Thank you as always to Anarithilen for her brilliant contribution.

It's been so long since I updated this- but I am already ahead with the next 2 chapters as well which will take us back to Legolas. But first…

Chapter 24: The Three

In the moonlight, Galadriel sketched a sign over the polished surface of the Glass. Elrohir and Elladan had arrived in Lothlorien and she had gathered her grandchildren to her like jewels, sensing something different in all of them. For Arwen, there was an anticipation, a breathless excitement only tempered by her father's sadness and loss. But in her grandsons too something had changed and it was not just that they had been to war. She had seen that too many times over her long, long life. No. Something fundamental had changed, especially in Elrohir and she wanted to know what it was. She did not dare push at him, seek to invade his thoughts. He was too powerful. That made her smile slightly, proudly, for he was in truth, most like her.

The obsidian surface of the Glass glimmered and trembled and the moonlight reflected upwards, cast silver light upon her own face. She stared at herself, at the still unlined face. There were no lines or sagging skin as mortals showed, but there was grief there nonetheless. In her face, her eyes, was great age, in the weight of her gaze, in the sorrow and loss and bitterness that lay behind it.

Ah, Artanis, she thought. Where are you now? The girl who had run faster, shot arrows more accurately than all her cousins, than any man, who had refused Feanáro the strands of her hair but who became the woman who gave three to a dwarf. Artanis was long gone, but Galadriel remained. Where would she go now? Would she fade like the song of a bird that disappears into the Wood so that only an echo remains?

There was dread at what was to come: the fading. And in spite of everything, she could not go back as a beaten prisoner, admitting she was wrong, admitting defeat. And she would not bow her head in penitence. She could not.

She cut Nenya across the Glass. Show me, she whispered. Show me what is to come…

It showed her Aman. It showed her the tall towers and polished halls of Tirion, the sterile boredom where a woman could not rule…But there was too the murmur of the Sea, its rush and sweep, the white gulls tossed up by the wind.

For in spite of her defiance, it was still Home. She longed for it as much as she fought the shame of return.

Celebrian was there. A sharp pain stabbed her womb. Her child. She clenched her fist to her womb and bowed her head, fought the loss and yearning.

And then, as if unlocked by her pain, the Glass shot through with light and the threads of Time began to part and unravel. She peered into the spaces and through the obsidian star-blasted glass into Time, through Time, beyond into those places that only curvë understood.

The Glass seemed to splinter into white dust: ash first, from the burning ships, and then snow.

She knew this; the Glass had returned to this over and over since Ash Nazg was destroyed.

Why do you show me this? Again! she cried.

She knew how snow hardened into the bitterness of the Ice. Cold as the Helcaraxë she was now. Hard. Bitter as when she stood upon the shores of Endor for the first time and the light of the Trees in her eyes, standing with Finrod and Fingon, thin and hard all of them, swearing revenge upon Feänor and his sons. Bitter with cold and loss. Furious at their betrayal and abandonment. Fierce with revenge and lust.

As if her thoughts summoned him, a lovely face came into the Glass. Nelyo. Dashing, handsome Nelyo - everyone was in love with him. Until the Betrayal. Fingon had sworn to kill him but of course by that time, Nelyo was gone and in his place the ruined, tortured bitter Maedhros. Now his grey-silver eyes looked past her, as if he were standing on the other side of the Glass and did not see her. Every time she had opened the Glass since the One Ring had been destroyed, it had opened upon this place, upon him, floating and insubstantial- a ghost of memory.

'Why do you show me him? Again and again? It is too long since he fell into the Dark! What good can come of this? she demanded, angry. 'I refused Ash Nazg for this? A mere vision of the Past? I turned my back on the Power that Ash Nazg offered for this!'

The lost Curvë of the Noldor was nothing compared to what she had rejected when Frodo offered the One Ring; she had stood and looked across the heavens scattered with stars and saw such things! Giant stars, unimaginably huge globes of gases that burned dully. Tiny white stars that were collapsing, falling ever and ever inwards until… until…

She, Galadriel, could not comprehend what she saw, but the Dark Queen that she would have become had reached out her hand and harnessed the energy of it all, threw her power across the Sea and there ripped open the veil that cloaked Aman. She had reached out with her other hand and drew them all back; beautiful, beloved Finrod, healed his scarred and broken body and restored him. And there was sweet Angrod, Orodreth – and behind them came her glorious cousins…and each one knelt before her and worshipped her as they would the Valar. Except they never had, she thought.

Is this why you show me this? she demanded. Maedhros in the Dark as a taunt to what I could have done had I taken Ash Nazg? Is that it?

