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I always loved fairy tales and fantasies growing up. They weren’t anything like real magic, of course—written by and for mundanes, with not even a spec of understanding of mana and malia and artifice and alchemy and incantations. But I didn’t read them because they were about magic. I read them because they were about people. Each hero would face an inhumane enemy, one so inhumane that it was really only an external metaphor for an internal struggle. Bilbo Baggins faced an enemy of greed incarnate, Will Stanton faced fear incarnate, Taran of Caer Dalben faced death incarnate. The magic they used may have been very different from the magic of the world I walk and breathe in, but these people and their enemies were real to me nonetheless. After all, don’t we also have our great internal enemies made into external malificaria? It’s well-known that every use of malia leads to the creation of such an enemy, and the ones I lived in such fear of, the ones who were my greatest enemies and the greatest enemies of my only daughter, were even named for the evil traits they embody. I am referring, of course, to patience and fortitude.
Galadriel hates her name, and when I had reached a settled state in my heart, I could recognise why. And yet, what else could I have named her, she who in my darkest moments gave me the light I needed to find my path again? She who in the deepest moments of my despair lifted me out of it? El knows that I love her, she knows she is precious to me, but she cannot know how she saved me, how she continues to save me every day. The Lady of Lothlórien gave to the ringbearer the star of Eärendil. My El gave me much the same gift.
That is not the only way the Lady of Lothlórien inspired me.
“A mirror?” asks Gareth, laughing. He and Megan, his wife, are in the second day of a wellness retreat at the commune, part of a group of six who are already feeling the strain of the diet and the communal showers. Gareth looks down at the shallow pool, then looks to Megan and raises his eyebrows, inviting her to share in the joke. “Shouldn't mirrors be reflective?”
Their demeanor is mocking, and they look down at me like an eagle might look at a pet goldfish—pitiable, and not worth the effort to capture and consume. Why are you still putting up with this? El would always ask me. Why do you put up with them? Perhaps I am being too patient, as she has always thought I am. Perhaps I am showing too much fortitude. And yet, his words are reasonable, and as usual, I choose not to take offense. “They should,” I agree, smiling. “Not all mirrors work all the time. Some only serve their purpose in bright light. This one can only be used at night, in the light of the full moon.”
“Ah,” says Gareth delicately, and Megan turns her face away, biting back her laughter.
It does sound a bit hooky, but the style suits our setting, so I don't explain the way the darkness turns the bottom of the little pond black and opaque, and the dim light of the full moon is just enough to summon reflections from the surface of the water without overwhelming it. They didn't come here to learn about physics, after all.
I look up at the sky, considering. The late morning sky is heavy with clouds, but the crisp autumn wind will blow them away soon enough, and the air tastes dry. It will be clear by moonrise, certainly. “Come back tonight,” I tell my audience. “We'll have a full moon to guide us.”
“Saw that through the clouds, did you?” asks Gareth, and Megan can no longer hold in her giggles.
A third visitor, Margie, looks over at the couple from where she's learning about basket-weaving and frowns.
“No.” The moon pulls at mana like it does at the seas, creating ebbs and flows in the patterns of the tides. It doesn't take much to feel the changes; just quiet, and a listening ear. “My calendar shows the phases of the moon as a little picture in the corner. You can buy one at Tesco, if you’re interested.”
Megan collapses into her husband’s side, actually clutching her stomach as she laughs.
I have often told El how I appreciate that she is so alike her father, so that I can still keep his memory alive with us. The truth is, though, that her similarity to Arjun ends with her appearance. Arjun was effortlessly and thoughtlessly kind, blessed as he was to come from a large, protective family untouched by malia and its products. He chose kindness, but it was not an informed choice; the unkind alternatives did not even occur to him. He did not understand the Scholomancy and how to survive it, but he was fortunate enough to be surrounded by people who did.
No, El with her dark moods and long internal moral debates isn’t much like her father in personality and temperament. That, she gets from me.
“Are you alright?”
I look up from my basket of herbs to see Margie crouching awkwardly beside me. “Yes, thank you,” I reply. “Are you?”
Margie’s smile is a soft thing, quiet and wistful, very different from the other expressions she wears. “It's only, they were rather rude, weren't they?” She nods her head at where Gareth and Megan are strolling through the commune, hands linked loosely together. “I hope they didn't upset you.”
