Chapter Twenty: Of Reflections and Oceans
"I hope I meet someone tonight,
Who'll make my heart beat fast,
A handsome man with laughing eyes,
Who smiles as he walks past."
- Celtic Woman, At The Ceili.
They were all escorted to a pavilion set among the trees near the fountain. Elizabeth was still confused, questions floating aimlessly around in the back of her mind. She begged them to form an orderly queue, but they squabbled and just as one pushed itself to the front another would take its place. Galadriel said we would talk later... what about? Why? What if she's found a way for me to go back home? She paused when she thought about the latter question. Or, more importantly, do I want to go back?
The response shocked her. No, she considered, I don't. She flopped down on one of the soft couches that had been laid out for them, too preoccupied to realize she almost sat on Pippin. Shame spiked her gut when she pictured her grandmothers face. Eyes, so like her own, stared out from a kind, calm face. She was smiling, as she always did, like Elizabeth was her favourite person in the world. Why is it so easy for me to leave her? She wondered, miserably.
Elves left food and wine for them. Mournful singing drifted down from the trees above. "A lament for Gandalf..." Said Legolas, sadly.
"What do they say about him?"
"I have not the heart to tell you, for the grief is still too near." He said. She sighed deeply.
"Pip?" Whispered Merry, eyeing Elizabeth with wariness.
"What?" replied Pippin.
"I think Elizabeth is upset."
"How do you know?" Asked Pip, puzzled. He had never seen her from completely crazy to happy and mellow but sad? Never.
Merry pointed out, "Well, look at her!"
The aforementioned woman was sitting with her head in her hands and, when asked if she would like some sweet bread by Gimli, she answered with, "Moo."
She watched Aragorn approach Boromir. Do I want to stay because of him? She pondered that for a moment, a breeze lifting her split-ended hair away from her neck. Maybe. Hold on, when did I start having FEELINGS about him? When did that happen?
"Take some rest, borders are well protected." Said Aragorn. Moonlight painted the glen silver, highlighting the glint of tears on Boromir's cheek. Her heart jolted and she raised her eyebrows at no one in particular. Why? Why now? Why him, of all people? She quenched her urge to go and hug the senses out of him by finding a Boromir substitute. Namely, Legolas. "Legolas." She said pleasantly.
"Yes? If you only wish to bother me, then please don't waste your time." He said, tiredly.
"I need a favour."
"Oh?"
"Give me a hug."
He did a very flamboyant double-take. "Pardon?"
Her cheeks coloured. "Give me a hug?" Without waiting for a reply, she wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. He was too stunned to do anything else but to hug back. She saw Boromir and Aragorn over his shoulder and faintly heard them talking. Boromir had wiped the remnants of tears away. Her chest tightened and she pulled away from the Elf, wandering away into the trees without explanation or justification.
"I will find no rest here. I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor, and she said to me, "Even now, there is hope left, but I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope." Boromir looked at Aragorn in despair, grey eyes filled with sorrow. "My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing and our... our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right and I would do it, I would see the glory of Gondor restored. Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze... have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"
"I have seen the White City long ago." Aragorn provided.
Boromir felt Aragorn's love for Minas Tirith and took heart, "One day our paths will lead us there and the tower guards shall take up the call, 'the Lords of Gondor have returned'." He smiled radiantly, imagining what could be.
"And what of Elizabeth?" Questioned Aragorn, abruptly.
The other man blinked. "What?"
Aragorn smiled thinly. "Do you think I don't see the way you two gravitate towards each other? The way she comes and talks to you, and you to her?"
Boromir blinked a second time. "In all due respect, I wish not to talk about it. The grief is clouding my judgement."
"You know a relationship between the two of you could never happen." Spoke Aragorn.
His nostrils flared. "You are in treacherous territory, Aragorn. Step carefully."
"She is but twenty five. Almost half your age. No status in society. Your father would never approve such a courtship."
"Leave me, please." Said Boromir, coldly. He averted his gaze and chose to glare angrily at the nearest tree.
Elizabeth's bittersweet mood continued while she walked. The moon was high and bright, surrounded by a star-dappled sky. The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so. Why do I have to feel stuff I don't want to? I'm a grown woman, not some hormone-drunk teenager. I may act like a child sometimes, but I'm not as stupid and petty as my sense of humour is.
"Beautiful, are they not?" An elegant voice said, coming from behind. She spun, startled out of her internal conflict. The Lady Galadriel stood in a white dress, glowing under the rapture of the moon.
"I'm, er, sorry?" She said, unsure if she was initiating conversation or simply making small talk as she was passing. Do Elves even make small talk? Because they live for ages, is it more like long talk?
"The stars, they are beautiful." She semi-repeated, taking her eyes from the sky and looked at Elizabeth, unwavering.
"Yes, they are. The moon, too." She commented.
You have much grief, do you wish to speak with me? Galadriel's voice echoed in her head and Elizabeth jumped for the second time. She reasoned with herself, deliberating the offer.
