Recap: A Mirror has been found in Minas Morgul and taken to Minas Tirith. It is similar to one found by Erestor and Glorfindel in Phellanthir, the ruined city built by Celebrimbor and destroyed by Sauron long ago. In that Mirror, appeared the Balrog that slew Glorfindel and that he slew in turn. The Balrog tried to escape the Mirror to reach Glorfindel but something appeared in the Glass- it became clear that this was the spirit of Maedhros. He drove back the Balrog. (Told in Through a Glass Darkly)

(see chapter 4 of this fic for a quick reminder)

Bearos, a farmer from the Mindolluin, found Khamûl's ring (where Elladan cast it after Elrohir slew Khamûl). The Ring has brought him power but turned him into a mere creature of the Ring, a ghoul, which has drained the blood of its victims. Bearos stole the Mirror and now Gandalf, who knows what it is and its power, has gone to Umbar in pursuit, taking Gimli. Legolas has been lured into the Halls of the Dead by the ghoul and captured. He is in the cell with the Mirror from Minas Morgul.

Beta: Anarithilien.

Chapter 25: A New Purpose

Erestor walked slowly along the elegant walkways that wound between the great mallorn trees, making his way towards the wide talans that spread through the trees at the heart of the city and that were the equivalent of the Hall of Fire and other public chambers in Imladris. It was evening and small groups of elves gathered on various talans and strolled along the walkways, sharing the gossip of the day and taking their ease. For the life of him, he could not tell what they did all day for he had found no kitchens, no weavers or forges and the elves here seemed to thrive nonetheless. There must be workshops and markets somewhere he thought, but clearly Caras Galadhon had no such common purpose as actually providing for the Elves who lived here.

Elladan had laughed at him when he said this and promised him a tour but that had not materialised for Erestor had barely seen Elladan at all since he arrived; the grandson of Celeborn and Galadriel was much in demand and, after all, this was a wedding party. Elladan had promised to meet Erestor and Glorfindel here later, for there was some artefact that Mithrandir had brought to Minas Tirith that concerned him but they had not been alone for a minute. It would be a Palantir perhaps, mused Erestor.

Behind him came the noise of a group of young, excited Elves going the same way as he, for there would be dancing. He stepped aside to let them pass, inclining his head slightly and, noticing one young man's eyes widening at the eight-pointed star he wore blatantly embroidered on his sleeves and robe, Erestor flashed a wolfish smile, showed his white teeth. The young man hurried forwards with a worried look on his face. Clearly his reputation had preceded him, thought Erestor a little pleased at his own notoriety.

Following close behind were two maids hurrying along the walkway and Erestor stood aside for them too. They smiled and dipped their heads giggling as they passed.

'The sons of Elrond will be there as well as the Lord Tindómion!' one maid was saying to the other as they hurried along the walkway and the other cut her a flirtatious look. They giggled and flicked their long glossy hair.

Erestor followed gloomily.

I should be pleased, he told himself. I should encourage these young folk so that Elladan finds one worthy of him, someone to whom he can give his heart.

His steps had slowed and he sighed. And when Elrond departs these shores and I am free, I will go and alone be for the rest of my days until I find Maglor as I have sworn.

But it was a lonely existence to which he had condemned himself. And if he found Maglor, what then? Return to Imladris to watch it slowly abandoned and fall into ruin? For there would be no Elladan there. He would sail across the Sea to Valinor as certainly as Arwen would not. Of that, Erestor had always been sure.

A frisson of excitement rippling amongst the gathering on the wide talan below disturbed his gloomy thoughts and he leaned forwards to see the cause.

'Look, here they are!' a voice from the talan below cried and was joined by others in excitement as Elrohir escorted Arwen onto the talan and led her between the gathered Elves. Elladan followed his siblings a moment after, scanning the faces of the crowds as if looking for someone. Clearly, he did not find them for his handsome face fell in disappointment and he turned to Elrohir, asking him some question. In no time, they were surrounded by laughing, talking Elves, some from Imladris and others from Lothlorien.

At that moment, the Lord of the Golden Wood entered the talan and effortlessly seized his three grandchildren's attention. Elladan turned to him with a quick smile and Celeborn leaned towards him affectionately. Elladan was always a favourite here, thought Erestor fondly. Elrohir too remained and even joined in the laughter and seemed to be telling some amusing story for the entertainment of those around him.

