When I awoke, my wounds had been tended to. I still ached but it was bearable. I got up from the bed finding that my armor had been repaired and I was wearing a white tunic. A skilled healer had taken care of the burns on my skin. A low fire burned in one corner, adding warmth. My pack was undisturbed and ready for a journey.

I found that I was in the House of Elrond. The room I had been healed in was just off from the Hall of Fire. I closed the door leading out and shed the elven cloth, my armor was more preferable. I left my sack, but not my weapons. The Hall of Fire was warm and inviting. A fire in the central hearth cast it's warm light over gentle blues, golds and whites.

Leaving the abode of Elrond, I breathed in the autumn air. I needed to find someone who could identify the axe I had recovered. At the Spire of Meeting, an elf approached me. His hair brown and robe red as the autumn colors. "Mae govannen, friend. My name is Gonediad, a student in the lore of Eregion." Prefect timing. "Danagor." I greeted. "Could you identify this axe for me? I found it in Thorog's neck." I revealed the axe to the elf, the double sided axe head engraved with elven runes. It was still sharp, the metal untarnished by the ages.

The elf picked up the axe and his eyes widened slightly. "You have done the impossible, Danagor. I never believed this hour would come. Mírdanant, the Axe of Durin the Fifth, a gift from the Elves of Eregion, returned from out of the darkness." Gonediad lifted up his voice. "Hear me, Elves of Imladris!" The shout was well audible, the voice echoed throughout the valley bouncing off the hills. No doubt every elf in the Hidden Valley heard it.

A crowd of elves soon gathered. "What has excited you so, Gonediad?" An elf asked from the crowd. Lord Elrond, his sons, Gandalf, Bilbo, appeared from the Last Homely House. An elf maiden walked next to Lord Elrond, the same one that had approached me before I fell unconscious. This could only be Elrond's daughter, Lady Arwen. "Yes, Gonediad, tell us, though I suspect I know the cause of your delight."

Gonediad had called every elf in the Hidden Valley. "You have it aright, my lord. The dragon Thorog is defeated!" Mutterings and whispers from the crowd. "Is this true?" An elf whispered. Bilbo spoke up. "Now, I know a thing or two about slaying dragons, you might say, and it isn't easy. Smaug himself was quite a terror, you know, and this Thorog sounds just as mean-tempered! So, Gonediad, who could have done this? Don't leave us in suspense!" Gonediad smiled. "Danagor braved the dangers of Helegrod and defeated the dragon Thorog!" The crowd turned towards me, more whispers. "Can it be so?" Another elf asked.

Gonediad hefted Mírdanant. "Your eyes see true. For here is Mírdanant, returned from out of the darkness!" From the distance, I heard a dwarven horn. Gonediad lowered Mirdanant. "It appears, we have more guests." The elves turned to the paths leading up to the Misty Mountains. Gonediad passed me Mirdanant. I could see why. Some of the Dwarves were armed. Glóin had arrived.

"Greetings to you, Master Elrond, Lady Arwen, Burglar Bilbo." Glóin was still in his chainmail. "I heard that the Slayer of Thorog Reborn stays in Rivendell. Is this true?" Elrond approached the Dwarf Lord, who was at the head of a column. It was a token force of the army I had seen in the Misty Mountains. "You have heard true, Glóin, son of Gróin." Elrond spoke evenly. There was a tenseness in the air. "I am pleased to hear it! There was rumour too that the Axe of Durin, lost in the first defeat of Thorog, had been recovered." That explained it.

The Dwarves had come to reclaim the Axe of Durin. "This must go to the dwarves." It felt like a cold wind had blown in. Bilbo broke the stillness."Oh no! It's the Arkenstone all over again!" I approached the meeting between two lords. Both turned to study me. Elrond's gaze piercing as the winter winds, Glóin with an appraising look of a trader. Or a dwarven miner trying to figure out if he struck real or false gold.

"I didn't know that the axe in Thorog's neck was Mirdanat. I was poisoned by the Nazgul and the wound needed elvish treatment. Also, as the axe was given in friendship to the Dwarves from the Elves, it should be so again." I gave the axe to Elrond. Glóin stroked his beard. To say that Dwarves had a tense relationship to the Elves was an understatement.