She threw her head up and lifted her chin defiantly. But I passed the test, she declared in bitter triumph. Bitter disappointment for what could have been. I passed… though it was so …hard! For she had turned her back on the chance to bring back her beautiful girl, her daughter, to turn back the sands of Time and change…everything. Even Sauron did not know how to do that but she had learned, the hard lessons, the crushing mastery of the Rings. But she had closed the way by rejecting the One Ring.

Nenya chimed. Her song curled about Galadriel slowly, coiled about her.

What could you do if you had Narya and Vilya too…you could not just part the Threads of Time to gaze. You could turn it back…Was that not what Ash Nazg promised?

She stirred her finger across the black glass and cut it with light from Nenya. Vilya? But she is held by Elrond…

Obstinately the Mirror showed her Maedhros again but this time he was in such a dark place that at first she thought it was Angband. The Dark was absolute, leeching away his colour until he seemed sepia, pale and insubstantial…A ghost, floating in the Night. Beautiful in spite his ruin, the puckered scar at the corner of his eye, the one hand, the grim determination in those eyes that became first haunted after the Tears, and then empty until there was nothing; madness. Suicide. Once he had what he had fought for all those ages, the Silmaril, there was nothing left to live for.

She had not found pity in her heart for him until she had lost the only things that ever meant anything to her; her child, and now her beloved forester. She understood better now: what would she not give, what would she not do to bring back her sweet girl? Kin-slaying would be nothing to her. Three times? Four? She would have killed her own brothers and eaten their hearts if it brought her child back…

Not true.

Not all.

Not Findárato, Nenya whispered.

Galadriel did not speak. No. Not him.

You could have brought them both back had you taken Ash Nazg.

This was not Nenya's voice, she thought with shock. This is …Vilya.

A long sigh. Like a homecoming. With a little shiver of fear, she realised this was the Rings themselves talking, not her fellow bearers. So, they were sentient after all…she had suspected as much after encountering Ash Nazg when Frodo brought him into the Wood.

What is your purpose? she asked, looking into the glass and she drew Nenya over the surface. What is it that He wanted you for? She asked but now she already knew…She felt Vilya turn towards her, felt Narya spark. Tell us.

Suddenly revelation struck her: Celebrimbor had a purpose in making these three.

They needed to be together.

The Mirror shot through the lights and sparks and the surface trembled as if it were a pool and the wind passed over it. An image emerged: the dark fang of a ruined tower that loomed up against a bloody sunset. She had dismissed it before as overly dramatic, for she knew what she saw; Phellanthir. She had seen it every time she looked into the Glass since Sauron had fallen.

And now she leaned close. Why do you keep showing me this?

A sudden spike of energy surged through Nenya and shot into the Glass. Galadriel cried out in fear. 'Do not touch the water!' as if to Nenya or to herself. But the Glass shimmered and seemed to open like a flower or a clever mechanical toy that they used to make in Ost-In-Edhil. She gasped in astonishment.

She never knew!

The Glass was merely the first surface and now it parted easily and cleanly, drew back to frame a second surface like it had put hands around the darkness of Space and Time. Beneath was the second Glass. Even more highly polished. Light seemed to fall into it and she thought it looked like the same ore that Aícanaro was made from. Obsidian but deeper, more pliable.

She wanted to touch it and then suddenly Nenya pulled her physically towards the Glass, forced Galadriel's hand to move and cut across the surface of the new surface and then…suddenly Galadriel was standing on the edge of the Night like she had when Ash Nazg had offered her the World. The skies stretched, arced away above her; she stood on the rim of Arda. Beyond the boundaries of the World where no Elf could go. Above and around her was Melian's Girdle, the belt of stars that seemed to encircle the Earth, and beyond the Girdle were great galaxies, spirals and faraway, strange elliptical shapes of white light, and between them, darkness that seemed to draw the light to itself.

These are the holes in the fabric of Time and Space, Nenya whispered. Beyond them is the Void. Nothing comes out….

Nothing? I do not care about that, she said strongly. All I want is to change the Past, to bring my daughter home. Eru could not have wanted this! Arda Marred?

Silence. Nenya did not speak but Galadriel felt her hesitation. She pushed. Nothing comes out of the Dark? she prompted.

A silver-blue light glimmered behind her, just beyond her sight and she recognised the sensation that was Vilya. Ontanë thought there was a Way…if he could but find it.

Ontanë? She had not heard Nenya say such a word before.

And now on her right, she was aware that a fiery-red light was behind her; Narya.

Creator.

Creator? Galadriel frowned. Celebrimbor?

That was your name for him, yes. He made us to find the Way through. He wanted us to find it. You can see how the hyellë-vírin can part the threads of Time and Space and show you the dark places of the heavens.