What if she doesn't understand? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she felt silly, chiding herself. She chanced a look into the Lady's eyes. They were blue. Very blue. Ocean eyes. Not because of the colour, but because they were so deep. There were whole lifetimes in those eyes. Galadriel seemed to sense her answer before it was spoken. With a slight smile, the Lady beckoned for Elizabeth to follow. Galadriel's feet made no sound on the woodland floor and although Elizabeth hardly had the footing of an elephant, it was difficult not to make any noise, especially when sporting worn, leather boots.
She led her back the way Elizabeth had come, glimpsing some of the fellowship through the trees. Eventually, they stopped at a place that was somewhat familiar to Elizabeth, at least from fiction. It was a glade. Upon a low, stone pedestal, carved like a branching tree, sat a shallow, silver basin. Ivy crept its way up the surrounding tree roots. Elizabeth's tongue suddenly felt thick and her mouth dry. "What troubles you?" Asked the Lady, submerging a silver jug into a pool of water.
Elizabeth swallowed. "Um, well, the thing is I am, um, disturbed by the fact that I don't want to go, er, home." She inwardly cringed. Smooth, Lizzie, really smooth.
The Lady poured the water from the jug into the basin. When the last drop was emptied, she looked straight into Elizabeth's eyes, probing deep within. Elizabeth shied away, unwilling for the contents of her soul to become visible to the Lady. There was that strange, tickling sensation at the back of her mind again. She resisted at first, but Galadriel's power to see what does not want to be seen was too great. Her heart was awash with suppressed emotions and desires, the ones that had wanted to stay hidden for a reason.
"Lost." Murmured Galadriel. "You are so lost, little one. There is a heart of caged tears under the fickle and the folly. Come," She invited. "Won't you look into the mirror?" Elizabeth knew better than to ask what she would see, but she looked at the silver basin with apprehension, understanding that she shouldn't refuse an opportunity such as this, yet not quite bringing herself to peer over the edge.
She took slow, deliberate steps up to the pedestal and focused her attention on the glossy surface. The night sky was reflected on the water. Liquid smoke appeared to swirl under the surface and the image changed.
Her grandmother, hunched over the morning paper, as she usually did. The toast in front of her was half cold and smothered with butter, a single bite taken out of it before her attention waned and she decided to get on with her day, rather than spend valuable minutes on trivial things such as breakfast. It was the same kitchen that had been her haven for years, the same old tin kettle on the hob and the same book shelf that held classics like 'Jane Eyre' and 'the Zombie Survival Guide'. The normality of it all was surreal.
Grandma Sparrow got up, wincing as her joints ached, something that would get worse when winter came around, and pottered off to water the plants on the windowsill. The leaves of sorrel that never seemed to die, no matter how neglected or unattended. It was all so... unchanged, like Elizabeth had never decided to hatch a plan against the neighbour boy, had never driven off and had never ended up miles from Bree with her pepper spray. Grandma hummed to herself, something that sounded oddly similar to Jingle Bells, despite the fact that it wasn't anywhere near Christmas.
The image of her kitchen swirled and morphed into something else. Elizabeth blinked and was uncertain about what she just witnessed. She concentrated on the new images.
A pair of hands almost clasped, fingertips excruciatingly close. The hand of the first was clearly a woman's hand. It was pale, too big to be called dainty yet too small to be called clumsy. The fingernails were long and covered in dirt and it lay palm up, as if waiting for another to clasp it tightly. The other was a man's hand, calloused and rough. It was palm down, fingers searching for another to hold. Leaves were scattered all around the two, and moss coated the forest floor. When looking upon those hands, she felt as if she was looking out onto the long red sea of eternity. Snarls echoed but the sound was distant, an underwater reverberation. The picture the image painted was monstrously serene.
Elizabeth gasped and tore her eyes away from the mirror and with an exclamation of, "Holy gurgle!", she fell backwards. Galadriel stood as still as a statue, untouched by her horror. Elizabeth lay there for a moment, a rag roll trodden in the mud, then she composed herself and rose.
"I have seen also what you saw, Lost One. Yet I cannot tell you all that lies in waiting for you."
"Thank you." Elizabeth gulped down the fresh, woodland air like it was the first breath of spring. It was so different from the suffocating feel of the mirror. "I'm still not completely sure of what's going on but I really appreciate you reaching out to me. Thank you, Lady." She did her best to curtsey, wanting to express her gratitude.
Galadriel's lips curved upwards in a light smile. "Time carries away what you love, Lost One, you must make your choice unaided and remember that everyone is fighting their own battles, too." The Lady glided off, white dress trailing on the ground but didn't seem to stain nor tarnish.
Lost One... I have been called that before. Elizabeth was left bewildered, unsure of the road ahead. She shook her head a few times. She began to walk back to the pavilion, not even trying to disguise the crunch of branches under foot. Her mood was significantly less teenage-defiance and more adult-confusion. She wasn't sure which was worse.