A/N: Both the basic premise and the details of this story are based on the movies, so don't flame me for saying that Arwen rescued Frodo. I KNOW Glorfindel rescued him in the book! Also, this is my first fic ever, but you don't have to go easy on me in your reviews. After all, I am trying to become a better writer. Enjoy!
The sun had not yet risen when Arwen Undómiel began her ride to Helm's Deep. Still, she donned a plain cloak that concealed her pointed ears and most of her face. It also hid several items: a bow and some arrows, a small knife, and plenty of Lembas in case the trip took longer than expected. But the most important thing in her possession- the entire reason for her journey- was the sword Andúril, reforged from the shattered remains of Narsil.
Almost anyone else would have felt afraid to bear such a treasure, but Arwen rode confidently, knowing that she had carried something-someone-yet more significant. Yes, Frodo Baggins himself had sat upon this horse, and Arwen had protected him from the Black Riders. Delivering a sword to Aragorn could not possibly be more difficult.
Sure enough, the elf made her trip to Helm's Deep with no interruption, save a few water breaks for her horse, Asfaloth. Upon arrival, Arwen removed the hood of her cloak and slowly entered.
She glanced around. There were many people, yet not one whose face she knew. They were mainly women and children, who, as she would later find out, who had taken refuge there under the orders of King Théoden.
As she rode towards the Hornburg, the great fortress within, she began to spot more men, mainly Rohirrim, who seemed to think that Arwen was one of them, for they did not look upon her long enough to notice her smooth face and Elvish features. Nevertheless, she took comfort in their presence; it meant that Aragorn should be nearby.
Her heart ached with the thought. She had given little consideration to the matter before, but now that she was so close to seeing her beloved, she realized just how much she missed him. Each day after the Fellowship's departure from Rivendell had seemed to last an eternity, and Arwen almost knew what that felt like. She had lived over 2700 years, and had grown up with the idea that she would never die. Now that she was mortal, she was finally beginning to process what a long time this was...
"Lady Arwen?"
The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn't Aragorn's. She looked around, trying to figure out where it was coming from.
"Who is speaking?" she called.
"Down here." Arwen looked down and saw Legolas.
"Where is Aragorn?" she asked him.
"And good day to you to, milady," Legolas replied pertly. He must be learning manners from that dwarf, Gimli, Arwen thought, rolling her eyes inwardly. On the outside, however, she maintained a polite demeanor.
"Legolas, this is a serious matter. I must see Aragorn immediately. There is something very important that I need to give to him."
"If you mean that necklace he lost, I already found and returned it."
"That is not what I mean." She did not even think to ask why the necklace had been lost.
"What is it, then?"
Arwen glanced over her shoulder. A small crowd had begun to form. She did not want to reveal such a great treasure in front of them.
"I shall dismount. Then I will show you," she replied.
Legolas gestured for a few men to take care of Asfaloth once Arwen had dismounted. The she-elf took care to grab all her things before leading Legolas away from the others.
"What is it?" Legolas repeated.
Arwen swiftly pulled the sword out of its sheath. Startled, Legolas jumped back. Arwen looked at him solemnly. "Behold, Andúril," she whispered.
Fully understanding the situation now, Legolas promised to find Aragorn as quickly as possible, then scampered off, looking slightly embarrassed. Arwen put the sword away, not wanting to accidentally unleash its power prematurely. It was a strange feeling, holding a sword. She knew how to use one as well as the best warriors, but she had never needed to, not even at the Ford...
"Mára aurë," greeted Aragorn. Arwen looked up. She tried to remain calm, but the longing, the hurt, the sweet pain inside poured out, and she embraced him passionately.
"Im gelir ceni ad lín," she whispered, slowly letting him go.
Aragorn smiled. In one swift motion, he pulled her gently towards himself and kissed her. Arwen silently wished that he would never stop. She wanted to lose herself in the joy. She wanted to die this way, happier than any of her kin had been or ever would be. Then she remembered the sword. Very reluctantly, she pulled away.
"I have something for you," she told Aragorn. She pulled Andúril out from her cloak and handed it to him. "Your sword. It is reforged."
Aragorn stared at her, slightly bewildered. After a few moments, he managed a weak, "Thank you," but Arwen could see the momentary glimmer of fear in his eyes, for they both knew well that the sword would have to endure many, many battles.
