𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 || 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐁 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊

ᴍɪɴᴇ̈ ʏᴜ́ǫᴜᴀɪɴ

Two nights before they were set to leave Lothlórien — everyone was starting to feel the overwhelming time pressure of their mission — Robb awoke from another wolf dream. It was the third one he'd had that night, and he was starting to suspect that there was little point in trying to fall asleep once more.

Perhaps a walk would help, Robb thought, and got up slowly and quietly so as to not wake up his companions.

Despite the amount of time spent here — a month, if he'd correctly kept count — Robb had not seen much of Lothlórien at night. There was the small clearing where the Fellowship had set up their bedrolls as well as the path they took to have dinner, but other than that, Robb only knew the place illuminated by the warm light of the sun.

The moonlight, instead of drawing attention to the golden leaves of the trees as the sun did, made their silver bark gleam and shine like precious jewelry.

Awestruck by the sight, Robb wandered through the woods, careful to keep to the paths yet periodically distracted when he caught glimpses of ornate lanterns and large pavilions high up in the trees.

His gaze in the treetops, Robb did not see the stairs in front of him until the ground disappeared beneath his feet and he almost tumbled down the small slope. Yelping, Robb somehow found a branch to hold onto and righted himself, probably saving his ankles a lot of pain.

Before him lay a small depression in the forest floor, the centre of it paved with light stones and on it some sort of chalice. Across from him, on the other side of the clearing, a low and narrow waterfall gurgled almost lazily into a pond.

Robb looked around the clearing and, feeling as though he was doing something forbidden, slowly stepped forward until he was able to trace the coldly shimmering edge of the chalice with a hesitant finger.

A flash of something white at the edge of his vision made his head snap around.

There, gliding through the trees, barefooted yet as ethereal as ever, was Lady Galadriel. Before long, she too descended down the stairs, gracing Robb with a small smile, which he returned.

Only when she passed by him to approach the waterfall did he notice the silver pitcher in her hand, finely crafted with elaborate ornaments on it — interweaving branches, if he was right, of two trees. Galadriel lifted the pitcher into the water's flow and let it fill up. Once done, she made her way back to the chalice in front of Robb with soft steps.

The quiet splashing of water starting to fill the chalice intermingled with the bubbling of the waterfall and Robb watched, silently, intently, as Galadriel held the pitcher almost dangerously high above. Not a single drop escaped the chalice.

When it was finally filled and Galadriel lowered the pitcher Robb exhaled, faintly surprised at how captivated he had been. Blinking, he brought his eyes up from the water's rippling surface to meet hers.

"Will you look into the mirror?"
Robb's brows furrowed — what mirror? — and Galadriel's smile widened, now in amusement, as she gestured to the still water in the basin between them.

He hummed quietly, catching sight of his own face when his gaze briefly flickered down.

"What more will I see, beyond my reflection?" he breathed.

"That, I cannot tell — past, present and future are all within reach of the mirror's sight." Galadriel moved her shoulders in a way that, if witnessed in lesser beings, Robb would have called a shrug. "But what one is shown depends solely on the person who peers into it."

A slow, carefully steady exhale. "Does that include my world? My family?"

Galadriel tilted her head. "Perhaps."