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Galadriel stood before her mirror, the water still and silver-clear.

She did not blink an eye, nor even really breathe. Rather, she saw in her mind the great dark born of fire, and the sieges upon Arda, and the terrible anguish of men.

"It does not change," spoke Celeborn, who stood beside her, watching.

"It does not." Galadriel lifted her gaze to him. "The Eye of Sauron will be renewed. We will not last here should he find victory."

"No, we shall not. And the others know?"

"The kingdom of Elrond speaks of leaving for the Undying Lands. They would not tarry here, with the waining of grace."

Celeborn considered calmly her words. "And the rest...those of the Havens and the Woodland Realm?"

"Most will leave. Although I cannot say for Mirkwood. Its king is divided within himself. His feet remain planted, though his heart dwells in another place."

"Would he stay and fight then?"

"It is possible, for he guards his lands as a testament to his life and all that he has loved. He will not leave it readily."

"And would his people endure it? Have they any chance of defense? The Mirkwood has grown poisoned by fell things..."

"The enduring of Thranduil's people depends upon that of his spirit. The Woodland Realm is most vulnerable to Sauron's power, now, and the king dwells in darkness still."

"Then...it is time?"

Galadriel glanced once more into her mirror, then spoke to her husband in thought.

"He is lost, Celeborn, and he would dwell always in this place but for her return."

"I see this. Still, I had wished him more changed before ever she went to him. She is too dear to me."

"Not our desire, but the sight of the heavens decides. The Ainur have woven their song into being. Now we must listen."

"And will we tell her of this?"

"No. It is their spirits must remember, their hearts must recognize, before ever their minds will conceive it."

"Then let us hope they will, before it is too late."

~~

The bridge that joined our city to the golden woods was called Amatúlie, and I stood upon it now, the low sun casting its warm light upon the water below.

"And no one else might be sent? Someone from Imladris? They are known for their healing hands."

"They are, but Elrond's people plan to leave for the Undying Lands, and Mirkwood lacks any true Healer at all."

"But the Woodland Realm is known to be powerful..."

"They are known for skill in battle, but not much for treating its aftermath. Their numbers fade, and considering their propensity for attack by dark things, they are in need of a true healer... one who might instruct them in the mastery of the skill themselves."

"And they have asked this of us?"

He hesitated at this. "Their king asked, first, Lord Elrond for an elf who might heighten their skill. But..."

"But they will leave. Yes."

"And you are a most wonderful teacher, Laewyn. You shall be an asset in their time of need."

"I understand, and in truth, I have not seen very much of this world. We have long kept to ourselves, and while Lorien possesses gifted healers, we've had less a need of their gifts, which is a blessing."

"It is, and you are right," Uncle Celeborn said. "We have long remained to ourselves here, not much for venturing beyond our own beautiful city, but the world is changing, and so must we."

"Yes. It does feel selfish to hide in comfort when I can be of true service elsewhere."

He smiled at me gently, and I felt suddenly very sad at the thought of not seeing him anymore.

"Uncle, in all things I have trusted you. And I would not stray from this, but..."

"But you do not wish to leave."

"I do not. Lothlorien is my home. And as for Mirkwood and its king...well, tales of his moods travel far."

"Yes, he is..." Uncle Celeborn tilted his head to the side, "...formidable. But I have seen you amongst the stoutest of our soldiers, Laewyn, and your gentleness masks great spirit," he said, laughing just a little. "I have faith you will hold your own in his kingdom."

"I accept and even agree with your reasoning, but I cannot conceal my sadness."

"Laewyn, my little star, I would not see you sad if I could help it."

"I know," I said, feeling at once remorseful. "I am sorry. It is wrong of me complaining."

"No, no. You have a right to question it, dear one. I would not command it, but rather hope you would do so of your own free will."

"And I would do so, Uncle Celeborn. Only allow me this moment to grieve, for I shall miss my home more than I can say," I told him.

He frowned at the sight of my tears, and then wrapped his arms around me. "Then I shall grieve with you, dear Laewyn, for Lothlorien will not be the same without you."

