Days passed without word from the lady of the wood. Gandalf spent his days speaking with members of the woodland clans, learning elven customs and delighting in the comforts of Lothlorien. While he passed his time, though, he could not shake the feeling that his movements and conversations were being watched; the woods had eyes unseen, and the strange new wizard drew no small amount of attention.
One morning, as Gandalf sat with his quill and ink over a thick sheaf of parchment, he heard a knock on the doorframe. His room was secluded, lost in a warren of unused guest rooms, and thus far he had had no visitors beyond that night with Lady Galadriel. Sheathing the quill in his inkpot, Gandalf shifted to see who was at the door.
Haldir stood, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, his large frame almost blocking the light from the hallway. "Mithrandir. I hope to have found you in good spirits this morning, for I have a request from the Lady Galadriel."
Gandalf felt his heart skip a beat when he heard her name. Trying to mask the emotion he was feeling, he told the elf, "Thank you, Haldir. What does the lady desire of me?"
Haldir looked bored with his task. "She bids you meet her in the glade past the armory. I believe it is her intention to show you something of great importance."
Gandalf stood, nodding his head in agreement. "Thank you, Haldir. I will go at once."
The young elf bowed his head and turned to take his leave. Gandalf watched his retreating form, ensuring that he was alone before reaching hastily for his looking-glass. A curious instrument, he had brought it with him from Rivendell; the frame was wrought with the images of twisted vines, and the glass in the center stayed perpetually clean and uncracked. Lifting it to his face, he studied himself.
The day before, he had found a single silver hair in his dark beard. With a quick once-over, he determined that he was still grey-free; he brushed a few strands out of his face and smoothed down his hair and unruly eyebrows. Blushing slightly at his vanity, he stowed the looking-glass and pulled his cloak over his shoulders.
The glade was only just past the armory, close enough to hear the bustle of the city but also far enough away that he was alone with the Lady upon arrival. She was clad in a midnight-blue dress that sparkled with threads of silver, and this time her hair was bound in complicated braids before falling down her back. His breath caught in his throat as he beheld the beauty before him.
"My lord Gandalf," she said as greeting. "I am glad you found me so quickly."
He bowed his head. "Of course, my lady."
She turned to look at the crown of trees above them, taking her time, before saying, "I hope your time so far in Lothlorien has been satisfactory?"
He smiled at the banality of the question. "Yes, my lady. Quite so."
A silence stretched between them that seemed to reach even the birds that had been chirping in the birches. Gandalf stood uncomfortably, still unsure of why he had been summoned to the glade.
Galadriel smiled her secret smile again, knowing exactly how the wizard was feeling. She finally turned, looking back at him, and said, "I wish to show you something, Mithrandir. But it must be kept a secret."
Gandalf slowly nodded.
She began to walk forward, through the glade and into the forest itself, leaving Gandalf to stride along in her wake. They walked in silence for about two hundred paces, before Galadriel came to a halt. Before her, a gazebo formed completely of intertwined birch saplings sprouted from the ground. Vines entwined with the branches, creating a canopy to the birch frame, and within it stood a shallow marble bowl perched upon a carved tree trunk. The trunk appeared to be very old; it held veins of pounded silver, gold, and precious gems, so small as to be almost invisible. Gandalf thought it must be most beautiful when light shone upon it.
"This, Gandalf, is a sacred place. It is where I am able to learn things…about myself, about the world…about you." Galadriel walked slowly around the marble bowl, the train of her dress trailing behind her on the mossy floor.
Stepping closer, Gandalf realized that the bowl was not a bowl, but a mirror. Galadriel peered over the lip of the bowl, touching its surface with one long finger. Gandalf could see a mist rising within the surface of the mirror, straining to escape, and he was trying to look unobtrusively over the edge when he heard the elf breathe in sharply.
"My lady?"
She shook back her blonde tresses and turned her blue stare upon him. He saw her mind working furiously behind those pale eyes, and wondered what it could have been that she had seen.
"This is what may come to pass…if you continue on your current path," she whispered, reading his mind. "I will show you, if you wish to see."
Hesitantly, he toed forward until he could also see the mirror in its entirety. The mist still swirled under the surface, and he could see nothing else but whiteness.
Gently, Galadriel grasped his hand from the folds of his cloak. Do not be afraid, Mithrandir.
Startled at the sound of her voice in his head, Gandalf shuddered and looked at her again; but a warning glance from the elf caused him to look back at the mirror.
The mists had parted when their skin made contact. He was now looking at the mirror and seeing what Galadriel saw.
The images flashed by: a company of dwarves; a long march towards a lonely goal; battles, more battles than he had ever been in; a red dragon, arcing through the sky and leaving trails of thick smoke; a lost stronghold, packed with gold; death, the death of dwarves, elves, orcs, goblins.
The mists swirled back into the mirror for a second, then parted to show a single frozen image. It was Gandalf's balcony in Lothlorien, and he stood at it in his traveling robes, except he was not standing alone. In his arms, captured in a passionate embrace, was the Lady Galadriel.