Elrond presented the Axe of Durin the Fifth to Glóin. "It was given once in friendship, let it be so again." Glóin accepted the axe. "Well, I see. Yes, very good. We are at your service and your family's, of course! Let the old friendships never be forgotten!" Some of the tension left the air. "This seems like the perfect opportunity for a feast, wouldn't you say, Master Elrond?" Bilbo spoke up again. Elrond turned to the old hobbit. "You have just come from a feast, Bilbo! Have you forgotten?"

Bilbo grinned. "I still have one or two corners left to fill up, I'd say!" That earned a few laughs. Elrond smiled. "It seems I have no choice, my friends! Let us retire for preparation of the feast!" The dwarves quickly set up camp in a wooded area of Rivendell. Glóin stayed behind. "I owe you both an apology." Glóin turned to me. "No apology is needed, Danagor. You can tell a lot about the character of a man if they fight beside you in battle. You didn't strike me as a thief or a man of unhonest words. Besides, you prevented a skirmish between Elves and Dwarves over a family heirloom. Mahal knows that those types of wars are the bloodiest"

They left to help their kin set up camp. Climbing the path to the House of Elrond, I found that sunset was now falling. I had been out for a day. The weight of my pack told me I still had something to do. Behind the marketplace of Rivendell and down a path in the northwest corner, I found the forges. Elven smiths worked over forges, making armor and swords for the fight against the Shadow. The forges were made of white bricks and smoke rose from the fires. Sparks flew. Hammers clanged.

I approached the forges. A brown haired elf with robes of green and gold vines sewn in a cunning pattern, hailed me. "Well met, Danagor. Welcome to the Forges of Imladris. My name is Hemeldir." He was obviously a skilled smith by the way his hands were lined from labor. "I need lamellar armor to be crafted out of a special material." I showed him a scale from the dragon Thorog.

The elf smith cracked a smile. "Dragon scales, a highly prized armor material and difficult to work with because of its hardness. It can be done, but it will take a few days to make." I reached for the bottom of the pack, feeling for the jewel encrusted scale I had pulled off from the dragon's stomach. "I can pay you for the work in advance." I offered. Hemeldir shook his head. "I am Lord Elrond's chief smith. No payment is necessary. The work in itself is a reward." A few elves gathered the scales. "I shall send for you when the work is completed."

Hemeldir walked back to the bright forges. I made my way back to the House of Elrond. Stashing my gear in my room in the guest quarters, I walked past columns that reminded me of trees and everything seemed to be open to the air. I found my way to the libary and sat before the fire. The warm cracklings from the hearth dispelled some of the chills I had still from the mountains. I could relax for a time. I made a few more jottings in my my journal, just drawings of Thorog and the Nazgul I had faced. The Shadow was rising in Arda once again. My thoughts turned to Angmar. I had no doubt my paths would soon lead to that dark land.

The smell of food wafted down into the libary. I found my way back to the Hall of Fire. A feast was spread out. Ale and wine caskets had been brought up. A few meats, breads and vegatables were scattered around the middle. The meats looked to be brought up by the dwarves. A few harps added came into the hall and a quiet hush fell. "Guests from the many lands of Middle Earth, welcome to Rivendell. As of late, the dragon Thorog reborn was slain by two dwarves, Glóin and his son, Gimli. A man hailing from the shores of Evendim, also lent his aid. Let the old alliances of the Free Folk be remembered, for you have no doubt heard of the growing shadows on your lands." Elrond sat and the feast began.

A good warm meal away from the road eased my thoughts of the darkness out of Angmar along with my stomach. I could tell that the breads and greens came from Rivendell. Elves did hunt, though only for sport. The wine was smooth and warm going down, the bread flaky. Apples, Potatoes, Carrots, a collection of soups, pies, and casseroles were laid out. As night approached, the telling of tales began during the feast. Elves sung of the woods and streams of Middle Earth.

I retired for the night as the moon began to rise, a sliver crescent that lit the paths. I fell asleep soundly in the guest quarters. A cool wind blew, but I was comfortably warm. My eyelids grew heavy and I drifted into a dreamless sleep. I awoke to a bird call outside my chambers. The blue feathered bird tweeted once and flew off.