--

The forests of the Woodland Realm were once so lush and so beautiful that they were called Greenwood the Great. But while it's trees still grew thick and wild, now they strangled the light of the sun, casting only shadow and a heaviness upon its vastness.

The Elven road and surrounding woods that lead to King Thranduil's stronghold had once been among the safest, but since the return of Sauron's power, all manner of beast had creeped into its heart and infested its branches.

My Uncle had sent along a guard of several Lorien soldiers, and King Thranduil, himself, had lent more of his own to meet us on the road near the mouth of the forest.

With them, we rode upon horses with cautious ear and eye, trained upon all rustlings and rushes of wind.

While Mirkwood's soldiers moved quietly and with confidence, my own showed some wariness, often pausing with their horses to listen.

Nevertheless, we moved with haste, and did not truly stop until we had reached a great river, when the guards of Mirkwood stayed their horses entirely.

"Will we not cross?" I asked them.

"Not unless you wish to fall into the deepest of enchantments, My Lady," said Feren, a Mirkwood elf who had introduced himself to us as the King's Servant.

"Then how are we to go on? Is there a bridge somewhere?"

Feren smiled very subtly, and then uttered words in the old Elven language, "Nemesta ye etsurya."

Before us, branches lifted from beneath the water as sinewy arms, while those from the nearest trees stretched forth to wrap themselves together, forming a pass over the rushing water.

Though I was relatively young for an elf, I had seen many mystical sights in my one-thousand and five-hundred years, living amongst the lighted woods of Lorien, with the mind's eye of my Aunt Galadriel upon us all. But I will admit to being impressed by this. The elves of the Woodland Realm seemed very adaptable to even the most difficult of surroundings.

I had hope they would acclimate to my presence, as well.

We crossed the river and I looked back, fascinated by the creeky unfurling of limbs as our bridge of branches dismantled itself.

This realm had a sense about it, one of deeper magic than I had ever known. It was unnerving, how the very air I breathed felt infused with some faintly crackling mist, and yet it was rich, too. It left me feeling fuller somehow.

"It is not far now," said Feren, and indeed, very soon the tree tops began to lighten, and more sun fell upon the forest floor. Then, the trees themselves thinned a bit, and parted, revealing at the end of the Elven road a bridge of stone, and at its end...the great door of a fine structure built halfway into the earth.

It was Thranduil's palace.

Beneath the bridge was a river, and to the West of this a great waterfall. The sound of its water filled my ears and stilled my mind. I found myself paused upon my horse just to take in the sight of it, for I had always known a peculiar call to water, no matter the source.

"My Lady, the king expects us," said Feren in a tone that might have been normal enough to some, but I had been trained in the ways of empathy, and I sensed an anxiety about him. Feren clearly did not like to keep his king waiting.

So I nodded and smiled at him warmly, and we finished crossing the bridge to the great door.

Two guards approached the entrance and opened it, and I got down from my horse, my legs finding their bearings.

"We will see your things in, My Lady. You may go with Feren," said another of the Mirkwood elves, a female with auburn hair.

"Oh, I thank you."

"Of course."

Another elf said, "I will alert the king to her arrival." And with this, the remaining Mirkwood elves dispersed, and I and my own guards followed Feren into the depth of the palace.

I had never seen anything of its kind before, with orange light cast from Elven torches mounted everywhere, at many levels, for the palace had been built into a series of great caverns in the earth, with tree branches winding above and below and all around.

It took my eyes some time to get used to the lack of light, for even Mirkwood's forest offered a hint of sun, but this was devoid of it.

I felt a sinking in my stomach, missing already the glow and the great lights of Lothlorien, but this I cast aside for the moment, for I wished to be in better spirits upon introduction to the king.

Feren led my party  over a thin foot bridge and into a large open space. We stopped at the base of a steep, winding staircase, at the top of which sat a throne.

But no king.

Feren cleared his throat. "He will be along shortly," he said.

"He is already here," came a deeper voice, smoother in tone.

"My Lord," said Feren quickly, and an elf stepped from a shadowed corridor to our left.

Feren needn't have announced him at all, for there was no mistaking such a demeanor.