Music had begun, ethereal, haunting rather than rousing and Erestor found it irritating. Slowly dancers made their way into the centre of the wide talan. He hated Lothlorien with its strange and endless half-light and slow time. It was like a boulder in a stream so that time slowed and slowed here, and outside the wood, the world rushed on, endlessly changing. He hated how cut off he felt, isolated, cocooned from danger and change and excitement- everything that had energy.

He smiled wryly for it was exactly what Elrohir said of Imladris.

A light riff of a melody struck up, more cheerful than before and astonishingly, Elrohir rose as if to join the dance. As he did, a crowd of pretty maids turned their heads excitedly. Elladan too rose and the pretty maids flashed and glimmered like a shoal of little coloured fish, but it was Arwen who took Elrohir's hand laughing as he led her amongst the dancers with playfully exaggerated courtesy. But Elladan took the hand of the nearest of the maids and led her alongside his siblings.

'It is a long time since I have seen Elrohir dance,' murmured Glorfindel from behind as he came to lean against the balustrade alongside Erestor. 'Even if it is only with Arwen.'

Erestor cocked his head. 'Something has changed him. And surely it is not the destruction of Sauron.'

Glorfindel grunted in agreement. 'Celeborn looks just as surprised,' he observed. Indeed, Celeborn looked on with gratified satisfaction as his grandchildren whirled about the dance floor.

It was a pity, Erestor thought, that Celeborn was such an old stick in the mud, and full of grudges and misery, constantly glaring at Erestor for his unashamed Fëanorion sigil and emblems, for he might have joined the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood once he had found Maglor, he thought wryly. As it was Celeborn had spotted Erestor watching from the walkway above and his mouth became a thin line of disapproval. To which Erestor responded by smiling very widely and gesturing elaborately to the festivities and dancing, nodding in exaggerated approval designed to irritate the Golden Wood's lord even more.

'You are doing it again,' observed Glorfindel.

'Hm?' said Erestor who knew exactly what he was doing.

'Provoking Celeborn. And in doing so, annoying Galadriel. And that will upset Elrond.'

'Unfair! Galadriel is nowhere to be found. Nor is Elrond. I am merely responding in a friendly manner,' Erestor grinned wolfishly. 'Anyway, Elladan wanted to speak with us and I am just letting him know we are here. Says he has something he needs to talk to us about. Something about Mithrandir finding an artefact in Minas Morgul and he is worried about it. Celeborn will hog him for hours.'

'Give them a chance to greet their family and friends,' Glorfindel said mildly and Erestor knew he was right.

There was a sudden leap in the music and the mood changed. Instead of threading its way carefully through the trees and dancers, it became quick and light. It seemed to lift the dancers like a wave and they rose laughing and swirling on the notes. Erestor found his foot tapping when an Elf cut across the view drawing his gaze and looking upwards towards the two Imladrians with an insolent gaze.

Tall, handsome in an arrogant way, full, sensual lips and knowing eyes caught Erestor's for a moment. The Elf tilted his head slightly in what Erestor recognised now as an invitation.

'Watch out for that one,' Glorfindel murmured. 'Haldir. One of the Marchwardens and they all have notorious reputations.

'Well, if he is not seeking you, then he must be looking at me.' Erestor raised an eyebrow at the Lorien Elf and the Marchwarden gave him an insolent smile.

'Hm,' Erestor said with sudden interest, 'If I did not know better, I would say that I was being invited for a little quiet supper by that one.' He flashed a wicked look at Glorfindel. 'I believe I am being seduced.'

Glorfindel said nothing but his face was disapproving and his lips pressed tightly together.

'Come on, Laurëfindilë, it is not like you have never had empty and meaningless sex!' Erestor said provocatively. 'Don't tell me that Tuor was the only man Idril…'

'You are an incorrigible and horribly corrupt man,' Glorfindel interrupted before he could finish. He pushed himself away from the balustrade and smoothed his hands over his tunic, pulled his sword belt straight. 'What about Elladan? What will he think if you go off with Haldir?' He faced Erestor and his bright fearless face was even a little sympathetic. 'If you think to drive Elladan away with this behaviour, you are right. It will. In that he will despise you as much as you despise yourself. Is that what you want?'

