PART ONE: ANACHRONISM
Chapter VI: The Almighty Sword Breaker
I spent a long time in the House of Elrond. If I remember correctly, it ended up being about two months, longer than I'd ever remained in Middle Earth during a Skip before. Elrond spent those two months deciding who should go with Frodo and Sam on this dangerous quest. Gandalf was an obvious choice—apparently this was supposed to be his "great task" or something like that. Beyond that, Elrond took some time figuring out who should go. It was also winter, and no one wanted to leave Rivendell only to meet snow and bad weather. So, the still-unformed Fellowship remained in Rivendell for the next two months, and because I did not Skip away, I remained with them.
During my time in Rivendell, I had many meetings, some with elves (so many elves), some with dwarves, and some with hobbits. Some of these meetings were good and led to lasting friendships, while other meetings were…interesting and led to lasting wariness. I also acquired a new nickname, but we'll get to that later.
I found that elves weren't really my people, if that makes sense. While the elves were merry folk who liked to sing and drink, there was something in the way they looked at me that made me feel small. It reminded me of when I'd first met Elrohir and Elladan and they'd examined me like a bug under a microscope. The way many of the elves looked at me made me feel like something lesser, as if I would never be anything more than another mortal to them.
Of course, there were elves I got along with. Elrohir and Elladan were friendly, and whatever ill-feelings there might have been in our first meeting, they had all but vanished. Unlike many elves who rarely left Rivendell, Elrohir and Elladan, I learned, often hunted orcs in the north with the Dúnedain, and therefore, they had more experiences with mortals. They did not look at me with the same mocking eyes as others of their kind. The other elves I got along with were ones who had experiences beyond Rivendell's borders. I stayed up some nights with them, and we swapped stories of our adventures in Middle Earth.
I could sit here and recount all my experiences in Rivendell to you, but then this story would last an eternity—and we just don't have time for that. So, I'll tell you the parts that are important to the rest of my story.
I met Arwen the Evenstar on my second night staying in Rivendell. I was sitting outside on a white porch that overlooked the valley. Thin moonlight illuminated the rivers and waterfalls, making them seem as though they flowed with silver instead of water. Boromir and I sat in elegant wooden chairs, chatting about the happenings of Minas Tirith. It turned out that Boromir had left Minas Tirith not long after my visit. He and his brother had been plagued by dark dreams that contained the instructions to seek Isildur's Bane in Rivendell. Despite Boromir's desire to stay in Gondor and Faramir's willingness to go to Rivendell, Denethor had insisted that Boromir was the only one he trusted with this errand.
Knowing that it pained Boromir to hear me speak ill of his father, I kept my mouth shut. I was saved from having to come up with a polite response by the appearance of a couple on the porch.
They were the most beautiful couple I had ever seen—the kind of couple that put movie stars to shame. I unabashedly gawked at them as they carried out their murmured conversation. The man had wavy, dark hair that fell into his eyes, and a proud bearing that commanded respect. The woman wore her black hair loose and wore a long, violet dress. She was tall and slender with the all the ridiculous grand, ageless beauty of elves, and at the same time, she has this sort of eternal youthfulness and cheer to her. God, just remembering her makes me feel like a waddling turtle. From the moment I first laid eyes on Arwen the Evenstar, I resolved to spend all the remaining days of my life aspiring to be a woman like that… Don't you dare laugh at me.
She took the man's hands in her own and smiled at him. His gaze was soft as he gazed upon her. With the lush, green valley and the silver waterfalls behind them, they looked like a prince and princess in a fairytale.
"You are about to lose your eyes," said Boromir.
"Shut up," I said. "Who's that?"
"You do not recognize him?" asked Boromir. "He was at the Council of Elrond. That is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, a Ranger from the north, and the heir to the throne of Gondor." Boromir snorted at the thought.
I did a double take. Aragorn had been good-looking when I had first seen him in Elrond's council, but now—standing beside the most beautiful elf I had ever seen—he appeared almost as otherworldly handsome as she. The hard life of the road seemed to have left him. He seemed strong and free and, dare I say it, he seemed to have a hint of majesty about him.
"Who's he with?" I asked.
"She is Elrond's daughter, called Arwen the Evenstar."
"She could be a super model!"
Boromir furrowed his brows at first, but then he smiled. "You say the oddest things, Ana."
