The stars wheeled overhead, those everlasting watchers. Lamps and Trees and jewels beyond thought had passed them by, yet still they danced.
The Golden Wood slept. Haunting songs in praise of distant dreams had died long ago, and the lights far in the top boughs were but a glimmer. What twinkled down was caught in the silver claps, crafted by clever hands deep under the earth, that now and again braved a melodious chime in the mossed pathways of Caras Galadhon.
She wandered as if in a dream. Pale blue velvet floated around her bare feet, each stride taking her further into herself. The silence seemed to swell, a soundless crescendo that bristled at the hum of silver on silver that dared disturb its oppressive decree. Above, the stars raced the sun and celebrated their hour of triumph.
From afar, the tinkle of a stream came whispering through the night. It grew louder as she approached, fearless of retribution. It flowed from the rock and down a mossy rivulet into a small stream that ran towards the heart of the city. In the glade stood a dais. On the dais, a silver basin.
The Mirror of Galadriel.
Limiriel stood at the very edge of the clearing. Expressionless, she clasped her hands in front of her and stared straight ahead. Only her eyes betrayed the turmoil inside.
“Manan elyë etevannë, Míriliel?”
(Whatever drove you to leave)
The silence was suddenly shattered, defeated. Its spell was broken. Limiriel blinked, but did not move.
“Sangië.”
(Necessity)
Sereon stepped out from somewhere behind her. Deep green silk rustled as he circled her, then stepped back and walked towards the Mirror.
“What is it you wish to see? The past? Or the future?”
He paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. The shadow of an empty smile flashed at her before he continued his slow steps.
“Or perhaps… it does not matter. So long as it is not the present…”
Her gaze dropped, but her head remained high.
Sereon stopped across the glade, the Mirror between them. He clasped his hands behind his back, face grim as he studied his sister.
“The Ages have marched on, Limiriel. And the time is nigh for you to make a choice.”
“I have already made a choice.” Bitterness dripped from every snarled syllable.
He met the thundering glare with steely calm. “And you are alive for it.”
“It was the only choice that matters. Aman or Arda - it does not matter. That choice will follow me unto the end of Time.” Limiriel held his gaze, despite the simmering tears. “So come what may, Sereon, I will not choose.”
Her brother watched as she turned away, shining silver in the last moments of glory of the stars as she ran for her spears, her daggers, her mail…
