Galadriel moves silently from behind a mallorn tree as Aragorn strides past, returning to the Fellowship's encampment from the deep wood where he and Boromir have stolen away for a few brief hours. The other man left the depths of the forest before Aragorn, who is gripped by a sudden terror: Has the Lady of the Wood come to tell him that some evil has befallen Boromir, that he is gone to Gondor, that he has fled?

Yet Galadriel's countenance radiates the same calm as the moon, bright and luminous in the cloudless sky above the trees, her gown silver as the Evenstar in moonlight. "Come," she commands, and despite his sudden fear, Aragorn has no choice but to obey. The lady of the wood leads him into a wild garden where beneath the open sky stands a wide silver basin on a pedestal. Aragorn watches in silence as she fills the gleaming bowl with water that sparkles under the cold moon. Her eyes meet his as she approaches the Mirror of Galadriel, for so he knows this to be. The clear water in the basin will show what was, and what is now, and what may be on the morrow.

Aragorn feels as if he has been stripped bare before the Lady of Lothlorien with all the scars of his journey revealed. He feels a throbbing in his chest beneath the mark Boromir placed there so recently, and his arm moves reflexively to cover the spot, though his vest hides it from view. Despite his caution, he knows that his furtive meetings with Boromir have not escaped the notice of Galadriel. Nor has his uncertainty about his path, now Gandalf has fallen into shadow, for his heart and his vows pull him in many different directions -- to Gondor and to Rivendell, to Eriador and to Mount Doom.

"Do you wish to look?" she asks him, her eyes burning with the light of ancient stars. The cool night air makes Aragorn shiver as he glances at the still water in the basin, yet he knows that he cannot refuse this gift which may also be a curse. He steps close, mindful not to touch the shimmering surface. He thinks at first that he has cast a shadow upon the Mirror, but the image continues to darken until he realizes that he is looking at a fortress under siege in the night.

Images come faster than Aragorn can take them in. He sees Weathertop as it looked when he approached it with the hobbits and covered in the unnatural darkness of the Wraiths. He sees Rivendell as it looked on the morning when the Fellowship departed, then he sees it sliding into dusk, with hooded elves streaming away from the growing shadows. He watches Merry and Pippin practice swordfighting with Boromir, then stares in horror as enormous man-like orcs carry the hobbits away.

Helplessly he reaches toward the water, but the vision has already changed and he is looking at Minas Tirith, bright in the sunlight...he is looking at Arwen, who smiles joyously, crowned with a circlet and swollen with child. A man steps beside her. Aragorn is certain for a moment that it is Boromir, and he is filled with joy himself. But the face he glimpses is younger and the form less broad, though the man holds the staff of the Steward.

A moment later, Boromir's true face rises through the water, suffused with pleasure as it looked when Aragorn saw him earlier that very evening. Then the features grow dark, the smile twists into a snarl and Aragorn can see the Ring reflected in Boromir's eyes. Again his hand rises unbidden toward the Mirror, but before he can touch the surface, Boromir's head twists away from him and he falls away as if struck by an arrow.

"Do not touch the water," commands the Lady as if from a great distance.

"What does it mean?" Aragorn begs, and his words cut through the magic. Blackness swirls in the Mirror, then clears, leaving water that reflects only his own terrified expression and the serene eyes of Galadriel. Looking up at her directly, he asks again: "What does it mean?"

"Remember," she tells him, "that the Mirror shows many things, and some will never come to pass, save through the choices of those who behold them."

"Then why..." He gestures at the basin, now filled only with the reflection of moonlight and starlight over Lothloríen. "What can you learn by looking? Nothing is clear to me here, no more than before. What am I to do?"

"Did you learn nothing from what you saw?" Her voice is quiet yet it seems to echo through the woods.

Fear clutches at Aragorn; he shakes his head. "No," he whispers, though the word is not a reply to her question.

Galadriel's face is not unkind, yet her fair countenance is immutable as the massive trees of the Golden Wood. "You must follow your own path, son of Arathorn." The words are prophecy and decree, and he knows he will not escape the shadows that haunted his vision in the Mirror.

Then the Lady steps back from the basin, and she seems suddenly to diminish, the silver of her gown fading to pallor and the wide ageless eyes filled with sorrow. "The world is changing," she reminds him sadly, lowering her gaze. "Rest here, while you can. Heal your wounds and take comfort. The tides of Time will reach us soon enough."

Aragorn glances up at the moon, still and serene as it moves the tides of the seas. By the time he lowers his eyes, Galadriel has turned away and is moving like a white ship across the silver-tipped grass, away from the Mirror.

Boromir is still awake when Aragorn reaches their pavilion, sitting up with his cloak about his shoulders. "I was beginning to wonder whether my Ranger had gotten lost in the woods," he says softly.

"Galadriel wished to speak with me," explains Aragorn. In the dimness he watches uncertainty and fear cross Boromir's features, remembering how the man appeared in the Mirror, wild with rage and lust for the Ring. Aragorn feels a pain in his chest as if an arrow has struck him. He reaches out to Boromir and sinks onto the pallet beside him, heedless of their nearby companions. Boromir hesitates, then draws Aragorn under his cloak as the older man whispers, "We have so little time."

"It will be enough," Boromir replies, a little gruffly, though whether he is annoyed or moved, Aragorn cannot tell. He turns slightly, seeing himself mirrored in Boromir's eyes before they cloud and fall closed as their faces move together, sheltered from the moon.