When Merry and Pippin saw the rest of their friends, they were happy and joyful.

When they learned that Miriel and Boromir had perished in their defense, their spirits sank all the way to their feet.

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In Rivendell, Elrond awoke from a strange dream. Arwen had sailed with her people, he was now the only one of his own blood left in Rivendell, his two sons off hunting orcs.

He had seen the shards of Narsil, and heard a familiar voice in his head.

All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost.

The old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadow shall spring.

Renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.

Reforge the sword, mellonin. The future of Middle Earth may well depend on it.

A flash of white light, and an image of the eyes of Lady Galadriel had filled his mind after this, but it had not been her voice he heard. The image around him was that of a room in Lothlorien. He opened the door in front of him and, across the way, saw Boromir of Gondor, lying unconscious on a bed. But that could not be right, he had seen the son of Denethor die! But, if he still lived...

Elrond turned, but did not see who lay there on the bed behind him. All he saw as he awoke, was a pair of piercing blue eyes fly open.

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He did not understand his dream, not in the slightest, but he knew who had spoken to him. So he went to the forges and the elves remade the sword of the king. Elrond rode as fast as he could to the encampment of the men of Rohan, hoping against hope that he would not be too late.

Aragorn entered, Theoden left, and Elrond spoke to the confused ranger.

"I come on behalf of one whom you love dearly, and who loves you in return." Aragorn looked at him in confusion, but once the sword was revealed to him, all was clear. Even the name had come from whispers in Elrond's mind.

Anduril, the Flame of the West. The sword of the King.

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