They had been preparing for nearly three years here in Rivendell, or Imadris as his elven friends named it. Lord Celeborn, his wife and a small but heavily armed retinue of their folk were the newest arrivals. Elendil’s friend often spoke of the Lady with regard usually reserved for queens. She was apparently a formidable personality for the High King of the Noldor to see her on even terms. And he had been asked to meet with the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. A king himself, his own nervousness surprised him. These are heady times, he said to himself as he approached their appointed rooms.
A tall, silver haired elf, still dressed in traveling gray, was just pulling the door to as Elendil approached.
Seeing him, the Elf spoke first,” Ah, Lord Elendil, Mae Govannen. It is good to finally meet you. I am Celeborn of Lothlorien. My wife informed me that you would be joining her shortly and I too have those with whom I must speak.” After a quick bow, Celeborn offered his hand in friendship.
Elendil bowed, took the offered hand and said, “My lord, it is a great honor. I hope that my arrival has not hastened your departure.”
Celeborn waived off the apology. “Nay, Gil-galad and Elrond wish to hear news from the south and I would renew some old acquaintances.”
Celeborn sensed some hesitancy still in Elendil, and said, “Please, enter, my lady is eager to speak with you.”
Elendil went into the room. The chamber was spartan but spacious. A single servant quietly put away the Lord and Lady’s things. Elendil turned towards a window and saw her basking in the westering sunlight. Tall, like her husband, but her waist length hair reflected the sun with a shimmer of gold blended with silver. The Lady sensed his entrance and turned towards him. He heard she was fair but the descriptions paled in comparison to the truth. She was a beauty of legend.
She gave him a charming smile. Hoping he wasn’t gaping, Elendil regained himself and quickly bowed. “Elendil of Numenor, my lady. I and my house are at your service.”
To his surprise, she gave him an ironic look that contained a hint of mirth.
“I am Galadriel and I, yours.” The look continued.
“Would you like some refreshment?” she asked
Elendil replied, “No thank you, my lady. I have just come from a meal.”
She motioned to two cushioned chairs by the window, “Would you join me? I have much to discuss with you.”
Elendil moved to the chairs and, after she sat, took the offered place across from her.
“I have asked you here, my lord Elendil, to renew a debt.”
Slightly surprised, Elendil said, “I know of no debt between us, my lady.”
“No, I suppose that has been lost through the ages.” After a pause she continued, “Do you know the story of Beren and the Quest for the Silmarils?”
“I do remember the legend told to me by my father when I was young.”
She gave him another knowing smile and said, “And do you remember the name of the Elf Lord that helped Beren?”
After a pause, Elendil replied, “His name was Finrod, was it not? He died saving Beren from Sauron’s werewolf.” He stopped, seeing distress in her eyes. Elendil stiffened and quickly added, “Have I said something to upset you, my lady?”
“It is more than merely a legend. It is a story filled with joy and tragedy, and is close to my heart.” She explained. She seemed to shake off the distress and asked, “Do you know of the oath that Finrod spoke to Barahir?”
“I have heard of it, my lady,” Elendil replied. He began to wonder at the meaning of this history lesson.
She formally said, “Finrod swore an oath to aid Barahir and all his descendents.”
Still puzzled, Elendil quietly asked. “And did he not fulfill that oath when he aided Beren?”
“Aye, that he did, but the oath was spoken to all Barahir’s offspring. Although Finrod gave his life for Beren, he spoke that oath as the head of the House of Finarfin in Middle-earth, and his household still abides by that oath.” She motioned to her servant.
The servant bowed and left the room. He quickly returned with a long object wrapped in white cloth. He reverently bowed and offered her the object. She grasped it with both hands, holding it horizontally and turned to Elendil.
Offering it to him, she spoke in a formal tone. “I do not know what weapons you salvaged from Atalante but please receive this as a gift and renewal of the oath between my family and yours.”
Confusion flashed across the King’s face.
Galadriel gave a wisp of a smile, “Finrod was my brother.” Seeing understanding emerge in Elendil’s eyes she continued, again formally, “…and as the head of the House of Finarfin in Middle-earth, I renew the bond of friendship between my house and the House of Barahir once more.”
She unwrapped the hilt of a sword and offered it to him. He slowly reached out to grasp it, his hand slightly trembling in wonder as he gripped the hilt.
“You receive it as it was given to me. My brother sent it ere he left on that doomed quest. It was made by the Dwarfsmith Telchar as a counterpoint to the Nauglamir that is lost.”
Awe dawned in his eyes. Elendil’s line reached all the way back to Barahir, a vague name of legend to him. Yet the brother of the lady before him knew that legend and was a legend himself. For that matter, she was a legend. He was amazed and humbled by the magnitude of the gift. The antiquity of the sword in his hand and the Lady before him were staggering.
As he took possession of the ancient weapon, she released it and the cloth fell away. Elendil held it up and the blade appeared to catch all the light that poured from the window and reflect it. The air in the room suddenly felt fresher and the light brighter to him. All of his doubts about the coming war dissipated as he held the sword up and slowly turned it. He also sensed a purpose flow from the ancient weapon, a need for a vengeance and redemption.
“I have often contemplated who should receive Narsil, my lord. My brother sent it to me in the hope that I would bestow it where it was most needed. Now I deem the time ripe. The end of this war will mark the beginning of a new Age. Sauron will rise or fall and peace or desolation will follow. I cannot wield it but in your hands it can fulfill its purpose. This Alliance will be the last great union between Elves and Men. I chose now to further the oath my brother once spoke to your forefather and provide what strength I may by giving you his sword.”
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.