"I'm saying that she's really, really gorgeous," I translated myself for him. "Does someone like that actually exist? I bet she's really nice too. Just to make her even more perfect."
"She is an elf," said Boromir. "They have an irritating tendency to be that way."
As if she heard us (which was possible since she was only on the other side of the porch), Arwen turned around and smiled. "Thank you for your kind words, Ana Stonbit."
I blinked. I might have fallen a little in love with her right then.
"Are you drunk again?" asked Boromir. His question was serious.
"I don't think so." I paused to contemplate the possibility. "No, I'm definitely not."
Arwen led Aragorn over to sit in some white chairs next to Boromir and me. Aragorn seemed a little wary of me, but he obeyed Arwen without protest.
"So," I said, leaning forward in my seat. "What's the hot goss on you two?"
Arwen glanced at Aragorn, her mouth turned up in a half-smile. Then, Aragorn looked to me and said, "I am afraid that we do not understand your meaning."
"She is curious as to the relationship between the two of you," said Boromir.
"You understand her strange manner of speaking?" asked Arwen.
"After prolonged periods of exposure to her speech, you come to understand her." Boromir was grumbling, but amusement danced in his gray eyes. "Compared to her slurred, drunken speech, this is a simple translation."
Arwen laughed, a light, lovely sound. "I would be very interested in seeing Ana drunk."
"No, you wouldn't," I said. "It results in me saying some very stupid things to very important people and getting arrested. Also, you haven't answered my question—what's going on between you and Aragorn?"
"We are long time beloveds." Arwen spoke simply and without drama, as if my drunken escapades were more exciting than her romance with Aragorn.
"Oh good," I said. "Because you two make a great couple—don't you think, Boromir?"
"What did you say?" asked Boromir.
"Exactly," I said. "Boromir agrees with me, so it must be true."
Arwen smiled. "If Boromir says so, then I suppose I will have to accept such a title."
The four of us talked long into the night. After much nagging, I managed to get Aragorn and Arwen to tell me the story of how they met, and that turned into Boromir sharing a story about his first love when he was nine years old. Apparently, Faramir had fallen for her as well, and the two brothers refused to talk to each other for weeks until Denethor sat them in a room together. I told them about my first boyfriend David. We had lasted one whole week after going on a middle school movie date. Boromir and I mourned out miserable love lives. Aragorn volunteered to introduce me to one of his Dúnedain friends, but Arwen warned him not to meddle, Boromir and I would find love in our time.
It was near dawn before we realized it was probably time to go to bed. That's the funny thing about Rivendell. You can never really tell what time it is—the sun is really the only indicator. Those two months passed by in the blink of an eye. We feasted, talked, and partied almost every night, and not necessarily in that order. Not all the elves were as serious and straight-laced as Elrond. Most elves were party animals, like Elladan and Elrohir. The amount of drinking competitions those twins dragged me into…it was beyond count.
Sometime near the beginning of December, I was seated next to the four hobbits—Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin—during one of the dinner parties. (I think I was placed at their table because of my vertically challenged nature, but I can't be sure.) I learned very quickly that hobbits can eat a ridiculous amount of food: by the time I finished up my first helpings, they were already on their third. After they had eaten their full, the four hobbits reclined in their seats and began talking.
"I cannot believe that Sam was rewarded for spying on a secret council," complained Pippin.
"It is hardly a reward," said Frodo. "Rather than a reward, it is the most terrible punishment Elrond could think of."
"Even then," said Pippin. "I would be ashamed to be left behind now. Not after we have come so far with you."
Frodo smiled warmly at the younger hobbit. "Thank you, Pippin—but I fear the road from here has become too dangerous."
"Everybody always thinks they'll be great," I said.
The hobbits all turned to me, their faces knotted with confusion.
"Whenever people imagine themselves on adventures," I said, "they think they'll be swashbucklers who will be brave in terrible situations and say witty things. But reality is nothing like that. Most people will scream and wet themselves at the first sign of serious danger. I'm in the latter category…though I don't think I've wet myself yet. It may happen in the future—I don't know—I'll let you know if it ever happens. But Frodo is right. The road ahead won't be anything like what you're imagining it to be."
The hobbits stared at me.
"So," said Merry slowly, "we are all going to, um, wet ourselves? I do not understand."
"What is a swashbuckler?" asked Sam.
"I think it is a piece of clothing," said Pippin. "Maybe a hat."