A knock on the door brought me out of admiring the sight of Rivendell spread before me. I hurriedly dressed in my armor. Once everything was in place, I opened the door. Hemeldir was waiting outside. "Danagor, your armor is ready and waiting. I must say, the work has been my best yet." I walked with him down to the forges. "I have no doubt that this armor I have crafted will see many things and win great renown." Hemeldir had great faith in his work. The way he said it made me wonder what else his elf eyes saw of the future.

At the forges, the red scaled armor had been polished to a shine. Glinting the color of red autumn leaves, the scales overlapped one another. It was obviously crafted with care and skill. The armor was light, yet flexible enough to allow free movement. I had heard of mithril, a metal that only the dwarves knew how to forge. This was the closest thing to it. A complete suit had been made.

I donned my new armor and sold the older. I didn't want to be weighed down. I put the helmet, gauntlets and scaled boots in my room. The more comfortable sturdy boots and gloves I kept with me. It wasn't long before I was summoned to a meeting of Gandalf, Aragorn, Elrond and Glorfindel to discuss the rise of Angmar.

The meeting was held on the east porch, the waters of the Falls of Imladris making it very hard to eavesdrop. For arches facing the falls were covered with flowering ivy, the smells of flowers and trees was carried on warm air, as if summer still held its sway in the gardens. A chair had been brought up for me. Glorfindel walked in his own column of light, the light of Valinor dwelled within him. I could believe the story that he was reincarnated from his death during the Fall of Gondolin.

The sun was at its peak when the council began. The meeting began without greetings, meaning that this was serious. Elrond spoke first. "We gathered here have seen the stirring of Angmar. The Nine ride again in these lands and the threat of war on Eriador is too grave to be taken lightly. With the Kingdom of Arnor no more and the Rangers scattered, Angmar could be the hammer that strikes the Free Peoples against the anvil of Mordor."

Aragorn spoke, his voice weary from some weight on his mind. "Last night, a falcon arrived from Daervunn in Esteldín, the hidden refuge of my people in the North Downs. It would appear that another such bird came to Esteldín from the North, gravely wounded, bearing a message from one of my kinsmen we had believed long dead. I fear that the news is grave, for Corunir was deemed lost years ago when his captain, Golodir, disobeyed my edict and took a company north into Angmar. They were never heard from again. It is a joy that Corunir lives, but what kept him from contacting us before now?"

Glorfindel nodded. "If news cannot come out of Angmar, then a friend of mine Iorelen is in grave peril. A few months ago, she journeyed into Angmar to the Rift, a place the servants of the Enemy call Nûrz Ghâshu. It is said that a great evil dwells there beneath the Mountains of Angmar, and he went to seek news of it. Glathlírel, another ally of mine, had gone long ago and did not return, though it is said among the Wise that the evil there was contained."

Gandalf nodded. "The evil there is great indeed and it is even more important for us to send someone to Angmar, while my charge goes east." Elrond stood. "It is decided, Danagor is to go north and find how things stand in Angmar." I had a feeling it had been already decided the night before. The council disbanded. Aragorn remained behind.

"I have thought long and hard about the task I am about to entrust to you, Danagor. Lord Elrond has already given his approval for this task that must be carried out in secrecy. I have borne this broken blade for many long years, Danagor. Always unused, for these are the shards of Narsil." I started backwards from the shock. Three tasks for Three Ages. "Narsil, the sword wielded by Elendil of Westernesse in battle before the Black Gate of Mordor, the sword that broke beneath him in battle with Sauron upon the slopes of Orodruin.

But it was not to be so! Though Gil-galad had fallen, and Elendil was slain, two still stood against the might of Sauron in the shadow of that fell tower: Isildur, the son of the king, and Elrond Halfelven, herald of Gilgalad. With a final effort, Isildur picked up the hilt-shard of Narsil and cut the One Ring from his finger, and the power of the Dark Lord was broken.

