"You are hardly weak, Thorwen." - Calenamath

17th November/Hithui 3018, The Elven burial mounds, Woodland Realm

It was a cold, crisp morning and the previous night's frost was still on the ground when Thorwen and Aragorn rode up to the grave mounds. On Legolas' return, King Thranduil had declared a time of feasting and merriment that had lasted several days. But now, on the morning of their departure, the mood throughout the realm was sombre. On arriving at the mounds, Thorwen and Aragorn dismounted, and Calithiliel allowed Aragorn to pat her. "She is a fine mare. You are fortunate that the King would gift her to you."

"He had little choice. Calithiliel allowed me to ride her and no one else."

Aragorn stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps she is a Maeras, the horses of Rohan ridden only by the royal house. If that is the case, the fact she chose you to be her rider is a great honour indeed."

It was said that Grandmother had Rohirrim blood.

"Aye, she did. Her mother's mother was a princess of those people, a rare marriage for the Dunedain of the North. We seldom marry outside of our people. Perhaps Calithiliel sees her blood in you." Together, they approached the grave. The Athelas were no longer flowering, but the herb still covered the little mound like a protective shield. Aragorn knelt, placing his hand upon the grave and spoke a few words in the tongue of old Numenor as Thorwen looked on. Although this was the tongue of her ancestors.

However, Aragorn had told her that the speech was now only spoken between the rangers, and she had learned it in Rivendell. Once he had finished, he rose with a mournful look on his face. He took Thorwen's hands and kissed her on the forehead. "Anberenien, I must take my leave of you now."

Something in the way he spoke reminded Thorwen of the night her Pappa Beren had given her his star. "But, Aragorn, Rangers do not....."

Aragorn brushed a stray tear aside and swallowed. He then unsheathed his sword from its simple leather scabbard and held it aloft. Thorwen gasped when she saw the sword's bright blade. "It is Narsil, reforged!"

"Reforged and renamed Anberenien. It is now, Andúril, 'Flame of the West.'"

Thorwen felt a lump in her throat. For a moment, Thorwen's mind was drawn back to the great hall of Duincar. Surrounded by her family, here she had been nothing more than an ordinary child handling the relics of a legendary sword with a great prophecy. Now that prophecy was coming to be.

Aragorn lowered the sword, re-sheathing it. "The High Warden of Minas Tirith has come to Rivendell seeking aid and I am going back to the south with him. It is time for me to claim my birthright. For victory or ruin, my doom is at hand!"

Thorwen made no answer. She nodded and let her tears run freely. Aragorn smiled sadly. "I miss them too, Little Sparrow."

They embraced tightly, allowing their griefs and hurts to consume them before composing themselves again. Now I see that you were destined for more than being the wife of a great lord of Gondor. Should we be victorious, there will be much work to be done. For both of us."

Thorwen brushed the last of her tears away and managed a half smile. "In the days when Numenor was still fair. When a ship went on a great voyage, a kinswoman of the Captain would present the 'Bough of return' for good fortune. Alas, I have no such bough. However, place Andúril in my hands and I will lay a blessing upon it. As the women of our people did long ago."

Aragorn knelt before her and unsheathed the sword again, placing Andúril gently in her hands. The sword felt light and strong. Radiating with renewed vigour. He spoke with emotion. Yet his words were unfaltering. "Lady Anberenien. Daughter of Beren, Daughter of Arnor, Daughter of Lord Elrond's adoption. Betrothed of Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves and most beloved sister and Kinswoman. I, Aragorn II, Chieftain of the Dunedain, Heir of Isildur. Beloved Brother and kinsman bid thee farewell! I go to my doom. But if fortune prevails, may we meet again in happier times!"

Thorwen kept her eyes firmly on the blade, and it seemed to glow at her touch. She, too, blessed the sword in the tongue of Numenor, in bestowed some of her Will into the blade. "May it bring you great victory in the wars to come. Inspire Men to follow you and be a symbol of your great deeds long after you have left this world." She then looked at Aragorn, smiled and handed Andúril back to him.

He looked at Thorwen strangely for a moment, as if perceiving there was more to her than it appeared. He then stood and returned her smile as he re-sheathed his sword.

"What would you have me do, Aragorn, should you not return?"

"If the worst should happen and I am slain. Gather as many of our people as you can and make for Lindon. Lord Cirdan of Mithlond will offer you sanctuary. At least for a time. And perhaps..... the Valar may grant us a small mercy. Tell Arwen....... I am sorry I failed her and may she find peace in the bosom of her beloved people. But mark my words. You and Thranduil have defied Sauron. He will come for you. Try to take you alive if he can. Do not let him make you his plaything. Do you understand?"

"I do."

Thorwen glanced at her blade belt. Long ago, her grandmother had taught her what to do if cornered. The quickest, most painless way. "Better it be to die by your own hand than be taken by the enemy, especially for a woman."

They heard the distant sound of hooves growing louder and saw a company led by King Thranduil approaching. Slowly, they returned to their mounts as the company came to a standstill. Thranduil and Legolas dismounted while his scouts and the King's Huscarls remained mounted. "All is ready, Lord Aragorn. I wish you a safe journey," said Thranduil.

Aragorn embraced him. "I thank you for your hospitality. These last few days I shall remember fondly on my journey south."

Thranduil took a sharp intake of breath. "The South? Then it is time."