I sighed. "I give these speeches of great depth and meaning, and no one understands what I'm talking about."
"Oh," said Frodo. "I am terribly sorry, I thought you were making a joke. Could you perhaps repeat yourself so that we may understand?"
"Never mind."
At this point, Boromir had finished his meal and decided to come join me at the hobbits' table. He brought with him two pints of ale—one for him and one for me.
"A continuation of our competition," said Boromir.
"Bottoms up," I said. We tapped the mugs together before taking long sips of our drinks.
As I set the mug down on the table, Elladan materialized beside me. "A drinking competition?" A wicked grin spread across his face as he called for his own drink to be brought.
"It is still strange to see you in a dress, Ana," said Boromir.
I glanced down at the light blue dress that I wore. I had only one pair of pants with me with I Skipped so I was forced to wear elegant elven dresses, which were ridiculous on me even after the Rivendell tailors had adjusted them. I sighed. "Pants are so much more comfortable than dresses. Though it is very pretty." I added the last part with a quick nod at Arwen, who was passing by. She smiled and continued on to Aragorn's table.
"Have you found the ale again?" asked Elrohir, joining his brother at the table.
"She is learning to—what was the phrase?—drink like a man." Elladan laughed.
"That is no good," said Elrohir. "If she drinks like a man, she will be dead to the world within mere moments. No, Elladan. We must teach her to drink like an elf."
"Do you have a problem with the way men drink?" asked Boromir. He finished off his mug of ale and reached for another.
"You do not drink poorly for a mortal," said Elrohir. "But to drink like an elf… Well, I shall say that it takes a very potent alcohol to touch an elf."
"You know," I said as I began my second mug as well. I set the mug down and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. "The true drinkers are the women who wear pants. You never know what we're hiding in those breeches, hm?"
"You are inventing stories once more," said Elrohir with a broad grin.
"No, I'm not."
"I have seen Ana drink before," said Elladan, who had introduced me to elvish wine a couple nights prior. "She cannot rival even the drinking ability of a Halfling."
"Excuse us!" cried Merry. "We can drink very well when we see fit."
"Oh?" said Boromir. "Would you like to prove us wrong? We are representing our peoples here—who can last the night?"
"Two pints!" said Pippin. His voice signaled Elrond's serving staff and they came over with more alcohol. "We accept your challenge, Boromir of Gondor."
The drinking game went on for quite some time. Elrohir won. Elladan was a close second, though for days after, he continued to insist that it was a tie. I don't know who came third or anything after that since I was the first one to fall unconscious. As you can imagine, they never let me hear the end of it. Not the elves. Not the man. Not even the hobbits. It just wasn't fair.
The drinking games became a common occurrence. We would hold one at least once a week during our time in Rivendell. Most of us needed couple days to recover from the massive hangovers we would have thanks to the special wine. Well, except the elves, who returned to their usual playful selves the next morning. The rest of us cursed them while clutching our aching heads and hiding in the safety of our beds. After a week or so, Gimli (the son of Glóin) and then Legolas (the blond pretty boy elf) joined the group. Legolas became the reigning champion almost instantaneously, which should have been expected if you know anything about Mirkwood elves. But over those two months in Rivendell, I went from the girl who refused to go out drinking on her twenty-first birthday to the girl who never stepped down from a drinking game.
While I had made friends with Gimli during our drinking games, I took to avoiding his father, Glóin. For weeks, if I ever saw the old dwarf coming near, I would make a dash to the restroom, leaving a hurt and confused Glóin behind. I didn't mean to hurt him. I simply didn't want to know the future of the Company. I avoided Bilbo and Gandalf as well, though that was a much easier task. Bilbo spent most of his time talking with Frodo or working on his books. Gandalf, on the other hand, had no more interest in talking to me than I did him. Though I did occasionally catch him watching me at meal times. When I looked up and found his clear, blue eyes on me, I found the word "Senturiel" echoing through my head.
A braver person would've have asked what the Senturiel was, would've cornered Gandalf or the twins and demanded that they explain. But I was not a brave person. I was terrified of the weight that word would place on me. So I preferred to remain in ignorance, pretending I'd never heard it.
Glóin was harder to ignore, and one day, I gave in to his sad looks and agreed to have a chat with him on the balcony. As soon as we had settled into the chairs carved of white wood, I said, "I do not want to know the fate of the Company."