Erestor almost recoiled for those words stung but he had been the one to throw down the gauntlet by mentioning Idril, he could not complain now. He glanced over to where Elladan now stood, having left the dance. Celeborn's arm was slung about his shoulder affectionately and their heads bent together in conversation.

'He is better off thinking I am a horrible and incorrigible old lech,' Erestor said with conviction. 'And I am too sullied, blood-soaked. Corrupt.' He flashed a wolfish grin at Glorfindel that he did not feel. 'But with every intention of enjoying it.'

'Then you will forgive me if I miss out on this unpleasant little pretence at seduction between you and Haldir.' Glorfindel pushed himself away from the balustrade. 'If you will not attend to your own heart, Erestor, I cannot stand by and watch. I cannot believe that Galadriel will allow this dalliance with her Marchwarden and I do not want to be here when she squashes you most gratifyingly into a pulp …On the other hand, I might stay. It would be deeply satisfying.'

'If you stay my dear friend, it will be satisfying in the most glorious ways.' Erestor could not help goading Glorfindel further.

'No. You disgust me sometimes, Erestor, though I love you dearly but you are quite depraved.'

Erestor grinned, shoving aside the desperate self-loathing. 'I disgust myself more I promise you my friend. But I think you will find Haldir my equal in depravity.'

But at that moment, Elladan scanned the faces of the crowd again and this time, Glorfindel waved at him. When Elladan saw Erestor, his face changed, his grey eyes fastened upon Erestor as if seeing him for the first time and a smile of delight crossed the younger man's face. He murmured something to Celeborn who followed his gaze and said something in reply, drawing Elladan to one side. But Elladan shook his head and gently pulled away, and came towards them.

His long strides brought him quickly across the dance floor and many heads turned, eyes following his path, but he was either unaware or ignored them, leaping up the steps easily. With a delighted smile and cry of welcome, Elladan came towards Erestor first with his arms open.

Quickly Erestor enveloped Elladan in fatherly hug.

That is what I am, he told himself; an uncle, foster-father. Anything but lover… And he breathed in the scent of Elladan: freshness, earth, of moss in the rain.

'At last!' Elladan declared, face a little flushed.

From the dancing no doubt, thought Erestor. How handsome Elladan looked! Erestor smiled fondly for he could not help himself.

'I have had no time at all from my relatives whom I love very much of course but…' Elladan waved his hand as if that explained it all 'They can be a little overpowering. Come.' He beckoned them towards a quieter talan that overlooked the dance floor but was clearly designed for privacy.

It was smaller, secluded by a few cleverly arranged woven screens of silk, rich colours of Autumn in crimsons, gold and bronze. Two elegantly carved chairs stood side by side, and upon the polished wooden floor were sumptuous velvet cushions, made for lounging. Tindómion Maglorion was already there, his copper hair gleamed in the light and he was leaning upon one of the cushions already, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, a goblet of wine in one hand. A tall pitcher stood beside him and three goblets, already full.

Erestor inclined his head smiling. 'I see you have made yourself comfortable,' he grinned and showed his teeth. Tindómion showed his own right back but his grey eyes, almost silver in this strange light, gleamed with humour.

'I was expecting prettier company,' he said, gesturing to the filled goblets.

'Well, Glorfindel is here too,' Erestor replied and cast himself into one of the chairs, swinging one leg over the arm in a lewd pose that he knew would upset Glorfindel. But it seemed Glorfindel had said his piece and was not going to rise to the bait.

Glorfindel pulled the other chair a little away from Erestor and sat near Tindómion so Elladan settled on the cushions at Erestor's feet and leaned his arm across Erestor's knee. Which was not what Erestor wanted at all, but to push Elladan away would only cause comment and Glorfindel was watching him with wry amusement.

'We have been congratulating ourselves that Aragorn will be a kind and generous King,' Glorfindel said for he knew Erestor's mood and had decided to relent.

'And Arwen will bring logic and common sense to matters,' added Tindomion amused, as if he knew what was going on between them.

At that, Erestor did smile for he had taught Arwen well and she was perhaps his very best pupil, listening intently to everything he told her about managing a huge budget, about collecting taxes and being fair to all, about leading people and managing things so that everyone knew their role, what they had to do and had enough autonomy to get on and do it. He was proud of Arwen.

