water. She saw herself dressed in plain clothing once more, stooping over an athelas plant, picking the little flowers carefully. From the shadows themselves came a man, his face serious beneath a neatly cropped white beard, a halo of light around his head as it reflected off of his silver hair. Dark blue robes with runes of power embroidered in silver thread stirred silently in the breeze. In his hand he held a longsword, and brought it forth in a powerful thrust, catching her straight through her back and out her chest. She saw herself arch her back in agony, then take one last look at the sword-point before her eyes, dark with her own blood. The wizard in blue robes withdrew the sword and walked away without a single glance back.
As the mirror steamed and hissed, Damiarena reeled back, clutching at her chest, stumbling backwards through the roots on the ground. She caught herself on one of the stone embankments surrounding the clearing, and stared forward at nothing with wide eyes.
"Damiarena Di'Isilian," Galadriel's voice speaking her name firmly snapped her back into the present world, "I have seen what you have seen. Tell me, kinswoman, do you truly value the life of the elven prince over yours?"
"Yes," Damiarena managed to gasp.
"Then nothing remains to be said. But remember, your path still lies before you. Choose wisely."
She was given a horse, and rode out of Lothlorien with a heavy silence encircling her. Galadriel did not offer her any warm words of parting, for she knew that they would be unheard.