Beneath his white beard, Glóin gave me a thin smile. "I guessed as much. Do not worry, Ana, I am no storyteller like Bilbo. I will let you discover the Company's fate on your own."
"Thank you."
After we had cleared that up, Glóin and I had many conversations in Rivendell. Sometimes about our families, sometimes about distant past, and sometimes about elves. Glóin felt similarly to me, that while there were some elves who were friendly, there were many others who looked at us with disdain. Though, while he was willing to like some of the Rivendell elves, he had a stubborn dislike for those of Mirkwood. He did not explain why, and I did not ask.
A month into my stay in Rivendell, Elrond finally announced the nine members of the Fellowship. Frodo would, of course, be the Ring-Bearer, and Sam would go with him. Gandalf was named the leader of the Fellowship. Aragorn, for he was Isildur's Heir and his path inevitably concerned the Ring, joined the numbers. Representing the race of elves was Legolas of Mirkwood and representing the race of dwarves was Gimli, son of Glóin; neither one of them was pleased that the other was going. Boromir agreed to lend his strength and travel with the Fellowship at least as far as Gondor. Finally, Merry and Pippin were chosen for reasons which I never really understood—perhaps because they were hobbits and the people of Middle Earth were putting a lot of faith in hobbits. Aragorn tried explaining it to me once, saying something about the importance of friendship, but I couldn't help but think another elvish warrior would've been helpful.
As the time when they would depart loomed closer, the atmosphere among the chosen companions began to shift. There were less nights of merriment and drinking competitions. Frodo spent even more of his time closed away with Bilbo, while Gimli remained close to his father. Boromir took long walks by himself through Rivendell. Aragorn was almost inseparable from Arwen. An air of inevitable tragedy seemed to hang over them, as if they knew after he left Rivendell, things would never be the same between them again. In the moments he wasn't with Arwen, Aragorn and Gandalf poured over maps of Middle Earth, charting the company's course.
For my part, while my days in Rivendell were enjoyable, there were times where I was filled with a nameless sense of dread. I still had not found Bonnie and Nick, and I was beginning to worry that they would be lost to Middle Earth forever. The pale faces of their parents as I talked to the police were etched in my mind. And, of course, what about my own parents? I had just disappeared from the house—taking the good china with me—and had been gone for a whole month by then. Hopefully, they were used to my random disappearances at that point, and they would assume I had gone on another one of my spontaneous road trips to discover the meaning of life.
At times, I debated if I should try jumping off one of Rivendell's balconies in hopes that I would Skip home. However, every time I got close to the edge of a balcony, a wave of fear washed over me, and I was convinced that the Skipping would not work that one time just to spite me.
Besides, I knew that when I Skipped home, I would end up back in my parent's house with the heavy news that I failed the fall semester of my senior year because I hadn't shown up to any of my classes or exams. My mother would ask where I'd been, and my father would tell me what he always said—I could tell them everything, they would support me no matter what. But, of course, I would do as I always did and come up with a half-hearted lie about being lost on the road of life. The whole process was exhausting, and I was happy to remain in Rivendell, chatting with friends and letting time slip by.
And so the second month of my stay in Rivendell slipped by until the day came when I asked Boromir to teach me how to use a sword.
That was a mistake.
On a recommendation from one of the more friendly elves, we found a public courtyard to practice in. Unfortunately, and probably purposefully on the part of the elf, it was a very public courtyard which had numerous white balconies that overlooked it. I had changed into the pants and shirt I'd brought to Middle Earth with me, and the elf had also lent us a short sword for me to learn with. Boromir taught me how to hold it and how to strike. And then we practiced.
Oh my God! I failed miserably. One, two, three—Ana is on her back. Let's try again. One, two—Ana has fallen on her butt. Again. One, two, three, four—Ana just face planted. Again. One—Ana's on her back again.
"It takes practice," said Boromir.
I rubbed my aching lower back and got back to my feet. "We've been at this for an hour, and I haven't made an ounce of improvement."
"Well, yes," admitted Boromir. "I do not think I have ever taught anyone with quite so little starting skill as you. But even you can learn with much patience and practice…I think."
"It's nice to know you have so much confidence in me."
"I do not know why you are so insistent that you learn—not many women wield a sword."
"Yes." It was not my first time being told how women in Middle Earth were supposed to act. "But not many women find themselves dropped into troll nests every other day."
"I have not noticed any trolls in Rivendell."