'There are others to help guide Aragorn too,' Elladan said with a nod of agreement with Tindomion. 'Faramir is the Steward now, Boromir's brother. He has his brother's qualities but it seems, none of his pride. There is Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth too,' he said and something in Elladan's voice alerted Erestor. His voice stroked the name of Imrahil and a flush came to his cheeks and he looked away. But Erestor saw there was a difference too in the way Elladan looked; more knowing, perhaps a little more confident. Erestor recognised that look; it was the look of someone who had discovered something about himself, had done things and lost a little innocence. It was the look of someone who was cradled in the thoughts of another, who was in love.

And in spite of his vow earlier and his promise to encourage Elladan to find his beloved, Erestor felt like he had been kicked in the belly. It made him unkind.

'I hope that Aragorn will have learned something about how not to rule from listening to Glorfindel's tales of Turgid,' he replied as provocatively as he could and the sting concealed the misery in his voice. Tindomion laughed loudly at that and Erestor went on as if he could not stop now. 'After all, a more sterile and boring environment than Gondolin I cannot image unless it be Lothlorien. It's all very well having hidden valleys and cities and things but Turgid's isolationist policy really did lead to some very bad decisions.'

Tindómion laughed again, louder, throwing his head back in a way that reminded Erestor of Fëanor but Glorfindel sighed dramatically. 'Are we really going to drag all that up again, now, today when we celebrate the End of the Darkness and beginning of the Age of Kings restored?'

Erestor humphed and considered. 'I do not know,' he said, trying to be irritating because it was a distraction from Elladan's new love.

'Then forgive me if I do not respond,' Glorfindel said with that quiet dignity that he always drew about him like a cloak and which Erestor wanted to tear down. But that was hardly fair; it was a faceless Prince in Gondor that he hated, not Glorfindel.

'Come, cease your endless baiting,' Tindómion said to Erestor. He turned to Elladan with a smile and said, 'You have been waiting for a chance to talk to them since you arrived. Now here we are wasting it with old and worn insults. Tell them about the Mirror.'

Instantly Glorfindel and Erestor's attention was on Elladan, all thoughts of the Prince of Dol Amroth fled.

'Mirror? What Mirror? demanded Erestor.

Elladan looked at each of them in turn. His whole demeanour had changed and he was deadly serious. 'That is the artefact I wanted to tell you about. Mithrandir found a mirror in Minas Morgul. High up in the tower itself. He had it brought to Minas Tirith where it lies hidden and secret. Only those who brought it down know of its existence and it is guarded night and day by the Tower Guard. No one looks upon it. But it disquieted me greatly. Why did the Nazgûl hoard a mirror?' he asked, agitated. He drew his arm back from Erestor's knee and half turned so he could look both his mentors in the eye. 'I think it is like the one you found in Phellanthir.'

Erestor could not think for a moment. 'Like the one in Phellanthir?' he echoed, staring at Elladan in horror.

Leaning forwards, Glorfindel said anxiously, 'What makes you think it is similar?'

Elladan rolled back to sit on his heels, resting his hands on his knees. 'It is the same size. The frame looked similar although you will understand I did not examine it closely…but it felt…I thought….' He shrugged. 'It just felt too strange that the Nazgûl should have such a thing.'

There was a silence while Glorfindel and Erestor stared at Elladan. Tindomion, who had not been in Phellanthir, watched their reactions. Now he leaned forwards and rested one arm upon his bent knee. 'What do you fear?' he asked Glorfindel, his pale grey eyes narrowed.

Glorfindel glanced at Erestor. 'It is a doorway into the Dark,' he said. 'There are terrible monsters and demons in there. Balrogs.'

'The Nazgûl?' asked Tindómion.

'Yes. I think so now. And Sauron himself,' answered Glorfindel.

Erestor closed his amber eyes briefly and when he opened them again, he said slowly, 'Morgoth.'

O0o0o

Elrond stroked Vilya pensively, head slightly bowed, his steps slow and steady. Galadriel leaned on his arm a little as he guided her carefully back to her own chambers and yet he could feel her great strength beneath the white samite sleeve of her gown. She had not yet spoken of what had befallen her in her garden where he found her, leaning over her Mirror, hands gripping the copper-plated edges and staring as if she had beheld some terror.

They walked carefully, Galadriel very straight and although she leaned upon him, to anyone watching, they seemed out for a mere stroll through the gardens of Caras Galadhon, over the elegant walkways that seemed to rest only on air as they wound through the great mallorns. The great boughs of the trees were laden with golden blossom and silver leaves, a dim reflection, he had once been told, of the Two trees in Aman where his present companion had been born. Sometimes he forgot her very great age, her immense wisdom, her knowledge and the deeds Galadriel had both committed and witnessed.