The light of Narsil was extinguished, but its shards came again to the North, though Isildur himself never returned from the Gladden Fields. The shards have been passed from father to son in his line for years beyond count, but the sword has never been remade. Alas, the old victories did not last and the Shadow has returned. We have need of Narsil's light once more. The Blade That Was Broken must be reforged."

"My Lord, I am unworthy for such a task. I am just a simple trader from the lake shores of Evendim." Aragorn grasped my shoulder. A ring of two serpents with emerald eyes gleamed, one crowned with flowers the other devouring. The Ring of Barahir. "You stopped being a trader the moment you stood against a Nazgul. I place my confidence not just in your skills, but in you. You will act in my stead for Narsil to be reforged."

My heart felt hot within me. Aragorn tied a band around my arm. The band was a work of art, showing both the White Tree of Gondor, the jewelled crown and seven stars of the House of Elendil. "Lady Arwen sewed that for the person who would act in my stead in this matter. Before you leave, I will tell all about my failing." I sat and listened. How could he possibly fail? He was my chieftain and rightful king of Arnor and Gondor.

"Of old, Elves of the house or Fëanor crafted numerous wonders, items of great power and beauty. Among these were the Silithair, adamants possessed of the light of the stars. The dwarf-smith Telchar used one of these stones in the creation of Narsil and the Silithair caused the blade to glow with silver light when wielded in battle. Any sword forged from the shards of Narsil will be a lesser weapon without a Silithar to use in the forging."

"At the age of twenty, Lord Elrond took me aside and told me my true name and of my heritage, that I descended in unbroken line from Elendil of old. He gave to me the ring of Barahir and the shards of Narsil, but he withheld the Sceptre of Annúminas, saying I had yet to earn it. He withheld too another treasure, but I will not speak of that. Soon afterward, I went in search of a Silithar with which Narsil might be reforged. Yes, I knew then of the ancient Silithair and of the need for one."

"I journeyed to Annúminas, the city of my fathers. Even then it stood empty for long years, but it was once the shining jewel of my people, and I desired to see it with my own eyes. I thought too that if I recovered the Silithar that lay within Annúminas, I might reforge Narsil and prove myself worthy of the fate to which I had been born. Elladan and Elrohir accompanied me on my journey to Evendim, and my kinsman Calenglad, for he had sworn an oath to my father and renewed it in my name before we departed."

I remembered Calenglad, a bald man with only hair coming down his chin and above his ears. His brown eyes had studied many a battlefield. He was captain of the Rangers at Tinnudir, my home. When I was a boy, he had taught me how to study the land. Environment could make all the difference in a battle. He knew every hill and trail of Evendim backwards.

"Much of the city had already been reclaimed by the waters of Lake Nenuial when we arrived, and I despaired of finding the Silithar within the flooded tomb where it lay. The maiden Gwindeth appeared before us and charged me with a task to prove my worthiness of receiving the Silithar. Gwindeth found me lacking I am afraid, The Silithar was not to be mine that day. When I stood before the flooded passages of Elendil's empty tomb on the outskirts of Annúminas, I believed it right that Narsil be reforged. I could not understand why Gwindeth refused me access to the Silithar. Now I believe I understand." Aragorn seemed to drift off into memory, like an elder did. The Dunedain lifespan could involve more than a hundred years.

"Gwindeth, so it wasn't a dream." I muttered. The memory of the dream of the Tomb of Elendil and the glowing stone resurfaced again. "I met Gwindeth once, she saved me from drowning in the waters of the lake." Aragorn actually started, he was so surprised. Than a wide grin appeared. "It appears fate has guided you in this matter. Though I must warn you though, respect cannot be bought, it must be earned. Do not undervalue it, and we shall yet see Andúril forged from the shards of Narsil."

Aragorn passed me a letter. "This is for Calengald, explaining that you act in my stead and have my confidence." We bid each other farewell. My thoughts drifted to my father's blade. Something told me deep in my gut that home should be my first destination. I began to pack my things on Sartos, my horse had gotten leaner. "Have you been eating Lembas when I wasn't looking?" I was answered by a knicker. Sartos rode out at a walk, once over the Falls of Rivendell and the small gate between two tall rocks, the horse broke out into a full gallop. The late October air was tinged with the fast coming season of winter. The morning sun rising behind me.