“They came here to relax, and they seem to be having fun. I hope they found what they were looking for.”
Margie hums, injecting a heavy dose of disapproval into the sound. “Seems to me, they could have fun without it being at others’ expense.”
“Perhaps.” I finish tying my bundle of herbs and set them aside in a second basket to be dried. “But it takes a great deal of focus, effort, and care to live life without it being at others’ expense. Very few manage it.” I run my hand through my basket again, feeling for the next herbs to weave together.
“I suppose.” Margie fidgets, dissatisfaction coming off of her in waves. “What're you making, then?” she asks, gesturing down at the basket. “Potpourri?”
“A poultice," I correct, but I'm smiling a little. Many of the plants are very fragrant, it's true. “But I hope that whoever receives these bundles will use them in whatever way best serves their health. Maybe that will end up being for scent after all.”
“How darling,” says Margie vaguely.
“Will you come to see my mirror tonight?” I ask her.
She blinks at me and then shrugs. “Alright.” Margie smiles her lovely smile again. “Why not?”
I wonder which of her faces I'll see tonight.
It’s strange that El doesn’t see it. Maybe it’s because of a young child’s endless belief in the strength of a parent, or maybe it’s that I hold myself too far distant from her despite myself, so that she can’t see how alike we are. She and I aren’t like Arjun, who held a passionate belief in the goodness of the world, a belief that was addictive. I know that we are surrounded by people, and people commit evil deeds for a myriad of reasons. We cannot rely on the goodness of others, though I know that El thinks I do. I do not rely on their goodness, because I do not believe in it. Inside, I open my eyes to every choice before me, and I choose the kindest option. I ask that others around me make the same choice, and sometimes they do, and sometimes they don’t. Sometimes, the kindest option doesn’t occur to them. Sometimes, the kindest option is the most painful one. But there is always a choice, and all we can do is hope that we’ve chosen wisely.
“Well,” says Gareth jovially. “What do we do? All hold hands and sing?”
Megan snorts, and Margie’s lips pinch together, their ends turned down sharply.
“What a lovely idea.” I reach out my hands on either side of me. Margie takes one of my hands, giving me a supportive nod, and Megan takes the other, grinning. Gareth winks at Margie as they close the circle, and she looks away sharply.
“Does the mirror show us the future?” asks Megan, peering down at the pool. The moon is still too low on the horizon to brighten the water, so the mirror is dark.
“It shows us what all mirrors do,” I tell her. “Our reflections.” Margie shivers. The air is growing chiller, and we're too far from the bonfire to feel its warmth. “Close your eyes.”
“Bit hard to see the mirror like this,” Gareth comments, but he closes his eyes sportingly.
“A mirror can show us many truths. We must look within ourselves to decide which truths we are ready to see, and which truths we are ready to become.”
“Here we go,” mutters Megan, and Gareth huffs a laugh.
“Our task tonight will be to imagine ourselves. First, draw a picture in your mind of who you are now, at this precise moment. All your perfections and flaws, all your light and dark, all your fears and hopes. Draw yourself, and then hold that image in your mind.”
I draw myself, the mother. I draw myself, the healer. I draw myself in the agony of terror and the joy of relief.
“Can we open our eyes yet?” asks Margie abruptly.
“Patience is a virtue,” Gareth intones with mock severity.
“And a sin,” I tell him, and his eyes blink wide and shoot over to me. He frowns when he sees that my eyes, too, are open. I smile at him. “All states have two faces. If we lie in wait with the intention to do evil, can we call that patience a virtue? If we act rather than wait to save someone, can we call that impatience a sin?”
“I suppose I never thought of it that way,” Gareth replies, finally uneasy.
“All states have two faces, and all faces come from our choices. Open your eyes, and look into my mirror.”
The full moon has finally crested the canopy to spill its silver light across the surface of the water. Even so, our reflections are dark and dim.
“This is who you are now. But it isn't who you will be tomorrow. You stand now at a crossroads. We are always all standing at a crossroads, and each step we take brings us to a new one. We stand before the crossroads, and we stand at each end, as well. To choose our path forward, we must simply see ourselves and choose the version of ourselves that we want to become. Close your eyes.”