They approached her own chambers now, a series of wide talans connected by elegant winding stairways and screened by woven veils and curtains. Not that she needed physical privacy; should she choose, none would know if she were there or not. But her steps seemed more hesitant now and when she faltered, Elrond gallantly halted as if they were merely perusing the lights that slowly blinked on through the great city of Caras Galadhon.

At last she spoke.

'It is strange, she said, 'to have Nenya free of the threat of Sauron. He has always been there do you not think? Like Ungoliant, waiting for us to slip.'

So that was to be the way of it, Elrond thought. She would talk of the Three. Frankly. Business then.

'When the One was destroyed, Vilya almost exploded with joy.' He smiled for Vilya was like a companion to him. 'I heard Nenya sing,' he continued. 'And I felt Narya there too.'

She did not speak then. He glanced at her briefly but her eyes were fixed upon some distant point as if she were unaware of him. Then she took his arm once more and they proceeded again along the walkway. Lamps blinked on, one by one ahead of them, lighting their path.

Casting her a sidelong glance, Elrond said, 'There is great joy in Vilya that Sauron has gone and yet…there is some other purpose I feel. Sauron's defeat has merely enabled them to pursue this other purpose.' He frowned, unable to find the words to convey the strangeness of this sensation.

He had worn Vilya for many years but since coming to Lothlorien, something had changed. She felt different. More elated even than when Sauron fell. It had started as they passed through the Angle and through Hollin, as if she connected to the land where she was forged, in the minerals and ore of the earth. Insanely he wanted to talk to Gimli the Dwarf about it, thinking that a Dwarf alone might really understand how the earth itself reached up to Vilya, as if lightning were fused from sky and stone. But the elation had reached a crescendo when they had arrived in Lothlorien and he felt Vilya reach out to Nenya and connect.

He realised that Galadriel was watching him.

'You feel it too,' he observed and he met her eyes. 'Another purpose.'

So that was it. She had seen something in the Mirror. Elrond thought she knew their true purpose. But something had made her cry out in terror earlier on and Nenya had called out to Vilya, brought Elrond running to Galadriel's side.

'What have you seen?' he asked, cautious.

'One long gone and dear to you. He is in my Glass. Images too of Phellanthir, as it is now. Not the Past.'

Elrond forgot to breathe for a moment and only when stars burst before his eyes did he take a rushing gulp of air. 'Is it true?' he gasped. 'Erestor said they found a Mirror in Phellanthir. And in it they saw Maedhros. I did not dare believe him at first. He said too that Maglor came upon our forces on Amon Sûl and drove off the Nazgûl from devouring Glorfindel.'

Galadriel looked at him obliquely and he wondered if he had said too much. But there was never any point in hiding from her.

'I have not seen Maglor,' she said and it felt like a failure when she said those words. Somehow it felt that he would yet again be denied. 'But I have seen Maedhros. Over and over again he stands in my Looking Glass as if he will be seen, will be noticed. Though I search for other images.' She leaned towards him and caught at Elrond's hand and only then did he notice how it trembled. 'Tell me, what did Erestor see?'

It was late in the evening when he had shared all with her that Erestor had told him, for he saw no reason to withhold anything; he wanted, needed her help and that of Mithrandir. This, he felt certain, was somehow the greater purpose of the Three.

'I am sure that is why Celebrimbor made them,' he confessed to her. They were sitting now in her own chamber, two goblets of wine half-finished beside them. 'Somehow to find a way of speaking to his lost father, his uncles…' He did not say his own 'father', foster-father at least, beloved and dearer to him than any kin but his own children. 'This Mirror in Phellanthir…I have wondered if it is of a kind to your own.'

The look in her eyes blasted him with their sudden cunning and he knew then that she had already seen it all. And he knew that she wanted Vilya to serve her. Nenya was Curvë. Nenya wanted Power.

He stared at her but she did not blink.

'I know what it is you desire,' she said. 'Is our purpose not the same? What does it matter whose hand opens the door to Maedhros' freedom?'

