Before the Mirror of Galadriel, the Lady of Lothlórien revealed many things. At the same time, she resisted the temptation of the One Ring and passed her own test.
In the near future, she would accept her fate, to return to the West, to Valinor, the Blessed Realm, and no longer dwell in Arda.
From that moment on, the fate of the One Ring was no longer connected to her.
"This task is appointed to you, Frodo. If you cannot do it, no one can."
"I know what I must do... but I'm afraid to do it."
Frodo looked away, feeling the weight upon him grow heavier once more. Worry filled his heart.
Galadriel gazed at him and said softly, "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future."
Though he had heard those words before, they filled him with great strength. He clutched the Ring tightly, his heart firm once more.
---
After resting, the Fellowship gathered their resolve again and prepared to set out.
Celeborn offered them counsel.
"Your path is not safe. The two cities between the North and South Undeeps are caught in war. The northern front has reached a stalemate, and a wingless dragon, fleeing from the Northern Waste, has crashed into one of the Free Cities' fortresses. Though it cannot breach the walls, it has caused great trouble. Yet this too is an opportunity. The chaos of war can serve as your cover. If you travel along the opposite bank, you can avoid the enemy."
"Take the river route to the wildlands near the northern plains of Rohan, then abandon the boats and journey south through Rohan. It will be the safer road."
"The journey will be long. May fortune go with you."
Celeborn gave them his blessing, and the company bowed in gratitude.
Before they departed, Galadriel arrived and distributed the gifts she had prepared for each member of the Fellowship, gifts that would aid them on their way. Many of these gifts held deep meaning, stirring emotions and memories that lingered long after.
Once more, the Fellowship set out, rowing swiftly down the river.
When they reached the border of the North Undeep and the edges of the war zone came into view, they disembarked and pulled their boats ashore.
That night, they rested and discussed their next course.
At times like this, the absence of a wizard was sorely felt, for a wizard's knowledge and insight often illuminated many possible paths.
But he was gone.
"I can already hear the noise from the Undeeps, the clamor of battle horns. Taking the river any farther would be unwise," Boromir suggested. "As that elven lord advised, we can head south through Rohan and reach Gondor. I know the way. My father once told me of their journey. It happened long ago."
The others turned their attention to him, and he continued, "When my father was young, he traveled here with my grandfather, with Garrett, and with the previous king of Rohan. At that time, the twin fortresses of the Undeeps had not yet been built. During that journey, Garrett kindled what became known as the 'First Flame,' an ever-burning bonfire that later became the emblem and banner of the two cities."
"Their journey must have been remarkable," Aragorn said, smiling as he pictured the scene.
Boromir sighed.
"Yes. Even someone like my father remembers that rare, unrecorded journey with deep nostalgia, for those days long past, and for the companions who are no more..."
Of the four elders who once traveled together, only one remained in this world, an aged steward who had defied Sauron for decades, unyielding but now somewhat paranoid and stubborn.
The other three were gone.
Screech!
Just as the Fellowship was lost in reflection, a shrill cry tore through the night sky. Instantly, they drew their weapons.
"Nazgûl," Aragorn said, eyes fixed and unblinking as he searched the skies.
"Wasn't he supposed to be leading the campaign against Carrock in the North? Why is he here?"
"Perhaps something drove him this way," Legolas replied. "Look over there. Do you see that faint orange glow in the sky?"
"I see it. But what is it?"
"I don't know. But whatever it is, it's something even a Nazgûl would fear."
Whoosh!
The monstrous beast beat its wings, carrying the Nazgûl as it swept over the Fellowship. Its foul presence sent waves of dread through them all.
The four Hobbits were the most terrified. Ever since the Nazgûl appeared, they hadn't stopped trembling. Eyes wide open, they couldn't blink, afraid that if they did, the Nazgûl might suddenly be upon them.
Frodo suffered the worst. The closer the Nazgûl came, the more the One Ring writhed with dark intent, tormenting him with pain that tore at both body and soul.
There was no hiding it anymore.
When the Nazgûl drew closest, even Legolas and Gimli felt fear clawing at their hearts. Only two Men in the group kept their composure and met the creature's gaze.
One was Aragorn, his expression calm as he watched. The other was Boromir, eyes blazing with fury. The fear that Nazgûl inspired had long been burned out of him by years of battle.
Now, he wanted only to turn that fire upon the wraith itself, to make that empty shell of armor feel the wrath of Gondor's people.
"He's heading toward the North Undeep," Aragorn concluded after watching for a while.
"We can't let him pass unchallenged."
"Legolas," he called softly over his shoulder.
The Elf turned. Aragorn pointed toward the monstrous beast beneath the Nazgûl. Legolas instantly understood.
At that moment, the creature was gliding low above the forest, no more than two hundred meters away. Dangerously close, but not for them.
For the Nazgûl.
Legolas raised his bow. Fighting the overwhelming dread pressing down on him, he drew the string taut, focused under the moonlight, and released.
Whizz!
The arrow flew straight and true, piercing the beast in its most vulnerable spot.
One shot struck home. Without hesitation, Legolas loosed another, this time tearing through the membrane of its wings.
The creature shrieked in agony and plummeted into the forest below.
"Go!"
Aragorn shouted, charging forward. Boromir followed at once, with Gimli close behind, axe in hand.
Then came a sight to behold.
The Nazgûl, forced to land from an unseen attack, barely had time to recover before three warriors, two tall, one short, burst from the trees. In mere moments, their blades and axe hacked the monstrous mount to pieces.
Then they turned on the Nazgûl.
Moments later, Aragorn flicked his sword, Andúril, before sheathing it. Boromir slid his iron blade back into its scabbard. Gimli gave the fallen wraith's empty armor a couple of kicks, then looked at the others in mild astonishment.
"Your sword's craftsmanship is something else, Aragorn. You actually split the Nazgûl's helm clean in two."
"And Boromir, that strike of yours hurt him badly. His scream nearly deafened me."
"You weren't half bad yourself, Gimli," Boromir laughed.
"Your axe did its share of work."
The three of them burst into laughter.
And so, for once, the world saw the Nazgûl on the losing side.
---
Meanwhile, high above the snowy peaks, the Eagle King, having received a divine sign, took flight from his eyrie, soaring toward the summit above Khazad-dûm to greet the returning Gandalf.
Garrett too felt it, a stirring within his soul.
The One God, the omniscient and almighty Creator, gave him a gentle push.
The world itself was calling to his spirit and will.
It was time for him to return.