"My esteemed Lady Galadriel," Eric murmured, staring into the silver basin. "What you're seeing might not be an empty reflection… but a pair of eyes staring right back at you."
The thought alone was enough to make his skin crawl.
He stiffly raised a hand toward the image in the Mirror, giving a tentative wave. It seemed polite, given the circumstances.
To his surprise, the reflection didn't mimic him. Instead, it smiled—a calm, knowing smile that somehow managed to feel both reassuring and deeply unsettling. There was a trace of warmth there too, as if the one in the mirror pitied him.
The reflected Eric gave a faint nod in response.
Then the surface of the Mirror rippled.
The image vanished.
Galadriel approached, her silver hair glinting faintly in the starlight. "What did you see?"
Eric rubbed the back of his neck, pretending nonchalance. "Nothing much. Just… my future self being a bit of a prankster, I suppose."
Galadriel paused, trying to decide whether that answer was profound or simply absurd. Eventually, she placed the silver ewer back on the pedestal and said nothing.
Pranking one's past self. Truly, it did sound like something this mortal would do.
At last, she inclined her head. "Then may your future be bright and full of peace."
"Thank you. And may yours be just as kind."
The strange little episode ended there.
That night, Eric didn't bother trying to sleep. Instead, he climbed to one of the high wooden platforms that wound around the massive trees of Lothlórien. The air was cool and fragrant, the view breathtaking. The forest canopy shimmered faintly under moonlight, and when dawn began to break, golden light spilled over the leaves like liquid fire.
He lay on his back until the sun rose, then finally decided it was time to head down.
At the base of the tree, he spotted an elf standing by the door to his guest chamber, a hand raised to knock.
"I'm here!" Eric called out, jumping the last few steps and landing with a grin.
The elf turned, startled. "Ah—Lord Eric?"
He was carrying two enormous burlap sacks. Eric peered inside and found them full of neatly wrapped lembas bread, each piece folded carefully in leaf packets.
"So much…" he muttered, staring at the mountain of food. "You could feed a company for weeks with this!"
The elf smiled. "Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn send their regards."
"Please thank them for me," Eric replied sincerely.
The elf nodded. "The Lady foresaw that you would say that. She asked me to tell you not to trouble yourself with thanks. You are always welcome here, should you wish to return."
Eric chuckled. "I'll remember that."
He was about to store the lembas when the elf hesitated.
"Please wait a moment, Lord Eric. I… have a personal request."
"Go on," Eric said curiously.
"May I see your sword? Just for a moment."
"Of course." Eric drew Nemesis, his favored blade, and handed it over.
The elf accepted it with reverence, sliding it free of its sheath. The polished steel caught the morning light, reflecting the pale gold of dawn. His fingers traced along the fuller, as though listening for a heartbeat within the metal.
"I can feel it," the elf whispered. "The blessing of our kin still lingers upon this blade."
He lifted his gaze, voice soft yet solemn.
"May its bearer cleave through thorns and darkness alike, and walk safely through fire and shadow."
As he spoke, the sword shimmered faintly, as if acknowledging the words. The elf sheathed it and returned it with a small smile.
"Thank you," Eric said, bowing slightly. "Truly."
The elf shook his head. "Think nothing of it, friend. The shadow grows heavier each day, slow but certain, like a deepening note in a mournful song. It has retreated for now, but it will return. If this blessing can aid you when that time comes, it will be thanks enough."
With that, he turned and left without another word.
Eric stood there for a long moment, blinking after the retreating figure.
"Well… I'll do my best. Promise."
He sighed. "But seriously, these elves and their mysterious farewells. Can't even leave a name?"
Still, Eric was not one to give up easily. He made his way to find someone who always knew everyone: Haldir.
"You wouldn't happen to know the elf who brought me all that lembas, would you?" he asked.
Haldir thought for a moment. "I did see someone carrying two very large sacks toward your quarters earlier. If I'm not mistaken, that was Kern."
"So his name's Kern? Figures." Eric nodded. "He gave me quite the poetic speech about light and darkness."
Haldir laughed. "That sounds exactly like him. He's… unconventional, even among us. If you rise early, you'll find him standing on the highest platform, watching the sunrise. Every single day."
"So, a worshipper of light."
"Precisely. He has always been drawn to radiant things."
"Radiant things, huh…" Eric murmured thoughtfully. "Guess that explains his blessing."
He adjusted the straps on his pack, glanced toward the forest beyond the golden trees, and smiled faintly. "Well, I've gained much on this journey. Time to move on."
After bidding farewell to Haldir and taking his leave from Galadriel and Celeborn in the grand hall, he stepped once more into the bright world beyond the woods.
"May the sun and moon guide your path," said the Lord and Lady together.
Eric inclined his head. "And may they shine kindly upon yours."
Soon, the golden forest fell away behind him. He crossed the flowery plains that bordered the woods, then turned not toward home but toward the Long Lake.
At the Black Forest border, the sound of hammering filled the air. Lifts creaked, miners shouted, carts rumbled down stone tracks.
"Careful with that slab! Good—now lower it there! Next one!" barked a stout dwarf with a beard so thick it looked like a curtain of bronze wire.
"Hey! Tie that rope tighter, lad! It's as strong as my beard and twice as reliable!"
The worker he was yelling at winced and muttered, "That's… not as reassuring as you think."
Even so, the laughter that followed lightened the air. There was something oddly comforting about dwarven humor—gruff, ridiculous, and impossible to ignore. Under their direction, the human laborers worked with growing confidence. Heights seemed less terrifying when someone below was joking about beard strength and falling rocks.
And indeed, the construction of the great elevated road was progressing faster than anyone had dared hope.
"At this pace, we'll finish it in less than ten years—no, five! Maybe even sooner!" Bard exclaimed, poring over reports in his office at Lake-town.
"No argument there," Eric said as he stepped through the door. "Thranduil even ceded the airspace along the bridge route. It's officially my territory now—completely safe."
"When everyone supports a project," Bard said thoughtfully, "it's bound to succeed."
"Unless they're all your enemies," Eric replied with a grin.
Bard chuckled. "So, how have you been?"
"Busy," Eric said, dropping into a chair. "Paid a visit to Azog's old home. His family wasn't exactly hospitable."
"That sounds like an understatement."
"Oh, and I met something huge down there. Stronger than a dragon. We fought for days, and neither of us won."
Bard raised an eyebrow. "Something that can fight you for days? Now that I'd like to see. My bow still remembers how to aim, if you ever need help."
Eric took a sip of tea, still steaming. "Appreciate the offer, but this thing isn't the sort of enemy mortal weapons can touch. Even your famous black arrow would melt before reaching it."
Bard blinked. "Melt? You're exaggerating."
Eric gave him a long look. "It's a being that even Sauron would treat carefully. A remnant of the First Age. The one that destroyed Khazad-dûm."
He leaned back, expression grave.
"The Balrog."