Elrond gripped his cup and drank deeply. The wine warmed him, and he rubbed his hand over his eyes. He wanted Maedhros free, but that was not Galadriel's intent. He knew what she wanted; to save Celebrían. And how was that possible?

'No one wants this more than I,' he began. 'But what you speak of is opening a door into the Dark? Do we go against the edict of the Valar so openly? Risk so much?' His heart pounded in his chest. And yet…Galadriel had seen Maedhros, and so had Erestor and Glorfindel in Phellanthir. It could not be coincidence. Vilya throbbed, stroked, cajoled.

'We can pull back the threads of Time,' murmured Galadriel, her strong fingers twisted around Elrond's, locked his in hers so that Nenya and Vilya joined and their light flowed into and through each other. 'We can unlock Time, stand on the Edge of Night, cast down the Valar themselves if we wished….'

'Hush,' he said quickly and looked about as if the trees themselves might speak to Yavanna and tell of their treachery. 'Hush. She lives yet,' he murmured, knowing the source of her pain was always Celebrían. Wanting to comfort her but warn her too. 'She is in Valinor and healing. I know this as do you. Be careful.'

'But I can never go back!' she cried and it was true despair. The healer in him reached out. The child who has lost his father.

'I will lay it all at your feet if we can unlock the Mirror,' he whispered at last. 'If you free Maedhros.'

Her triumph was boundless.

He looked at her in fearful excitement for such rebellion was beyond his ambition, but he thought it was not beyond hers; she has done this before. The Unrepentant Exile and he was reminded keenly of who exactly she was, what she had done. Stood with Fëanáro in wild-eyed excitement as they defied all of Valinor, all the gathered people of Valinor, the Valar themselves. She had fought alongside the sons of Feanor in Alqualondë he was sure, with Fingon, with Finrod and was no less than they… Crossed the Helcaraxë for revenge. Fought with Gil-Galad. Thrown down Dol Guldûr. She must believe she can indeed pull back Time itself, he thought a little afraid.

Celebrimbor must have been glad when she left Ost-in-Edhel, he thought out of nowhere.

'We will leave for Minas Tirith as soon as can be arranged.' She turned back and this time, there was no weakness, no leaning upon his arm and she led him. 'My Looking Glass spoke of the need for haste to the White City. There is something there that is a threat to us somehow. And we are not the only ones who seek the doors to the Dark.'

At that he stopped abruptly. Shocked. 'Others?' He came to himself and hurried after her. 'Others know of this?'

'Of course,' she said matter of factly. As if it were a mere afterthought. 'Those already in the Dark seek a way out. They always have.'

A cold grip seized Elrond's heart. 'Morgoth.'

'No. It was not Morgoth I saw. Lesser than he. Perhaps Angmar.' She spoke so nonchalantly.

'Angmar is no mere inconvenience.'

She shrugged. 'He is vanquished. He cannot touch the threads of Time. He cannot touch us.' He wondered if she meant, he cannot touch me. But she was not so cold. It was her great loss that drove her. Even as his own loss drove him.

But not at any cost. Would opening the Door for Maedhros, mean egress for Angmar? But perhaps without the Rings, the Nazgûl were no more than wraiths anyway?

'Ólorin will not permit this,' she murmured and he shook his head, held up his hands as if he could stop the words. 'You know this,' she persisted. 'I think he will not do this even for me.'

Aye. And there was the second impediment. Mithrandir.

'You will persuade him to join us,' Galadriel said and Vilya rang like a clear green glass.

Had Galadriel caused that? he wondered in astonishment. Could she reach Vilya so easily?

'You will persuade him if he will not do it for my love.'

Elrond thought that if he were Mithrandir, he would not question but obey, as he intended to for it served his own purpose. She did not say that Elrond would persuade him or they would take Narya by force. She did not need to.

0o0

Legolas thought he should have been relieved that Bearos had gone, or the ghoul because there was not much of Bearos left. But he found that the absolute darkness, the absence of sound, pressed upon him. It was a tomb. Deep below the ground, with an iron barred door and beyond that a brutal slab of iron that closed over him like the rock itself. He felt a panicked shortness of breath; There is no way out. I will suffocate, he thought in panic. I will die in here and no one will ever, ever know. Or worse, will live forever. No one would hear him. No one would ever know he was here. He could not hear the Song. There was no light.

Except a glimmer skating over the surface of the Mirror that stood at the end of the cell.