"Yeah, yeah. Rivendell is a safe place, except for maybe the amount of drink available."
"You do like to drink," said Boromir.
"I wasn't always this way. I used to think drinking was for people who had no lives." I grinned. "And then you challenged me to a drinking game."
Boromir let out a booming laugh. He was proud to have corrupted me.
Several elves had gathered up on the balconies. I saw the elf who had recommended the courtyard among them, and he smiled when he noticed my gaze.
I lifted my sword and turned back to Boromir. "Again?"
"Come."
It took a whole two seconds for me to end up back on the ground.
"This is humiliating," I wailed.
"I agree. I was only watching, and I felt embarrassed," said a familiar voice. I looked over my shoulder and saw Legolas approaching. My eyes skimmed over his ridiculously good-looking face to the quiver of arrows on his back.
"Ah-ha!" I leapt to my feet. "Teach me to shoot!"
"Have you given up on the sword already?" asked Boromir. "Mastery comes with practice."
"We all know I'm never going to be good at swordsmanship," I said. "But maybe I'll have good aim! I was pitcher for my little league baseball team when I was eight. Though I guess that's a different kind of aim—but still, aim is aim."
"I do not comprehend," said Legolas.
'That doesn't matter," I waved away his words. "Please, Legolas, teach me to shoot."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you will be terrible at it."
"You don't know that!"
Legolas stared at me.
I sighed. "Okay, yeah, you're right. I shouldn't have asked."
"She means no harm, Legolas," said Boromir. "She only wishes to learn how to use a bow."
"She will end up snapping my bow in two," said Legolas.
Boromir tried to defend me. "You have no way of knowing that."
"Actually," I said, "he's probably right. If I had a bow, I wouldn't trust me with it either. I'd be likely to shoot the person standing next to the target rather than the target itself…"
Legolas nodded in agreement, holding the curve of his wooden bow, while Boromir grinned at me and said, "At least, you hold no illusions about yourself."
"My parents raised me to never overestimate myself," I explained. "I am slightly above average at best and that is going to have to be good enough for me."
"What has the elf done now?" A fourth member joined our group in the courtyard. The short and stout Gimli, with his axe resting on his shoulder, came to stand next to us. His eyes narrowed as he looked up at Legolas.
"Nothing you would not have done," said Legolas.
"Hm. We shall see about that," said Gimli as he turned to me. "How can I be of service?"
"I'm trying to find a weapon that I'm semi-good at," I said. "The sword lessons with Boromir were a disaster, and Legolas thinks I will break his bow—which I probably will."
"Look no further!" cried Gimli. "I will teach you to wield an axe."
Legolas sighed. "This will end in misfortune."
"I do not think she can break an axe though," said Boromir.
"I would not put it past her." Legolas didn't even look apologetic.
"Here," said Gimli, handing me the axe. "Hold it. Feel the metal between your fingers. It is heavy? Yes. That is how a weapon is supposed to feel like—not some light, flimsy bow that can break with a careless touch." Gimli glared at Legolas.
I gripped the handle of the axe. It was heavy. I probably couldn't lift the thing above my head. Already, I was beginning to predict a bad ending for this training session, but well, Gimli was willing to teach me so I should probably give it a try. Still, tentatively, I asked, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"No," said Boromir.
"It most definitely is not," said Legolas.
"Of course," said Gimli. "In fact, I am so sure—we will use the elf for target practice."
Legolas's eyes grew very wide. "I do not like this idea very much."
"Relax, Mister Elf," said Gimli, slapping Legolas on the shoulder. "Or are you frightened of the little human."
Legolas frowned. Then, he turned to me and said, "All right, Ana. I will be the target. I would not be called an elf if I could not dodge any attack by you."
Boromir shook his head. "I had no part in this scheme."
"Well, if you're sure." I tightened my grip on the axe handle. "Are you ready?"
"Gimli," said Boromir, "you have not even shown her how to hold the axe correctly."
"She will be fine," said Gimli. "She has natural instinct for axes, I tell you."
Legolas nodded at me. "Come."
I don't know how Gimli managed to convince any of us this was a good idea, or at least even a passable one. It wasn't. I charged at Legolas, attempting to swing the heavy axe at him… I barely managed to lift the axe off the ground. Instead, I tripped over the head of the axe and face-planted on the ground. The blade went flying. Boromir and Gimli managed to dodge it at the last second, but the end of Gimli's beard was chopped off.
