The air is collapsing inward as the horizon draws close and a Mage stands before her here. Where is here? There is a moment of confusion and then he speaks, his apology ringing across the space between them, and reaches for her head.

Wake up.

Galadriel's eyes open with a start and the world appears before her in startling clarity. Her dream passes, as they all do, but too quickly for her preference. She grasps, past the whispers of the One, the cold and darkness of the grinding ice, and pulls the stray thread. The face is no guarantee, dreams work strangely, but she knows that voice.

Unfortunately, she knew not what to make of this.