They do—Margie pale, Gareth frowning, Megan still smiling.
“Draw yourselves as you wish to be. Your strengths on display, your weaknesses bolstered, your fears calmed, your dreams made real. Draw yourself, and then hold that image in your mind.”
I draw myself, the mother. I draw myself, the healer. My daughter is with me overflowing with ferocity and joy, the children of the world grown up wise and safe and well.
“Open your eyes, and look into my mirror.” The moon has risen higher, and the images in the pool are brighter, clearer. “This is who you are now. What choices must you make for the person in the water to become the person in your mind?”
“Make good choices and stick them out, eh?” There is a new edge to Gareth’s cheerful voice.
“Fortitude.” I look down at the image in the water—a woman, just now taking her first few steps into middle age, but faded from treading the same tired path for so many years. A wilted English rose. “Where is the virtue in staying the course when the course is wrong? We must be ready to see ourselves and our paths truthfully and make new choices when needed.”
“Be impatient and timid, got it,” says Megan cheerfully.
“Well, my new choice is to hurry impatiently over to the bonfire.” Gareth shudders theatrically. “I lack the sinful fortitude to face this bloody cold.” He looks over at me and gives me a silly little salute. “Thanks, Gwen.”
Megan laughs and slaps him on the shoulder, and the two wander away, hand in hand.
“You know why I came here, don't you?” asks Margie. Her face is wet. “That was all for me, wasn't it?”
I don't, and it wasn't. “You have some choices to make.”
“That—that nonsense about patience and fortitude. You know what I've been planning, you know that I—”
“I know that it will be warmer by the fire, with everyone else.”
When we reach the fire, there are new faces waiting for us.
“Mum,” says El. “I saw you over by my mirror. It's a good night for it.”
“It's a good night,” I agree, cradling my daughter close.
“Your mirror?” asks Margie sharply.
“It's Galadriel’s mirror, isn't it?” says El. “And I'm Galadriel.”
“Oh!” says Orion. “I thought it seemed familiar. Another Lord of the Rings thing?”
El gives him a cold look. “Anyway,” she continues pointedly, nodding her head at Margie, Gareth, and Megan, who are all looking at them curiously. “What did those wankers see, then? I hope there were no fiery eyes and mountains of doom.”
Margie stiffens, but Megan laughs. “It was fun!” she says. “A bit like the sort of thought exercises my therapist runs me through, but the ambience and the mysticism makes it charming rather than irritating.”
“Does it?” asks El. “It's only ever irritated me.”
“That's because you already know how to see your choices,” I say fondly. “You don't need a mystic mirror for that.”
“I just need to get over my patience and fortitude, is that it? A swift kick to the arse is your solution?”
“You've always been stronger that way than I am.” Though there have certainly been some sharp turns in my life, I've walked the same patient path with fortitude for decades now. My daughter has always inspired both my driving force and my inertia.
“I learned it from you,” El says, a strange smile on her lips. “I learned everything from you. When to be patient, and when to be hasty. When to have fortitude, and when to stop.”
“When to be stubborn,” Orion agreed.
“And?” asked El.
“And what?”
“That's my question. Stubborn and what?”
“Is there an ‘and’? I thought we were just listing off your dominant traits.”
I laugh as El smacks Orion on the shoulder. He isn't the choice I would have made for El, but he is her choice, and she is mine. I am learning to live with it.
“Your daughter?” asks Gareth with a raised eyebrow. I nod, smiling. “She doesn't resemble you much.”
“You think so?” I look up at my daughter, a tall vision of black hair and elegant features, my hand almost seeming to glow in contrast where it's resting on her arm. Her dark eyes linger on Margie for a long moment as she makes a survey of the little group, and the intensity of her stare makes Margie shiver. “I think she resembles me a great deal.”
Despite everything I’ve tried to teach her, El held a long belief that she was destined for evil. And yet, through her tantrums and her moods and her cold words, El has always chosen the kinder option, and I believe she always will. She holds herself to such a high standard. I hope that someday, she will look in the mirror and see herself for what she is—a person. If choices define the person, then she is a good one. I hope she sees that, and I hope it is always within my power to open her world to as many choices as she needs.