Alloy

The crystal-clear streamlet ends with pearly drops and in a few moments the water in the silver basin stills. Galadriel puts the ewer to the side and leans over the Mirror, welcoming it to show her everything she has to see. Things that were, things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass. Tonight, she is grasping the ends of Middle-Earth’s future. Over and over, she has to watch a happily ever after, but also a raging fire, devouring the lands. For none of the living know which of the many tomorrows shall be final. Yet, it is her duty to know of what to forewarn, from what to shield, how to avail… This is her atonement. Galadriel has kept telling herself time and again that she is not at fault for all that has happened. Great is the fame of Sauron’s deviousness. If not her, he would entoil some other unfortunate being and persuade them to open the way to his goal. But every time, her reassurance has been in vain. For she has ended up to be that being. She has got entoiled — and the net has almost pulled her into the abyss. She has opened — or rather paved with her own hands — the way for him and led him to the goal, hand in hand, showered in triumph. The wisest of all creatures present in Middle-Earth, she has made a mistake so foolish that not many in the history of Arda could compare. Galadriel fixes her eyes on the dark depth of her Mirror and sees the White Tree in flames. She blinks; the Tree is now in bloom. She sees vast hordes of Orcs, giant, with their skin the colour of dried blood. She has never fought such creatures. She sees a tall figure clad in white being abruptly consumed by ravenous darkness. Galadriel shivers. Who is this figure? Her? Various visions disturb the Mirror’s still waters: lengthy and elaborate, short and fragmented… She must watch all of it. She must wait for the last one which is always the same… The logs, raggedly nailed together, rock on the waves. Salt water surges over her bare feet every once in a way. 'Galadriel! ' Her fellow traveler lays a hand on her shoulder. She shudders and faces him. 'You stared into the deep for so long, I started to worry you might fall, ' Halbrand explains with a half-smile and nudges her to the center of their raft. She makes a hesitant step after him. 'You were worried about me? ' she inquires, not sure of what is happening. 'For sure. I am not that eager to dive into the abyss again to catch you. Even more so, since you are wearing heavy armour now.' He smirks. Heavy armour? What? Aren’t they stranded on… She shifts her glance from his face. The dawn paints the sky golden as they stand on the fore of the Numenorian ship, sailing swiftly straight to sunrise. 'Halbrand…' she whispers with confusion, not able to make sense of any of it. 'Come, sit for a bit. You didn’t get a wink of sleep tonight.' He guides her to the nearest bank and sits beside her. 'Halbrand, how do I forgive myself? ' she says unwillingly, staring at her knees. For some reason, her armour is all caked in mud, grass, and black blood. 'You persuaded me so resolutely to leave behind all that I’ve done. Yet you yourself cannot? ' he asks subtly, and she sees his bruised hand land upon her knee. Galadriel raises her eyes in a silent question and suddenly sees they are now in the woods, recovering their breath on a mossy log after the battle. 'I am King of the Southlands now, can you imagine? ' His voice is hollow, and he stares straight in front of him. 'What does a King do, precisely? I suppose, I need a palace… A throne… A Queen? ' He pants raggedly, and in between his words, a small laugh comes incessantly, as if all of his pain and resignation is leaving his body gradually. 'Galadriel…' All of a sudden, Halbrand turns to her and squeezes the fingers on her knee a little. 'Listen, I know this is madness, and you will just laugh at me, but…' He caresses her cheek with his other hand; to laugh is the last thing she wants right now. 'Halbrand…' she whispers voicelessly. Halbrand plants a tentative kiss on her mouth and slides his hand further to the back of her head. His lips are covered with sand and blood… Galadriel closes her eyes, tired. She could have averted herself from the Mirror as soon as she caught a glimpse of her bare feet there. From this one image, it has always been unmistakable what the impassive water would show her. But every piece of this vision is her atonement. A reminder of everything that has come to pass because of her.