3. Ace of Swords
When they gave me my sword it was broken, and so was I – a ragged spirit handed from father to son, hoping for a day of fire and water.
Newly tempered, quenched and sharpened, it fell to me to restore the light of our star. Andúril, Flame of the West… they said no man could stand before it’s fire and live. But I had not been reborn.
What power hides in sacrifice that it reaches always for that which makes its purchase precious? Your blade lies broken in your hand. Quenched in your blood, I too am at last re-forged.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.