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Galadriel returned to the Glanduin later that night. Her reflection stared up from the black mirrored surface of the river. No crown, no armor, no dagger at her hip. No Dark Lord standing at her side. She thought of Finrod’s words so very very long ago, and found them utterly useless to her now. She’d sunk like a stone, straight down into her enemy’s hands. Worst of all, she’d been tempted to let herself drown.
Perhaps the orc – the Uruk – had been right. To find Morgoth’s successor, the heir to all his darkness, she need only look in a mirror.