Yes.

Hyellë-vírin? Galadriel realised that this must be the name the Rings gave themselves… or was it the name they gave to the Glass?

Galadriel could suddenly see how those darker places pulled light into them, absorbed all. Vilya showed her the galaxies, stars beyond those seen on earth, the depths of the Universe, the Secret Fire…and the doors between worlds that could be opened if only one knew, if only one had the Power…She frowned and peered into the depths of the Glass. Those whirling elliptical shapes that she knew now were galaxies beyond the stars, between them, there was immense darkness…

Those are the doors, Nenya whispered, there are ways to open them. Ontanë had found a way, made the Doors that opened up the Dark…

Galadriel understood… though she could not yet articulate for Nenya, Vilya, Narya had shown her but they did not have words. Together the Three could open the doors. If one knew where they were.

It was a pity Elrond had Vilya.

Galadriel grew very still. Celebrimbor found a way to open up the Dark…to find a way back from the Void?

She fell back, staring at the Mirror. The Glass was dark again now, immense darkness that swallowed all light. Is this…?

Ye…eee…ssss. A Way Back…..

In the dark, was another voice, another face and for a moment, she thought she saw something that was neither Phellanthir nor Maedhros; the glimmer of light that drifted over naked skin, skin that was..marked, she thought, in ink and blood… strange markings and the shape of a man twisting in bonds…long pale-gold hair, writhing in pain and ecstasy…a sacrifice.

'What is this?' she demanded.

Danger, Nenya cried.

Danger! They are here! cried Narya

Vilya screamed.

Galadriel covered her ears, staggered back from the Glass with the Three shrieking. It was a cold, screaming noise that felt like breaking glass, fingernails on glass, shattering, terrifying.

0o0o

When she came around Elrond leaned over, and she felt the white light of Vilya bathe her. She closed her eyes again and listened.

What happened, she asked Nenya but it was Vilya who answered.

If the Way is opened, it is open not only to us. Vilya's diamond white light was muted, softer and Galadriel felt the healing warmth envelop her. Healing. It was always Vilya's intention, Vilya's role. As Nenya's was Knowledge, Curvë. And Narya was the Opener. The Key.

I do not understand, Galadriel thought. What are you supposed to heal? She had always thought Celebrimbor had intended to heal the whole of Arda, Arda Marred and had dismissed him as impossibly arrogant, typically Feanorian, to suppose so much. The chime of the Three told her she had indeed misunderstood.

Then tell me! she pressed but she met a wall of metal links, chainmail, impermeable.

Not yet, Vilya replied. You cannot know all just yet. There are things you must do first.

Another voice now that she knew was Narya. You must act now. Bring us together. Bring us close. Summon Ólorin, bring Elrond. You must ride. Fast before the breach is made. Ontanë did not intend this.

I know not of what you speak, she said.

And the Three sang to her, notes that wound about her consciousness and suggested images but she still did not understand for the images were still of Maedhros, still of the dark fang of Phellanthir, but there was also the white towers that flew with the banner of Isildur's Heir, of Aragorn and she knew it was Minas Tirith and whither they were bound. But she did not understand even now.

You will. It was a promise made by the Three.

0o0o

Erestor leaned his elbow on the back of the elegant chair upon which he was seated, legs crossed insouciantly, and pushed his hand through his lustrous hair. From the balcony upon which he sat, he could see the little family group on the talan below of Elrohir, Arwen and Elladan. They were laughing at something, Elladan's head thrown back and laughing with that careless joyousness that Erestor loved, and Elrohir laughing with him, at him. Erestor was astounded at the changes in all of them, wondered how long it was since he had seen Elladan so carefree. How long since Elrohir had even laughed.

Elladan glanced upwards and noticing Erestor, raised his hand in greeting. Erestor nodded and smiled and Elladan turned back and said something to his siblings as if to leave and make his way to Erestor's side. He had already told Erestor that he needed to tell him something important and began to speak of something Mithrandir had found in Minas Morgul but Arwen had come and flung her arms about her brother and so distracted him. Now it was Elrond's arrival that drew Elladan back into the group; Elrond approached warily, as if he did not know quite what reception to expect.

Erestor leaned back, watching protectively, his heart wrenched. How tentatively Elrond joined his own children and how uncomfortably they moved to let him into their circle.

But they did let him in where before Elrohir would have flung himself away and gone striding off elsewhere. Now he stayed and exchanged a glance with his father, the slightest of smiles on his lips. And so all thought of Elladan's news fled and he watched his little family.

'You have a silly smile on your face,' a voice observed.

He did not look up. His old friend pulled up a chair and sat beside him. 'And you do not?' Erestor said.