"Well," said Legolas who had not needed to move an inch. "That went well."
"My beard! My beard!" cried Gimli in horror. "You cut off my beard!"
"I didn't mean to!" I said, quickly getting to my feet and examining the small amount of curly red hair that had been severed from the rest of the beard. "It's not that bad, I promise. Your beard looks just as long and luscious as it did before."
"You…" Gimli was getting redder about the face with each passing second. "Y-you…you beard defiler!"
For a moment, Boromir looked shocked. Then a wide grin spread across his face, and he burst out laughing. "Ana the Beard Defiler—it has a nice ring to it."
"I think he looks better this way," said Legolas, examining Gimli's newly trimmed beard with a critical eye.
"How would you like it if I took my axe and cut off all your blond hair?" snapped Gimli.
Legolas smiled. "I do not think you can reach that high."
"You—"
Thankfully, Gimli's response was cut short, and we were saved from a dwarf-elf brawl by the arrival of Elladan and Elrohir. The two elves strolled into the courtyard, Elladan wearing dark red silks where Elrohir's were pastel blue. Broad grins were plastered on their identical faces.
"What is all the fuss about?" asked Elladan. "We heard from some elves that a Lonely Mountain dwarf and a Mirkwood elf were about to fight."
"It's not my fault!" I cried.
Elrohir laughed. "Ana, that means it is most certainly your fault."
"I just wanted to learn how to fight," I said miserably.
"And Gimli let her borrow his axe." Boromir was still choking back laughter. "It ended with his beard a little shorter."
"Ah," said Elrohir who was now biting back a laugh. "That is a shame."
"I have never understood why dwarves are so fond of their beards," said Legolas.
Gimli glowered up at him, while Elrohir said, "I was once told that beards were to dwarves what hair was to elves. That beards represent a dwarf's pride, and a dwarf who was on a quest of vengeance cut his beard and did not allow it to grow again while the vengeance remained unfulfilled."
"Who told you such things?" asked Gimli. He seemed impressed.
"Elrohir enjoys learning new things," said Elladan. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "If you wanted to learn how to fight, Ana, you should have come straight to me. I have a weapon more suited for you."
"You do?"
"The Sword Breaker."
A faint smile crossed Elrohir's face, while Elladan untied a sheathed knife from his belt. He handed it to me. I took it, though I eyed his smiling face suspiciously. A happy Elladan was never a good Elladan.
Slowly, I unsheathed the knife. It was not actually a knife. One side was shaped like a regular dagger, but the other side was toothed with slots in the blade. I inspected the knife carefully, wondering if this was some sort of joke.
"This?"
Elladan nodded proudly. "The Sword Breaker."
"It's not even pointy."
"Stabbing is not the point of the Sword Breaker," said Elrohir.
"It is a defensive weapon." Elladan took the blade from me and demonstrated. "If you hold the toothed side up, you can catch another person's sword between the slots. Then you twist it to the side—see here. Then you will tear his sword from his hands."
I squinted. "A weird looking comb would be a perfect weapon for me."
Elladan laughed as he handed the Sword Breaker back to me. "Keep it, Senturiel. It is yours now."
I had one last look at the Sword Breaker before I sheathed it again. "I don't even know if I can use this properly."
"At least you have a weapon to call your own now," said Boromir.
"And not an axe too heavy for you to even lift," added Legolas with a pointed look at Gimli. "May I volunteer the dwarf to be your target this time?"
I examined the knife one more time. I didn't know if I'd be able to use it, but it was lighter than the axe and short sward and not as breakable as Legolas's bow. Perhaps it would be the right weapon for me.
My shifted to the faces of the two brothers. They were exchanging some silent, smug glances, as if they knew some secret the rest of us didn't. My eyes narrowed. Elladan had used that word again, the one I'd deliberately been avoiding. But perhaps now was the time to ask. I felt much more comfortable asking the twins than Gandalf, and it was something that concerned me as much as I wished it did not.
"Why do you call me—"
Skip.
"—Senturiel?"
Note: The Sword Breaker is an actual historical weapon. They weren't commonly used because they were not always reliable and were more prone to breaking themselves, and they were expensive to make. But since Middle Earth has magical elements to its smiths, I figured the Sword Breaker would be a bit more perfected and a good weapon for Ana. I recommend looking up some youtube videos, it's interesting to read about.