The Other Ranger [ Lord Of The Rings x Silmarillion ]

In the Mirror

She looked intently at the water in the basin.  The stars faded and in their place was an odd image.

An elf slaved over a workshop table, looking intently at a set of blueprints.  His dark hair was messily pulled behind his head and he had a writing utensil in his hand.  The designs were of three gems, each about as large as the man’s palm.  He scowled in frustration, throwing the pencil down on the desk.

The next image was entirely different.

An elf maid with fiery red hair sat in a large chair, seven children around her listening intently as she read them a story.  Some were older, some young.  The two youngest and the eldest shared her red hair, another had rare fair hair, and the others dark.

The elf from the first image walked into the scene.  He was grinning from ear to ear as he held something behind his back.  The youngest children ran to him and he patted their heads.  He quivered in pride as he drew out the three most beautiful gems he’d ever created and anyone had ever seen.

Miril was surprised as a new image filled the screen.

Two beautiful and gigantic trees sat atop a green hill and light emanated from them.  A younger Galadriel and other elves walked on the greener without second thought.  But then the image changed and the trees were dead.  The elves were mourning.

The image focused back on the three jewels.

Eight male elves drew their swords and screamed into the sky.  The oath had been pronounced.  Their doom was sealed.

Then the bloodshed began.

Beautiful Swan Ships filled the harbor but most were either burning or sailing away.  On the docks, workmen and sailors were being slaughtered by elves with swords and armor unlike anything that had been seen in that place before.  The sea ran red with blood as the crashing waves angrily licked at the boats.

A very different scene came next.

An elf with long, shining dark hair sat atop a black horse and was speaking to a woman of the race of Men who stood below him.  He took her hand, dismounting, and showed her to a tent where they drank wine and spoke.  But evidently they did more than that as the next scene was the woman with child.

The scene abruptly changed, and Miril watched in horror as elven men and women were killed mercilessly beside the sea in the next image.

In another act of murderous rage, a peaceful settlement of elves on the ocean was overrun by other elves of more evil countenance.  They swept through the peaceful settlers like a hot knife through butter.  An elf maiden with a bright gem on her chest leapt into the waves, but was borne up like a swan and flew off into the night.

A major battle of elves and bright beings was next.

A standard bearer of bright countenance and shining golden hair commanded elven troops and Maiar as well.  They defeated the Black Foe and his minions, recovering what Miril realized by now were the remaining two Silmarils.

However the scene moved to one where an elf with red hair and an elf with dark hair swept into the camp and stole the Silmarils.  The gems burned their hands and one leapt into a gaping, fiery chasm while the other threw the Silmaril into the Sea.

The elf near the Sea wandered around for miles into the mountains, eventually setting up a small cabin in the woods and living there, away from prying eyes, his right hand burned beyond use from the Silmaril.

The final scene was familiar to her, though different in some ways.

A bright ship shaped as a swan was sitting in a harbor.  She saw a gem, presumably the remaining Silmaril, sitting in the sand.  A shadow passed in front and reached down the pick up the Silmaril when suddenly the sun was covered and turned black.  The Sea had a ghastly blood red hew and something began chanting in an ancient language.  Two blue wizards appeared out of nowhere.

Just as Miril was about to pull away, the water in the Mirror turned to blood.  The smell was unmistakable and the way it moved was slow like blood, too.  The air tasted like metal.

Miril stepped away and saw that her hands were now covered in blood.  She screamed.

Aragorn rushed over to her and grabbed her hands.  He saw nothing.

“Shh,” he tried to calm her down.  “Relax, Mir.  It’s alright.”

“There was so much death,” Miril whispered in horror.

Galadriel nodded.  “You saw the history of the Silmarils, did you not?  I felt it.”

Miril looked at the the elven Lady.  “My forefather was a part of that.  How can I live with that fact?  Live, knowing that that kinslayer’s blood runs through my veins as well?!”

“You are not Caranthir.  You are Miril.  You also have the blood of Haleth, who was a great leader of a great house of the Edain.  Never forget that,” Galadriel stressed.

“My lady,” Miril asked after a moment of silence, “who was that elf by the Sea?  The one who was burned by the Silmaril?  The one who went to live in the mountains?”

Galadriel looked at her in surprise after her last statement.  “I can only assume you mean Maglor, second son of Fëanor.  You say he went to live in the mountains?”

“Indeed.  That at least is what the Mirror showed,” she said.

“No one ever knew what happened to my cousin.  We assumed he had perished along with Maedhros.” She mused to herself.  “This is strange news indeed that the Mirror has shared.”

“Why did it share this with me instead of you, Lady Galadriel?” Miril asked.

Galadriel smiled.  “It chose you because you are intrinsically linked with the Fëanorian bloodline whether you wish it or no.”

Miril looked decidedly unhappy but didn't protest.  She supposed what Galadriel said was true.  Whether she wanted it to be true or not, she was a member of that family and she needed to know that.  She was glad she knew that.

Aragorn spoke up.  “What have we learned from this, my Lady?”

“We have learned something grave, yet important.”

“What is that?” Miril asked.

Galadriel sighed and looked at them solemnly.  “The Silmaril is coming back.”