Synopsis. Galadriel stood at the edge of the mirror-like pool in the heart of Lothlórien, her silken gown shimmering in the moonlight. The fabric clung to her form, the delicate curves of her figure outlined in the glow of starlight filtering through the trees. Her breath was steady but deep, her chest rising and falling as she let her hands trail over the smooth, ancient bark of a nearby mallorn tree, its warmth pulsing under her touch.