The Mirror of Galadriel

She bent over the abandoned mirror one last time, curious to see what it would choose to show her as its parting gift.  

One vision stood out clearer than the rest: a fair face, and a gentle smile and a grey, knowing gaze; those of the brother who had gone every length to help her master whatever skill she turned her wits to, and had smiled proudly whenever she surpassed him. He who had shown her that there was strength in compassion, hope within failure and beauty in all living things. He who had…  

The pain pulsed so fiercely that she feared she would choke, so she extended a long hand and tenderly wiped away that beloved face. Her heart was warmed by the glitter of gold on her finger, the ring she held in keeping by the grace of the last descendant of Beren Erchamion. It had replaced Nenya’s cold presence, and she found unexpected comfort in its unfamiliar weight. With a last look at the rippling surface of the mirror, which now reflected the green canopy that had been her home, she walked to where her escort awaited and rode away from the Golden Wood.  

****  

“It belongs to you. You were the one who kept my oath for ages…”  

He stands before her, tall and golden and bright as she remembered him, closing her fingers around his ring and piercing her weary heart with that kind, wise, generous smile that had always been enough to bring out the best in her.  

And as she looks at him in wonder, mighty and beloved among the Eldar, humbling himself with grave respect before the Halfling who succeeded where he failed, she finally realizes that it was his grace she had been reflecting for all those ages, his patient strength and selfless courage that had slowly infused her steely determination, softening her pride and showing her the way to redemption.  

He was the one I always looked up to for counsel and inspiration, she suddenly understands. So much that he became my mirror and I his living image.  

“I wished I could have lifted that weight from your shoulders…” He will always be her elder brother, she thinks amusedly as his concerned voice interrupts her musings.  

“No one could have walked my path for me, brother, not even you,” she answers slowly, as the truth dawns on her. “You were to show me the way and I was to follow your lead…”  

“Because those who followed yours surely would have never followed mine…”  

She knows she will never match his humble, easy disposition, so she bows to him deeply, in willing homage. The meaning of her long struggle is finally clear before her eyes, and she wonders whether that deep joy she now feels may cross the waters and reach he who still lingers there.  

He won’t tarry long, and you will be whole and healed when he arrives.  

She cannot tell for sure whether it is her brother's voice or her own thoughts, but it does not matter. For the first time since she sailed, a true smile graces the face of the Lady Galadriel.

A/N: Less inspired than the first one, but every tale needs a conclusion, I considered...

This exploded into two prequels, in chapters 8 and 9..