Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: I can honestly say that this is the only chapter of this story that’s really freaked me out, so far. Maybe because I wrote it during a storm in the middle of the night. Or maybe because of what’s in it. Please let me know what you think about it, in any case!

Chapter Nineteen: Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Finduilas leaned against the windowpane and stared out at the grey city. It was raining again, like it had every day for the past fortnight. This rain was unlike the rain at home, too, for it came in icy needles, hammering at the buildings of the White City with such force that she was amazed that no windows had been broken. The rain in Dol Amroth was different, just as fierce perhaps, but wilder and less intently murderous.

With a sigh, Finduilas turned away from the window and walked back to her chair by the fireside. Today was one of her rare days off, when she did not have to associate with the frivolous ladies from the court. She enjoyed these days, and usually spent them curled up in a chair reading. She had several new books today, as well, from an influential bookseller in the sixth circle, who always carried a variety of books and who had no problem with letting any literate person buy his wares.

Today, however, she was restless. Perhaps it was because of the new baby, or because of the rain, but Finduilas had no desire to sit still. She needed to walk, but did not wish to be joined by anyone. Then inspiration struck, as it sometimes did on rainy afternoons. Grabbing her fine cloak, Finduilas left her sitting room at a stride.

The unused wing of the palace was easy to reach from the portrait gallery. She knew that there was a more formal entrance somewhere, but had no idea where. There were parts of the huge Citadel that she had never seen, even in several years of living there, and she had no doubt that she would never learn all of its many secrets. It did not bother her, most of the time.

Ducking through the unlocked door in the alcove, Finduilas stood and looked around. She was standing in a long passage that was lined with windows. It was cold over here, so chilly that she could see her breath floating in the air like a phantom, and Finduilas congratulated herself on thinking to bring a cloak. This would make a nice walk. Smiling contentedly, she wandered slowly up the corridor, not really intent upon any one direction. She was content to follow her feet.

After a time she found herself in an upper hallway, one with thin windows every few yards and a once fine carpet on the floor. She looked out the window; it was still raining, harder than ever, the rain hitting the ground and bouncing up again before falling to join the numerous puddles. She looked away from the window, behind her. There was an oaken door carved in the wall, the only one for the length of the corridor. Finduilas felt a spark of curiosity; she had not yet looked into many of the rooms here. She had been a bit frightened by the quiet in this wing, and berated herself now for not looking into the rooms before. There was no reason not to. What harm could it do?

She opened the heavy door and went inside.

There was nothing remarkable about this large room; the walls were blue, and it was empty but for a table and a chair. There were not even any tapestries on the walls. Finduilas looked around and then up. There was a hole in the ceiling.

Putting the chair on the table allowed Finduilas access to the room on the floor above. She had passed a part of the wall nearby where a staircase had been removed; maybe it led up to this room. She knew it wasn’t the wisest thing to do, being with child and all, but she had awoken her curiosity and wanted to see what was there.

It was a large room, with a fireplace, a fine writing desk and a large bed. There was a cabinet full of books against one wall. The drapes were tightly drawn, and little light stole in between the cracks. Finduilas could just make out that there was something in the bed, tucked up like a baby. Curious, she moved towards the bed to see what it was.

“No.”

Finduilas whirled around, heart pounding, and jumped in terror. Behind her, standing next to the desk where no one had been before, was a very young girl of slender build, with light brown hair and green eyes that glowed in the darkness. She wore a dress the color of flame and stared piercingly at Finduilas. She had not been there a moment before; Finduilas knew that she would have seen her.

“No,” the girl said again, green eyes glowing. “The mirror.”

She gestured towards a mirror on the wall, and Finduilas, partly because she was stunned and partly because of her curiosity, took it off the wall and stared into it. It was not a big mirror, just a simple wooden thing with panels that folded out to reveal the mirrors. For a moment, all she saw was her face, and then the surface rippled and a succession of images flew before her eyes. Two men deep in conversation, looking furious; a caravan from Harad; a tower room. A man holding a young girl in his arms, stabbing her heart out with a knife. Finduilas dropped the mirror with a gasp of horror, feeling cold and sick.

“You looked,” the girl in red said, her soft voice tinged with something akin to glee. She spread her arms and whirled in place, a dance macabre. “You looked, you looked, you looked!” she sang.

Finduilas dropped the mirror and ran. She dropped through the hole in the floor and landed on the table. She leapt down and ran from the room back into the corridor and down the way she had come. Somewhere, though, she took a wrong turning and ran down first one staircase, then another. There was an intense pain in her stomach, and the girl’s words rang in her ears. “You looked, you looked!”

She burst into a huge ballroom. There was dust everywhere, coating the floor and hanging from the crystal chandeliers like long vines or tendrils of smoke. And there were mirrors. Oh, the mirrors! They lined one side of the huge room, reflecting everything in minute detail. For a second Finduilas stopped, gasping for breath and clutching her aching stomach. And then the surface of the mirrors rippled, and she saw the girl in the red dress beating on the door of her room, screaming and crying, and then the same girl lying weeping in her bed. There was a man next, a tall, dark man who looked past Finduilas and said, “Then I will let her die.” And then the tower again, but this time the door was open and she could see inside. And inside there were five women. And they were dead.

Finduilas screamed again, and the pain in her stomach reached a fiery intensity. She fell over with a retch and knew no more.

