The next few weeks passed by quickly, Summer slowly fading into Autumn. Laeric departed with Círdan for the Grey Havens, and returned shortly afterwards with an escort of elven guards to see him safely back. He reported that the crew was rather confused by Arya's orders, but had taken to them with general enthusiasm. They had reportedly left the harbor on the same day the message had been delivered.

Arya kept to herself for the most part, only talking to her companions and the occasional elf that decided to strike up a conversation. She spent most of her time sparring with Colden, studying maps, or sitting in Glorfindel's Garden, as she had come to call it. She had also discovered that there were a few books in Rivendell written in the common tongue, and had quickly chosen a few to try and read. So far, they made little more sense than the ones written in Elvish.

She was still trying to help teach Teidrin as well, but his lessons weren't going so well. He could now hold a sword properly without injuring himself, but actually swinging it was another matter entirely. Elrond had offered to find an elf to assist in the lessons, but Arya and Colden had both declined at the same time. Arya had taken training Teidrin as a sort of challenge, and didn't want any outside help.

About a week before they were set to depart from the valley, Arya was sitting on a terrace overlooking a beautiful fountain, reading a book on the history of some mariner named Eärendil. She wasn't overly fascinated with the subject, but it was one of the few books that was actually interesting to read. Most of the others not written in Elvish were dull and mundane, dragging on with useless accounts of boring events in various parts of the world. This particular book was written by someone who understood what it was like to actually read .

As she sat there reading, Barroth came walking past purposefully, a hammer hanging loosely at his side. Arya looked up, watching silently. He noticed her and stopped.

"Good morning, m'lady."

"Barroth." She acknowledged. "Where are you heading off to?"

"The forges, m'lady." He said. "I found 'em a couple of days ago, and, well… they got real good steel, see? I've been making some blades."

"You're a smith?"

He grunted. "Used to be. My father, too. But I never had the talent he did. Just make some basic things now and then."

Arya paused, looking around the terrace. She sighed, putting the book down and standing. Barroth was watching questioningly.

"I think I'll go with you and take a look around, if you don't mind." She said, "It's been really dull around here lately."

"Of course." Barroth said. "I wouldn't mind some company."

They walked together off of the terrace, Arya letting Barroth lead the way. She thought it strange that she had not found the forges herself, with the amount of exploring she had done. As they continued through the valley, however, she discovered why. They were hidden nearly as well as the garden was, tucked away in a niche in the cliff wall behind a large building, with only a small path allowing access. It was in the more populous side of the valley, a place Arya had avoided as much as she could. There was thick smoke pouring out from the niche, but it looked like the smoke from the chimney of the nearby building from a distance.

As they entered, Arya could see several workspaces built into the cliff walls, along with hammers, anvils, and other tools dotting the area. Several elves were already at work at one of the forges near the back, so Barroth set his hammer down at the one closest to the entrance. Arya sat down on a nearby boulder, watching him prepare the furnace, picking out a mold and several choice pieces of steel.

He set to work heating the forge and preparing the metal. Once everything was in order, he withdrew a small sword from a nearby rack, studying it intently. After evidently making a decision in his mind, he set it back, turning his attention to the forge. Arya watched him curiously.

"Just like the forges back home, isn't it?" She asked.

Barroth nodded. "Just about. Bit nicer than any I've been in, though."

He looked to the fire, where the steel was turning yellow, starting to sag and droop. He pulled over the mold of what appeared to be a short sword, setting it in position. A few minutes later, the melted metal started to drip into it slowly, eventually becoming a steady stream of fiery liquid. The mold soon filled, and Barroth closed the pathway to the forge, then poured sand and water on it to dampen the flames.

As they waited in silence for the metal to set, Arya took a better look at the elves working tirelessly near them. They weren't using a mold, taking turns beating an unseen piece of metal with hammers. Their strikes were graceful and fluid, each one seeming to hit with purpose and accuracy. Arya could only imagine the quality their blades must have been. Indeed, she had seen a few swords around Rivendell already. Many were straight and broad like the swords she was used to, but there were also some with elegant curves to the smooth blade, and finely wrapped handles. They were the kind of quality only kings and knights could afford back in Westeros.

Barroth used a pair of tongs to pick up the partly cooled sword, setting it on a nearby anvil, and began striking at the hilt, bending it more and more with each blow. Arya furrowed her brow.

"Aren't you supposed to cool it now?" She asked. "It's already shaped."

Barroth stopped hammering and looked up, face drenched in sweat. "You know your way around a smithy, m'lady?"

"I've been in one or two."

"Well, usually you'd be right." He said, resuming his hammering. "Thing is, I'm trying something new today. I thought my brother might do better with a longer hilt and a short blade. It'd give him more room for his hands, and he needs that. So I figured I'd change this one up a bit."

"This is for Teidrin?"

"Aye."

Arya watched as he slowly knocked at each side of the hilt until it broke off. He then sanded down the sides to smooth them before beginning work on a new hilt, heating up a piece of steel and setting it on another anvil. She watched him work for a few minutes longer before beginning to lose interest. Instead, she watched the elves, who had still not stopped their persistent hammering.

"What do you think they're doing over there?" She asked aloud.

Instead of Barroth, a new voice answered from behind her. "They are here on Lord Elrond's command, and at my behest."

Arya slid off of the boulder and turned to face the newcomer. It was Aragorn, dressed in new and finer clothes, looking far cleaner than she had ever seen him. He had made himself scarce after the council, going off with a group of elves to scout out the area around Rivendell for any immediate dangers. She had not been informed of his return, but he had clearly been in the valley for some time.

