She stays long in council with Earendil's son. The elven rings have been awoken by a force they had not expected would reappear. They will call for Cirdan, Celeborn knows, the Grey Pilgrim also.
Long after their talk is concluded, Galadriel delays. He finds her still beside the mirror, gaze reaching far past what she can see in the reflection.
Celeborn sees her brow knit gently, a sign of deep concentration. It is difficult for her to conceal such moods, especially to him, when she is so entirely focused within that she has forgotten how she appears to others.
"You have seen something?"
She leans her hands on the edge of the stone basin, and her eyes squeeze closed. "Shapes, only, but they linger. There is darkness, and it grows in power." Looking up to meet his eyes, she appears frustrated, her resolve tested. "We fought him before, and we believed him gone."
He faces her, his voice firm. "It will not be as it was before."
"There are too many paths. I cannot tell which will come to pass."
When she turns herself away from the mirror, he can feel her mind turn to him, see the fragility that no one else may. The tension is there beneath it, the concentration she clings to.
Reaching for her cheek, he whispers, "Let it fall away, dearest."
She shakes her head with weariness. "I cannot. It is not so simple. It will return, as it always does."
"It will reveal itself when it must… but only in time." He touches her arm. "You are never as ineffective as you imagine yourself to be. None of us are."
Looking down, she finds her hand in his palm. She is somber for a long moment, and he waits as she lets her mind turn to his. A softer look appears in her eyes. "When you tell me so, I believe it."
She rests her head against him and he holds her close. Brushing her hair with his fingers, he touches gold, and even if only for a moment, his worries fall away with hers.