Author’s Note: This story will follow the plot of the books very closely. If you do not wish to have some idea of how things will happen, do not continue! I will be adding an original character (I have heard that she is not a Mary-Sue!) and will be exploring how her presence effects the way things happen in the story. This will be a romance. Many scenes that you are familiar with will be in here, but seen from the perspective of different characters. I hope that you will find it an interesting read. I certainly have enjoyed writing it, and have found that I actually have a better appreciation for the original, since I have had to analyze it so closely. All reviews are welcomed and encouraged. Thanks for taking the time to read my work!

        Moonlight bathed the glade where stood the Mirror of Galadriel. The clear splash of water on stone and the soft whisper of the breeze wafted up from below, reaching the ears of Nimoë, who stood nigh unto an ancient oak, guarding the path to the glade. The Lady Galadriel had summoned her from her sleep to accompany her to the mirror, and she obeyed without question. Yet, as always, Nimoë was to remain alone, awaiting her return, while the queen consulted the Mirror.
        Lady Galadriel’s sonorous voice began to intone words of wisdom, from deep in the Elven lore, so old that Nimoë could not follow what was spoken. A chill began to form in the air, slowly and with a feeling of menace. Nimoë wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the unnaturally frigid air. Her breath came in foggy puffs. A great dread came upon her heart and she retreated without volition, stopping only when her back came against the oak tree, which stood sentinel above the glade.
        Dark shadows separated themselves from the gentle, natural shade of the moon-bathed trees, and they advanced upon the Elf maiden, daring her to release her grip upon her soul. Feeling as if the chillness would steal her being away if she released her grasp, Nimoë fought the urge to flee. Her mistress and queen was below, and she could not leave her to face the terror alone.
        Finally, when Nimoë felt she could bear the cold and fear no longer, and the unnatural shadows had come within a handsbreadth of her body, the voice of Galadriel spoke one final word. This word was known to Nimoë, for it was the word used to command an ending.
        Although the word had been pronounced boldly, there was a hesitation before the wind swirled away, bearing the unnatural cold with it. The shadows were ripped away, although tendrils reached back as if to grasp the Elf maid. An inhuman cry of thwarted rage rang through the glade with their passing.
        Peace once again held sway in the woods of Lothlorien, and Nimoë stood away from the oak, her heart racing, and turned with trepidation to watch the Lady of the Wood mount the stone steps from the glade. It was with heavy tread, so rarely seen among elves, that Galadriel finally appeared. Her shoulders drooped and her eyes were filled with unshed tears. Without speaking, she motioned Nimoë to follow her, and was mutely obeyed.
        When the two Elven women had walked some distance from the glade of the Mirror, Galadriel turned to face her pupil. “Nimoë, long years have you spent here with me. I have given you training beyond that of ordinary elves. Yet still there is much for you to learn. Since you were sent to me from Mirkwood, I have fed the spark that I see burning within you. Your powers are great, but I fear that you have not the training to accomplish what must be done.”
        Nimoë gazed upon the radiant queen in wonder, not comprehending what Galadriel spoke of, and still shaken by the strange evil which had so recently come upon them. “Of what speakst thou, my queen? All that you have taught me I have striven to accomplish. The forest speaks to me. The stars show me things that are not seen by others. And still I am but a novice, a learner at your feet. You stand so far above me that I feel as if I am reaching for a star, even to be in your presence. I do not understand what must be done. Indeed, I do not understand what menaces us. I felt a great evil upon us at the Mirror, but surely I am not the one to face it. My queen, it must be you who can defend us against this evil.”
        With deep pain etched across her perfect features, Galadriel turned away. “Alas, my time has passed. I will soon pass into the West, and leave this world. The elves are fading, Nimoë. You know this. Yet there is something within you, something that clings to this land like a deep- rooted vine. Your time has not yet come. And so it must be you.” She turned again to lock her ice blue gaze with Nimoë’s clear grey. “I must tell you of things, of a time long past, which rises again in this present. Sauron is rising in Mordor. The one ring is moving. It will come to us, and we must give all aid to those who guard it. Only when the ring of power is destroyed will Middle Earth be free from the clutches of the Dark Lord.”
        “The Dark Lord rises?” Nimoë’s voice trembled as she spoke. “My queen, how can we stand against his power? When last he came into this world, the elves were at their strongest, and even with their vast army, and that of the kingdoms of men, scarce were they able to defeat him. How now, when we are truly fading, can we hope to bring him low?”
        Galadriel’s smile was slight, almost cynical. “Sauron understands many things: power, greed, hunger, death. These things he can control. What he does not understand is love. Through the power of love, it may be possible that the weak will be strong enough to stand against him, for love is the mortar of all beings of pure heart. Nine will set forth from Rivendell. The bonds of their fellowship may be forged strong enough to accomplish their task. Or they may break when pressure is applied to the weak points. Nimoë, when they pass through Lorien, you will accompany them. I have taught you many things. One thing I have not yet taught you is a means of strengthening the ties of love and friendship, which will grow of their own accord. I will teach you this craft, so that you may help to keep the company true. Only if they remain pure of purpose will the fellowship succeed.”
        Nimoë bowed her head in acknowledgement, the motion sending her fair hair falling around her, glowing in the moonlight like a nimbus of sparkling fireflies. “So be it with me as you have decreed, my queen.”
        Then, in silence, the two elves walked back towards their home among the trees. Both tall and radiant, they were a wonder to behold. The one both beautiful and terrible in her power, the other fair, with the innocence of youth still upon her. Both were caught up in their memories of the dread presence at the Mirror. Both looked towards the future, and how they might play a part. And both were afraid.