As soon as Mithrandir focused on the water in the Mirror, Galadriel closed her eyes.
Fire rose in the deeps of the earth.
Drums beating.
Orcs shrieking.
Armies of darkness pouring out of every dark corner of Middle Earth.
Elves fighting with the orcs.
Dwarves in battle with the Easterlings. King Dain standing tall with his vanguard, defending a fallen man who looked like a king.
The armies wished to press northward. And soon they came across a dark desolate land, filled with evil. Nameless shadows creeped upon the mountain walls. Dark gates of a seemingly empty fortress opened, and battle-trolls roared out of it. And then they descended upon a hidden fortress she knew was Imladris.
Flames burned out the trees. The blue waters turned dark and steamed with poisonous fumes. Orcs ravaged the countryside, even going as far westward and cutting off the elves' escape to the Havens.
The elves of the coast fled westward on their great ships, abandoning those in Middle Earth behind, although an old bearded elf still stood tall with a sword in his hands, leading the remnant of an elf-army.
Wolves raced across Eriador, spreading terror in the lands around.
Men huddled together, and so did strange half-lings, desperate to survive.
The vision moved southward to the Gap of Rohan, and its lands burned. Isengard, which once was fair and green, now lay in ruin. And strange orcs marched on its roads. She could hear Mithrandir question the whereabouts of Saruman. Even she had the same question but she did not voice it.
Eastward, Rohan's villages burned with bright flames as orcs came out of Mordor and pillaged the villages and enslaved its people, killing those who opposed them. The roofs of the Golden Hall were torn down and wild men drunk under the shattered roofs.
Further east, the great fortress of Gondor strove hard against the darkness of the Enemy, cornered at last. The city beside Anduin lay in ruins, its towers blasted apart.
In Ithilien too, the green-cloaked rangers battled the southrons riding upon their tall war elephants.
A strange green light hung over an evil city in the east, threatening to devour all the lands of the Free Peoples to the west.
The Black Gate finally opened, and hordes of orcs and trolls marched out, and she saw them walk through the plains of Dagorlad even as dark clouds marched ahead of them.
The eaves of Lorien were under attack, and Haldir lay dead on the field. Caras Galadhon itself burned.
The vision soon turned distant. A circle of fire soon formed over the map of Middle Earth.
And very soon, the parchment disappeared, and only the circle remained.
The circle became the Ring.
And the Ring twisted in the void and burned with the red flame of Mordor.
The sigil of Mordor appeared within the Ring and formed an Eye that stared at her.
A loud shriek followed, and a Black Hand came at them, and yet they still held it at bay.
Mithrandir turned away with a loud gasp.
Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and said, "This is what will come to pass should we fail."
"Is this...?"
"This is one of the potential... possible future, Mithrandir," Galadriel explained, "but this is what Sauron intends and might probably do if he ever decides to unleash his forces on the West. But he's not ready yet. He will bide his time for now and ensure that he's fully ready. He will gather all his forces in his dark fortresses, and when the time comes, he will let them loose upon Middle Earth. I shudder to think of such a time."
Mithrandir let out a disgruntled sigh. "Mordor cannot be defeated by the strength of arms, my Lady Galadriel."
"No, Mithrandir," she agreed. "We cannot defeat it. The time when elves and men could unite in force is in the past. The future belongs to men. Elves might simply flee into the west and hope they find ships at the havens. But our Enemy has such hatred for us that he might not allow that to happen. Even now, his forces harry us, thinking they can get past us and occupy the passes in the mountains whilst making a dent to our forces."
"If Sauron isn't ready, my lady," Mithrandir asked, "why then is an army of Mordor and Dol Guldur at your doorstep?"
"These armies do not come from the Black Gate, Mithrandir, but rather from the Morgul Vale. These serve the Witch-King of Angmar, their king, their captain."
"And the Nazgul serve their master, Sauron," Mithrandir countered. "If the Nine have sent them here, if this sorcerer king has sent them here, would it not be because the Enemy gave the orders to them?"
She shook her head. "Nay, Mithrandir. The Nazgul may be beholden and answerable to the Enemy, but Sauron does allow them to rule their quarries independently. The Nine sent these without Sauron's say-so."
"But the Enemy would know about this attack," the wizard said. "His spies would have told him."
She nodded. "Aye, he knows, but he doesn't mind. To him, this is a test of our defenses. He can lose an entire battalion. He has a lot more under his command back in Mordor."
"But why did the Nine even send these orcs here?" he asked.
"That I think is because of Aragorn. He lit fire in the Morgul Vale, and that made the sorcerer king angry. Clearly, he suspects something and sends a huge force to destroy him. If Aragorn had not come here, they wouldn't have come to Lorien, I think. They would have pursued him."