It felt like an eye was watching him. Or he was standing on the edge of a vast and empty hole which had no end. In the cold darkness, Legolas backed away, dread slithered coldly over his skin so every hair was stiff with fear.

There had been another face in it when first he looked. Not his. Skeletal. Empty eye sockets and grinning teeth. But now he thought it had been Bearos. The ghoul's skeletal face swimming in the absolute dark of the Mirror. There had been a voice. Like the Nazgûl stood on the other side of the Glass. But it must have been Bearos he told himself. It must have been.

He strained to stay as far from the Mirror as he could possibly could, pressing himself against the iron gate. He could go no further and he dared not make a sound for the Mirror standing silent and dark at the other end of the cell. His foot slipped on the lowest bar as he tried to edge further away, upwards since he could not move outwards. Legolas clenched his fists around the iron bars and pulled until the sweat blinded him and the joints of his hands felt as if they would burst.

He dropped to the ground with a stifled sob.

Suddenly Bearos' plan closed around him like a fist. The plan was perfectly formed; the message from Gimli had lured him to the Mews; Arod had been sent away so that no one would know that Legolas had not gone to Pelargir; the ghoul had lured him to this dreadful place; so he had been trapped. No one would miss him until Gimli returned. And by then any trail would be cold, any marks, any trail lost…for even Aragorn would not think to go to the end of the yard and see where Legolas had scrambled up the wall, or would even think to find his light tracks through the Hallows.

A sudden thought struck him. Where was Gimli? That note had definitely been written by the Dwarf yet there was no sign of him. With misery, Legolas realised that he must have written it in under duress and that in all likelihood, his dear friend was dead.

A crack wrenched open in his heart. He found his face was wet and salt on his lips. Do not let him be dead, he prayed. May Mahal keep him safe.

And do not let me end this way, not this way.

He leaned his head against the cold iron bars and felt the beginning of despair.

Why had Bearos brought him here? What did he want?

Was there some reason he was in here with the Mirror that had been taken from Minas Morgul? He knew nothing about it except that Aragorn said it was made by Celebrimbor. But surely an elven artefact could not be so evil? But Elladan had been furious with Gandalf that the Wizard had brought it to Minas Tirith. And then it was supposed to have been stolen by the Easterling, Kustîg. Of course, that was what had sent Gandalf and Gimli into a trap, of that he was certain now. Kustîg must have been waiting for them and ambushed them.

At least Gimli would have given them a fight, Legolas thought and again, felt tears pricking at his eyes. All this, the Quest, the Fellowship, the Battle at the Morannon, Elrohir, all to end in such ignominy, such an ill-fitting end to the Fellowship as an ambush, and a trap.

He took his thin knife from his boot and pushed it gently into the lock, twiddled and twiddled and it would not move. The mechanism was somehow fixed so it could not be opened from the inside. He pulled out the knife and tried again, but the faint scratching of his blade on the mechanism made him nervous and he tried not to keep glancing over his shoulder for whenever he did, he saw his own pale face lingering in the Mirror, eyes huge and terrified. It was the same when he first looked upon the Mirror in the high chamber of Minas Morgul. He returned to the lock but he could not escape the memory of finding the Mirror in the high tower in Minas Morgul, the sense that he could not get out if he needed too.

It is only fear, he told himself again. And again. And again. He paused and leaned his forehead against the cold rock and breathed. Water trickled down the limestone like sweat but at least he would not die of thirst, he realised.

Suddenly his knife slipped away from the lock and nicked his hand. Blood beaded from the nasty thin cut.

A light seemed to flash dimly from the Mirror and he turned his head to look.

There was another flash as some unknown light glanced over the surface of the mirror. For a moment, it seemed the ghoul's face appeared briefly and then vanished, as if something had been summoned by his blood and peered briefly through the mirror from the other side.

Legolas stumbled back with a cry, falling backwards onto the ground. His own face appeared again, when he stared again, the strange half-light made his skin pallid and ghostly. Like a ghoul. Like a wraith.

He scooted back as far as he could so his back was pressed against the iron bars of the gate. He did not dare turn his back.

Something made him feel like an enemy approached through the dark, but not from outside.

His heart thumped.

He felt a scream forcing its way out of him but the Mirror trembled and he stuffed his fist into his mouth in horror and fear.

Eru Illuvatar, help me! he cried inwardly. Elrohir! Please, please, please…..

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