She partially woke hours later. It was darker now; why hadn’t anyone come? Her maid should build up the fire; it was so cold…why was the ground wet? Finduilas could feel moisture on her fingers, and raised her hand to her eyes, trying to see in the dim light. She couldn’t sit up. Her eyes focused on her fingers after a moment, and she saw blood. There was blood all around her. Finduilas moaned and fainted again.

The next time she awoke, it was because someone was patting her face and calling her name.

“My lady? My lady!”

Finduilas opened her eyes with a gasp. It was brighter; there were lamps shining all around her, but she was still on the bloody floor. She looked around and up; Thorongil was bending over her, grey eyes anxious. He had been the one calling her.

“Lady Finduilas? Do you know me?” he asked, his voice gentle but serious.

Finduilas whimpered and clutched his tunic. “They were in the mirrors; he killed them! You have to save the girl-!”

“Finduilas, I need to you focus,” Thorongil said, putting his hands on her shoulders and staring into her hysterical eyes. “You’re hurt, and we’re taking you home. Now, I need you to tell me: do you know me?”

He was insistent, and Finduilas was in no condition to convince him of what she had seen in the mirrors. “You are Thorongil, a Captain of Gondor,” she said weakly, tears in her eyes.

Thorongil nodded and helped her sit up, wrapping a quilt that someone handed him around her. “Yes, that’s right, Finduilas. You gave us all quite a scare, but we’re going home now. We’re going home.”

He spoke soothingly as he lifted her up, and Finduilas listlessly rested her head on his shoulder, the tears spilling down her face, body wracked with sobs. Thorongil led the way out of the ballroom, the rest of the search party following close behind. They moved quickly, but not quickly enough for her tastes. If she had had the strength to run, Finduilas would have been curled up under her quilt right then.

“I want my husband,” she whispered to Thorongil, and he gave her a comforting smile.

“I know, my lady. We’re going to him right now.”

Behind them, the mirrors watched. And waited.

*****

Arwen leaned over the enamel basin in her room and scrubbed her face. Because of the masquerades, dinners were shorter this week, and she was thankful it was so. The feasts had the power to be completely exhausting. She was grateful to be clad in a simpler gown now, although she would not be going to bed for some time. Eowyn would be back from changing her gown any moment now, and they would be reading the small diary. She grinned to herself; the look on Faramir’s face as he beheld Eowyn in the lovely gown and jewels had been priceless.

There came a knock on the door of the outer chamber; she heard Aragorn call out permission to enter, and then Eowyn’s voice greeting him. Arwen smiled and swept into the sitting room.

“Ready to read?” she asked, and Eowyn held up the little book with a smile.

“Yes, indeed,” the White Lady said. She glanced at Aragorn.

The King smiled blithely at her. “Your hint is taken, my ladies. I’ll be in the bedroom, Arwen, most likely on the balcony, making sure that nothing happens to either Eomer or Lothiriel, both of whom are sitting in the garden, looking at the stars. Enjoy yourselves, and shout if you need me.”

He stood, bowed, and walked into the bedroom, leaving the door open behind him. Eowyn looked over at Arwen, perplexed.

“What did he mean, Eomer and Lothiriel are looking at the stars together?”

Arwen smiled. “Just that there may be a queen in Rohan sooner that we all thought. Shall we start the journal?”

Eowyn nodded and opened it. “There are no names inside. It begins, ‘My father received a new mirror today, and took it immediately to his chamber without letting me look inside…’”

*****

Merry and Pippin stared at the Librarian in shock. “You mean that mirrors are dangerous? But, but they’re only glass with silver backs!”

“I did not say all mirrors are dangerous. Only some.”

The Librarian gazed at the two hobbits mildly. He had just finished telling them Finduilas’ story, or a part of it. There was more, much more, but he did not know all of it. There were some things that the Lady had not told him, but whether that was because it had been too horrifying or because she did not know, he knew not.

Pippin was thinking hard, brow creased. “So, you’re saying that the ghost of Alatarial got Finduilas to look inside a mirror, and it sparked some sort of magic? How?”

The Librarian shrugged. “I do not know that, Master Took. But I can tell you some of it. Belecthor the Second was an alchemist. He worked with base metals during his rare free time, and there was a rumor that he was provided with chemicals from far off Harad. This rumor was fact, but more complicated than everyone would assume. Seregon of Dol Amroth supplied these mirrors to Belecthor-”

Pippin interrupted with a cry. “We’ve heard of him; Lothiriel told us that he was an evil killer!”

“She was right, but the story of Alatarial and Seregon is more complicated than that. Seregon supplied Belecthor with mirrors from Harad that were supposedly magic. No one in the West knew what these mirrors could do, and Belecthor wanted to find out.

“What he found was more dangerous than anything you can imagine a mortal man can create. It was not as powerful as the Shadow, but it was certainly dangerous.”

He paused and poured himself more tea. The hobbits watched him anxiously, both feeling jumpy as the candles flickered and danced in the darkness. A cold wind whistled around the house, banging a shutter against the wall outside. The Librarian put down the teapot and sipped his tea.

“You must pay attention now. I am going to continue my story.”

*****

Eowyn lowered the book and gazed at Arwen, heart pounding.

“Oh, dear,” was all the Queen could think of to say.

TBC