"But the fact that they have pushed the orcs to attack the Golden Wood troubles me deeply, my lady Galadriel."
"Indeed!" she remarked. "That troubles me also. An entire army wouldn't pursue a lone ranger across many lands and such a distance if he hadn't destroyed something close to the sorcerer-king's heart. I fear the answers lie with Aragorn."
"Well, we need to find him."
She nodded. "Aye, if only he had not fled Caras Galadhon... even now he yearns for the safety of Imladris, and all because of the rash actions of an elf-lord who bears hate for his child of man, no matter his legacy or lineage. Guest-right has been violated in Caras Galadhon." She spoke the last few words sadly.
Mithrandir nodded. "The elf-lord might have his reasons, my lady, no matter how misguided they were. But Aragorn should not have run away. I wonder what made him think of it."
"Guilt, Mithrandir, guilt. And blame... I think he blames himself for the death of the two elves. Also, fear of being punished and thinking he has become a criminal. A murderer. A kinslayer."
"But the killings were done as part of self-defense," Mithrandir said. "He should have understood this."
She smiled. "Perhaps he does. Deep in his heart, he knows he wasn't really wrong. But now his heart is conflicted. On one hand is the love he bears for my grand-daughter, and on the other is the gravity of his feelings... that Arwen might have to sacrifice her elven life. He guesses the reason elves like Silwin do not like him for his courtship of Arwen Evenstar. And he thinks it right. This is why he wishes to go away from here, far away."
"We must find him... and quickly... the further he goes from here, the more dangerous it will be for him even if it be on the westward path."
"Agreed!" she nodded. "And Arwen has gone after him. Don't worry, Mithrandir, she will find him soon."
"I hope so," he said, relapsing into his thoughtful self, leaning against his staff.
"Besides, we must think about giving final touches to our plan. Not for nothing have we groomed him in the elvish ways. A time will come soon when he will have to lay claim to the throne of Gondor."
Mithrandir stared at her as though she had sprouted wings of fire. "Sauron would move to open war as soon as Aragorn declares himself openly. Without the means to destroy him once and for all, we cannot let the heir of Isildur lay claim to the throne of Gondor. And besides, while Ecthelion might be more welcoming of Aragorn's claim, his son Denethor might not."
"Denethor?" she asked. "I thought Ecthelion was the Steward of Gondor."
"He is, my Lady," he answered, "but I have heard news that Ecthelion has been sick for some time. I fear his life will soon come to an end. And then Denethor will succeed."
"And you think he won't be as welcoming?"
The grey wizard shook his head. "I've met him, my Lady Galadriel. I know his mind. Even when young, he was proud. If Aragorn should ever lay claim to the throne, this Denethor might cite the same reason Arvedui was denied the throne."
She sighed. "I fear, Mithrandir, that Middle Earth shall not know peace unless a king returns to the throne of men."
"We need to be more patient, my Lady," he said. "We need to find means to destroy Sauron once and for all. We need to counter his threat before we let the rightful king make his claim."
"I wish the Faithful in Gondor had not abandoned the ancient Numenorean practice," she said. "If Arvedui had been granted the kingship back then, Gondor might have thrived. The legacy of Gondor would have persevered. The White Tree would not have withered."
"It would do well not to speculate, my Lady," Mithrandir said. "The fortunes of elves, I do not think, lies with who sits on the throne of Gondor."
"Perhaps, Mithrandir," she said, "perhaps... if we are able to defeat the Enemy, many of us elves will depart from Middle Earth and fade away into the West. The dominion of Men shall come, but I do not think every elf will remove themselves from this place, especially our Silvan kindred in the north. If any king is to sit on the throne of men, it should be someone who understands us. Aragorn is the right man for it, Mithrandir. Any other would fail us. The Enemy's strange powers are the reason we are all estranged from each other. Aragorn's claim and its acceptance would better our relations for a while."
"Only time will tell, my Lady, but I fear Aragorn's time to lay claim to the throne of Gondor has not yet come. As long as Sauron rules Mordor, Aragorn shall not become king. We must simply hope that we find a way to end Sauron's reign and influence over Middle Earth soon enough and trust that Aragorn's elvish grooming will take him to his destiny. The elven-wise have foreseen his rise, as has some wise men and women of the Dunedain."
She bobbed her head and looked westward. Her brows furrowed and creased even as a cold wind gusted across the small clearing wherein lay her mirror. Concern spread across her face, and her fingers lightly caressed the ring on her finger.
"What's it, my Lady?" the grey wizard asked, noticing her anxiety.
"They're here... they've come."
"Who, my Lady?"
"The Nine."