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The Galadrim assembled silently at dawn. The sun was rising, but little light penetrated the grey clouds. The misty mountains, now so near, dominated the horizon. Their black silhouettes were sharp and unforgiving against the pale sky. The mood of the contingent was subdued somewhat by the darkness, but proximity to the mountains brought a feeling of success: they neared their destination.
It was past noon before the sun broke free of the clouds, at last revealing in full the towering majesty of the mountains before them. It was an awe-inspiring sight, and Gilduin found himself staring in wonder, though he had seen the mountains before. He turned to say something to Vaele before remembering that the archer was once again scouting ahead of the contingent. It was perhaps an hour before he returned to the company.
“Celeborn wants us marching with full ranks when we reach the mountains,” he explained, falling into step easily. “We will be entering the Nanduhirion Valley soon. Have you traveled this way before?”
“Once, many years ago. I recall little.” Gilduin said. “It is a beautiful place.”
Vaele nodded in agreement. “See how the arms of the mountain surround us? Now we are in the valley, which the dwarves call Azanulbizar. We will march a while longer, and then we will see the Mirromere.”
Gilduin glanced at the sky. The sun was poised above the mountains: in a few hours it would be resting on the highest peaks. A call to halt came suddenly from his right, and the contingent stopped. Celeborn and Eldegon called several curt directions: the first rank was to separate from the contigent and form a separate division to speak to those who would guide them through the mountains. Vaele and Gilduin obediently found positions in this smaller group, which moved forward a short ways ahead of the full contingent as they resumed their march. Before them lay the shimmering expanse of water that was the Kheled-Zâram, and beyond that, the Misty Mountains.
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