Glorfindel huffed softly, agreeing. 'I admit I am happy beyond belief that all our boys are safe and well.' He took a long breath in and let it out slowly. The relief in that sigh was all that Erestor felt- like his heart would burst in his chest. 'Aragorn is King. I can hardly believe it.'

Erestor knew his smile was even wider, even siller. He felt tears prick at his eyes. I am a daft old man, he thought but only said, 'I hope he judges and administers and rules well.'

'He has had the best tutors,' Glorfindel said softly and Erestor blinked and swallowed. 'You have taught him well.'

'I had the best tutors,' Erestor said, unable to help himself. 'You will find it hard to admit, but Maedhros ruled kindly, wisely and fairly but with so little money, under siege and fewer men every Winter.'

Glorfindel said nothing but he frowned slightly and looked down at his hands. Usually any mention of Maedhros resulted in a slight tightening of Glorfindel's mouth and a flare of nostrils as the Elf-lord suppressed his antipathy to the House of Feanor. Perhaps he pitied Maedhros after all this, Erestor thought defiantly. Perhaps seeing Maedhros through the Mirror in Phellanthir, trapped forever in the Dark, had mellowed Glorfindel towards Erestor's own lord?

His own mood changed now and with a deep despair, Erestor remembered how he and Glorfindel had entered the ruined tower of Phellanthir, the dust that rose at their passing like flocks of ghostly birds and settled again lightly over the abandoned and haunted chambers, the empty market place and merchants' halls of what had once been chased in gold and mithril, lit by the great globes of light. It has once been Celebrimbor's third greatest city.

Together Erestor and Glorfindel had ascended the wide stone staircase to the great Óromardë, the high hall of Celebrimbor's learning and found there the splintered glass underfoot and only one remaining Mirror intact. And as if Glorfindel's presence had summoned it, his nemesis, the Balrog, Ruinátoró, whom Glorfindel had slain upon the Cristhorn and which had slain Glorfindel in turn, had appeared in the darkness on the other side of the Mirror. How the Balrog had roared and bellowed so the ancient stones of Phellanthir shook and echoed with its trumpeting and violence as it pounded against the Glass! How the Glass had bowled and stretched under the pressure from the demon of fire! How Erestor had thought it must break and the Valarauki leap from the Eternal Night into this world once again and yet…and yet it did not break.…

And then, the silver-blue sparks that had coalesced into the shape of Erestor's beloved lord, Maedhros- and even now, he could not believe it.

Bowing his head slightly to turn inwards, Erestor thought again of the battle between the Balrog and Maedhros beyond the Glass, how he had slid the stolen morgul blade into the Glass and Maedhros had used it against the balrog and it had crashed against the Glass, blackened and bleeding ichor as it fled.

Erestor lifted his head and sighed for Maedhros too had been ….what? Destroyed by the Balrog in turn? He had seemed to bleed light, for it was his fëa being torn apart… each particle feeling the loss of its whole. Each particle was a single note in the Song of the whole and it ached when torn apart, yearned to be one soul again. And Erestor could not forget the drifting lonely notes of Maedhros' Song, like a ship's bell in the mist. The loneliness, the pity of it. Erestor, wicked old Feanorian that he was, could not bear it.

A warm, living hand was on his shoulder as if Glorfindel too was thinking of that same time in Phellanthir. Erestor did not move but he tasted salt on his lips and knew that he wept.

He shook himself. 'I cannot forget,' he said softly, even though he watched Elrond still. 'I will go back there and release my lord somehow from that dark and evil place where he is alone.'

Glorfindel said nothing.

'When I told Elrond that his dear father was trapped in that place, he was ready to ride there immediately,' Erestor continued. 'He would have brought the Tower itself down to break the Glass but something has stopped him. Some wisdom I do not see.'

Glorfindel pulled out a chair and seated himself beside his old friend. 'It is Vilya,' he said simply. 'Vilya stopped him I think. And he knew it was not the time, not with Sauron undefeated.'

Erestor turned his head and his amber eyes glowed in the strange half-light of Lothlorien. He had a wild and fey look about him. 'And now that Sauron is gone?' he asked.

Glorfindel pulled himself upright and breathed in a long breath. 'When we return from Minas Tirith,' he said, 'when we have seen Aragorn placed on his throne with Arwen at his side, then we will bring Galadriel and Mithrandir to the Tower of Phellanthir. We will free Maedhros from his prison. It is wrong that one of our kind be so doomed.'

Erestor slowly clenched his fists and bowed his head. 'Then I swear that I will make that so.'

Glorfindel closed his own hand over Erestor's. 'And I,' he said.

0o0o