"Lord Aragorn." She greeted, a hint of bitterness to her voice. Barroth glanced up for a moment, then wiped the sweat out of his eyes and bent back over his work, seemingly unconcerned.

Aragorn sighed. "I did not deceive you, my lady. Though that was the name given to me at my birth, I am called Strider in Bree. Beyond that, I have many names in many distant lands."

"Yes." Arya said. "But I told you my true name."

"Had I any way of knowing that?"

"Fair enough." She conceded. "So what were you saying? What are they making over there?"

He looked at the elves, a faraway gleam in his eyes. It seemed to Arya that he suddenly looked taller and more kingly than he usually did, and she felt small beside him.

"I showed you the sword that was broken." He said, "And did I not tell you that it would be remade anew?"

Arya started, looking back at the elves with a newfound interest. The way they were crowded together, she hadn't been able to see what they were working on. A glance at Aragorn confirmed that his sword was no longer hanging at his side; the first time Arya had seen him without it. She didn't know what the importance of that specific sword was, but Aragorn seemed to treat it as an ancient relic. Probably from one of his ancestors, she guessed.

"Does it have a name?" She asked, her thoughts turning to her own sword.

Aragorn smiled softly. "Indeed it does. Anduril, it is called. Flame of the West."

Later that day, Arya ventured back into the Garden of Glorfindel, wanting to spend some more time in the place before she had to leave it behind forever. She found the elf lord himself waiting there. He was facing the entrance, as if he was expecting her. A smile was on his face instantly, and she couldn't help a small one of her own as she approached.

"I thought you would come to this place, my lady." He said. "And it seems that I was not mistaken."

"Am I that easy to predict?" She asked with a laugh.

"You will be departing soon." Glorfindel said. "Should I be in your position, this is where I would spend my final days in Imladris."

"My thoughts exactly."

He looked at her shrewdly. "As we speak of your journey, it might interest you to know that your other companions have been chosen."

Arya furrowed her brow. "Are they my companions, or Frodo's?"

"For now, they are both." Glorfindel said. "But they will likely accompany the ringbearer after your roads become separate."

"Alright. Who are they?"

"It was decided that all free peoples of the world that are present should be represented." He said. "As such, Gimli son of Gloin is to go for the dwarves. Legolas is for the elves. Boromir of Gondor is for the men, as is Aragorn. Gandalf was chosen as a guide. And of course, the three other perian have refused to be left behind."

Arya processed the names, surprised that she was familiar with all of them.

"Fourteen in all." She said aloud. "That seems like a good number. But I thought you would be going as well."

He shook his head. "Sadly, I cannot. You heard the Lord Elrond. I would only draw attention to the company and endanger us all. I was, however, granted leave to lead another party East, over the mountains."

"Why?" Arya questioned. "To do what?"

"I thought it wise to have a false company set out, to draw Sauron's might away from the ring. As I said, my presence would not go unnoticed. It is my hope that your company might be spared from unwanted conflict by my journey."

"I see." Arya said. "Well, thank you. I hope it works too."

He smiled. "Indeed. But that is not all, my lady. I was hoping to find you so that I might deliver you a gift, before we part."

"A gift?" Arya asked, startled.

In answer, he reached into his cloak, which was glowing silver in the waning sunlight. He withdrew a tightly wrapped parcel, handing it over. Arya took it gently, not sure what to expect. It was a bundle of leather and cloth of a mottled brown and grey. Looking more closely, she realized exactly what it was. It was a set of travelling clothes, almost identical to the ones she had been wearing when she had arrived, with a few obvious differences. The leather was much finer and lighter, and a new fur-lined cloak had been included. But what caught Arya's eye the most was the Stark symbol proudly displayed at the center. Her breath caught in her throat.

"I- How…"

"I had assistance." Glorfindel said with a chuckle. "Your companions were most helpful, and the elves of Rivendell have nearly no equals in the art of craftsmanship."

Arya smiled. A true, genuine smile, like she hadn't experienced in a long while. She looked back at the outfit, and the icon it bore that she knew would always remind her of her home. She met Glorfindel's eyes.

"Thank you." She said.

"You are most welcome, my lady. But there is one more thing I would give you."

He reached down and withdrew the sword that hung at his waist. It flashed in the sunlight, the keen blade ringing as it was pulled out. It was a small weapon by most standards, just a bit longer than Needle, but with a thicker blade. The hilt was silver as well, but plain and unadorned. Arya watched as Glorfindel took it in both hands and offered it to her.

"Your sword?" Arya asked. "I, um, already have a sword."

"You do." The elf agreed. "But my heart tells me that you may need this, before the end. Why, I know not. Take it, I beseech you, until it's part is played."

Arya took it hesitantly, not really sure what he wanted her to do with it. One sword seemed perfectly sufficient, and even if something happened to Needle, she was confident enough to survive and even fight without it. Nevertheless, she decided that it couldn't hurt to accommodate Glorfindel's wish. If worst came to worst, she would just end up with a useless piece of baggage. So she tucked it under her arm with the bundle of clothes, carefully keeping the blade away from herself.

Thinking of her conversation with Aragorn, she turned to Glorfindel. "Does it have a name?"

He tilted his head. "Nay, it does not. It has never seen war nor battle. I'm afraid that I have not made much use of it, since it was made for me. But I foresee that it will earn its name before your journey's end."

Arya considered his words. He seemed to know a lot about what was going to happen to her, but she wasn't sure how much of that was just intuition.

"Thank you again, for everything." She said, "But I'm afraid I don't have anything to give you in return."

"Your way has been set." Glrofindel told her. "Do not falter from it, and you will have repaid me tenfold."