Here follows the tale of Bronwë, which few have yet heard…

"Bronwë, fetch in your brother from the gardens. The sons of Lord Elrond have returned from the north. There will be many songs tonight!"

"Yes, mama." Bronwë looked forward to days like this – everyone in the household would be so busy, no one would mind what she did. She could listen unchecked to the songs of the Blessed Realm, which filled Imladris with memories of mountains, valleys, forests, and of the Valar, and Valier – Varda, most beautiful of all, Yavanna, of things that grow in the earth, and Nienna, the Lady of Pity and Mourning.

"Estel! Where are you?" she called.

"Here! Were you scared on your own?" he mocked.

"Of course not." Estel had but two years on her, yet acted like it was many more. "Mama wants you!" she shouted, running laughing back to the house.

Later that evening she sat listening to the singing. One song ended, and another began, and the half-understood High Elvish words amazed her with their beauty, and the grief they portrayed. Elladan, Elrond's son, was sitting near, and noticed her transfixion.

"It tells the tale of Turin Turumbar and his sister, Nienor Niniel. Her name means both 'tears' and 'mourning'," He whispered, "it was an apt name for her"

Bronwë had not even realised he had seen her. Even though she had been born in Imladris, the sons of Elrond were scarcely known to her, and he seemed as a great elf-lord to the young girl.

***

Ten years of men had passed since that night. Bronwë was a young lady of eighteen years. One day, as she was sitting reading in the house of Elrond, she met with Estel. He seemed greatly startled by some strange thing.

"Have you seen Lord Elrond? He wishes to speak with you," said Bronwë.

"I have seen him, and he has spoken with me."

"Do not answer me in riddles, Estel."

"That is not my name, Bronwë - that is what he wished to tell me. I am Aragorn, and Arathorn was our father's name."

"Aragorn? We are then of the line of Elendil? You are Isildur's Heir? I do not believe it."

"Believe, sister, for that is the truth."

"Will you then go to Gondor?"

"Nay, I do not wish to be king… I am not destined to be."

Then Bronwë, with the foresight of her people, saw a glimpse of what was to be.

"You will restore the honour of our house… and rise above our forefathers," she said.

But Aragorn, not believing, went out alone.