King Thranduil stood tall--taller than me, by far, with head held straight and high. His hair was golden yellow... nothing like the browns and reds of the other Mirkwood elves, and more like my own people.

His face was slightly upturned, and he approached us lithely, stopping in front of us at the base of his staircase.

I had heard of his fairness before, but I will admit that I was not sufficiently prepared for it. He was truly beautiful, but he wore such a superior expression that I found myself standing taller for it. Or in spite of it. Either way, I felt I must elevate myself somehow simply to stand before him.

"My Lord, Lady Laewyn," began Feren, "your Healer, niece of the King Celeborn and of the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien."

King Thranduil tilted his head downward just a bit and looked at me this way. Then he said, "Lady Laewyn...what is your age?"

"I...I am fifteen-hundred years old, My Lord."

His eyes widened for the briefest instant and he said, "You are a child. Has Lothlorien not a single advanced Healer to spare for the King of the Woodland Realm? Are you to teach elves twice your age?"

"Your Grace, I have practiced healing for a thousand yea--"

"You've practiced, but have you done?"

"Certainly. I have healed many of Lorien's soldiers after attack."

"Lorien...Lorien barely engages in battle at all," he said, dryly, passing a smirk to Feren. "Have you healed 20 of its wounded in your thousand years of practice?"

With this I could feel the rush of blood to my face. Whether it be from humiliation or anger, I could not rightly say, but likely it was both.

"I have healed a number beyond my own reckoning, My Lord," I said, trying like mad to keep a firm voice.

He took me in again, and this was the single most unnerving thing imaginable. Everything about him suggested swift, harsh judgment. "Lothlorien was my second choice. I had sought the skill of Imladris."

I sighed in frustration, which I barely contained from notice, and said, "Well these are dark times, My Lord. And what fate delivers us, we must make the best of it."

He raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

Then I stood in silence, waiting for him to say something more...anything at all that did not involve his disdain for my age. Finally, "You will be informed should your services be required...You may go," he said, nodding in dismissal. As if I were a child. As if I were his servant.

Feren turned to me and said, "My Lady, I will show you to your chambers."

I stood, feet nearly chained to the floor in perplexity, still staring at the king. Then my own guard nudged me and I turned foot,  following the elves in rather stunned silence, only glancing back briefly to find that the king was already gone.

Not once had he offered an acknowledgement of my long journey, nor any gratitude for the kindly offer of Lorien's help. He'd acted as a king led to expect a different Healer entirely...one who was not me.

We stopped just short of a long, deep corridor. I turned to my guards. "My friends, I thank you for your help. Feren, will you see that they have food and rest before journeying again?"

"Yes, My Lady."

My head guard, Rosgon, said to Feren, "And My Lady? Will she be attended to?"

Feren nodded. "I promise you, she is being attended to as we speak."

Rosgon gave the King's Servant an uncertain look, then added, "Might I say goodbye to her privately for a moment?"

"Of course. I shall be in the corridor when you are ready," he addressed me.

"Thank you," I said

When Feren was out of sight, Rosgon spoke to me quietly. "Well, that was a rather rough start."

I shook my head and sighed deeply. "I do not understand his attitude towards me. If he was not accepting of my age from the start, why did he agree to my coming here at all?"

"I cannot say, but, if any of us knows the depths of your mastery it is us...your soldiers, and I loathe to leave you here with one who possesses no fathoming of it."

I smiled at my protective guard and laid a hand upon his arm. "Your love and appreciation is all I need," I told him. "Do not worry for me. I shall be fine," I said, though in truth I had no idea whatsoever if this was true or not. "And Rosgon...a favor..."

"My Lady Laewyn...anything."

"Please do not mention anything to my uncle about the king's...less than warm welcome. He need not be troubled over it."

Rosgon hesitated, but agreed. "All right. But promise me, should this become too much to take, please...send word. I will personally lead the guard to come and rescue you," he said, chuckling softly. "I'll bring the Marchwarden. We'll storm the palace."

I laughed at this, which lifted my spirits a bit. "I promise you I shall."