"It is," whispered Aragorn.

Thranduil nodded, then his attention turned to Thorwen. "Celephinniel awaits us in my Parlour," he said kindly.

Thorwen nodded but did not reply. Legolas then embraced Thranduil and Thorwen before taking his leave. "I will return as soon as I am able."

Then he and Aragorn mounted their horses and, accompanied by the scouts, rode off in a westward direction. Thranduil gently embraced Thorwen, and she laid her head on his chest. "For death or glory, Aragorn rides to his doom."

"I fear Legolas will follow him," replied Thranduil. "May 'The One' watch over them both."

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30th December/Girithron 3018, The Training grounds, Woodland Realm

Thorwen breathed in with a sense of satisfaction. It was an icy morning, but she did not mind. It felt good to be on the training grounds again. She wore her mithril shirt, which was as light as a feather, and covered her arms right up to the wrists. A pair of shoulder pauldrons were strapped over the top and a pair of leg guards covered her leather trousers from knees to the ankles of her boots. Her helm which resembled the head of an eagle. She wore its visor up and named it the eagle-eyed helm as when the visor was down, Thorwen's vision was vastly extended, similar to the Elf sight, and she could see in the dark too.

Bregwen stood in the centre wearing her armour, her hands on her hips and a huge grin on her lips. "Ah, Dilthien Dunadan. It is good to see you. I shall enjoy denting that pretty armour of yours."

Thorwen chuckled. "It is good to be training again too, Bregwen Hiril. However, I think you will find the plate much harder to dent than you think." She knew that the smiths of Imladris were some of the best in Middle Earth. They were survivors from an Elven Realm south of the Great East Road once called Eregion, now called Hollin. As a child, she had often wandered into the forge, entranced by their work. But was always discovered and ushered away. A child had no place in a forge. The Woodland realm, in contrast, had fewer smiths. They were located in the lower regions of the Elven halls and were far less skilled.

"If you are able to lay so much as a scratch upon it. You will have proved yourself a worthy captain of my future Queen's Guard, Hiril Nin, if you so desire."

"Then let us not delay in putting it through its paces," replied Bregwen. And she tossed some practice sticks in Thorwen's direction. Thorwen caught them nimbly before lowering her visor and the two began to spar. But Thorwen soon grew weary and struggled to keep up with Bregwen. In frustration, she dropped to her knees and made the sign for surrender.

Bregwen held out her hand and pulled Thorwen to standing. "You did well. It is just your first time after injury. It will take you longer to get your strength back than it will for us."

"I have been exercising every day and an attack may come at any moment. How can I help defend the realm while I am still weak?"

"You are hardly weak, Thorwen." said a familiar voice.

Thorwen turned and her eyes lit up. "Calenamath! How long have you been there?"

Calenamath's dishevelled appearance made him appear more feral than princely. Thorwen removed her helm, and they embraced. Thorwen noticed a slight blush in his cheeks as his eyes met hers and she knew his feelings for her had not diminished.

"Prince Calenamath, it is good to see you. Are you here on leave?" asked Bregwen.

"Alas no, I have just escorted some Dwarves into the Throne room. They are returning to Erebor from Imladris, bringing important news." He turned back to Thorwen, "The King requests your presence."

"I am not exactly dressed for receiving visitors," replied Thorwen.

Calenamath smirked slightly. "Neither is the King, but take your time. He is in no hurry to receive them."

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Thorwen could hear the Dwarves complaining loudly as she and Thranduil approached the throne room hand in hand. The king halted the Huscarls, chuckling as he listened to their grumbling unseen. He then ordered Bregwen and the Huscarls into the Throne Room to surround the Dwarves. He glanced at Thorwen and she smiled back before he led her into the throne room. As they entered, a Herald called out "Hail King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm and his betrothed, the Lady Thorwen.

Calenamath leaned against a pillar, grinning, while the Huscarls stood in a semi-circle around four disgruntled Dwarves. But Immediately on seeing Thorwen, a hush came over them and they looked upon her curiously. Thranduil and a Dwarf in a white hood exchanged polite greetings. He was Glóin, son of Gróin, and the leader of their company. Thranduil apologised for keeping them waiting. Explaining that he had matters to attend to that could not be avoided. Thorwen knew he had tarried in his duties. She remembered from her visit to Dale that although the Elves were cordial with the Dwarves; they were far from friends. "I hope your journey was reasonably comfortable," said Thranduil.

"A raft is not the most comfortable of vessels, but we are not ungrateful. The toll was.... reasonable and we must return home with all haste, King Thranduil."

"Agreed. I do not wish to delay your journey more than necessary. However, Prince Calenamath tells me you have news from Imladris of great importance to relate to me."

"Aye, we have news. But first, may we congratulate you on your betrothal? We were unaware Elves wed more than once and, to a mortal lady, was of great surprise to us."

Thranduil turned his gaze towards Thorwen and smiled. "I have indeed been blessed to wed again. The but the lady of my affection is no mere woman, and she is known by another name far from this realm."

Thorwen looked Glóin straight in the eye. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lady Anberenien of the Dunedain of the North. Daughter of Arnor, Daughter of Lord Beren, Daughter of Lord Elrond of Rivendell by adoption, Kinswoman of Lord Aragorn, chieftain of the Dunedain, who calls me sister."

The Dwarves looked at each other dumbfounded and Thranduil's smirk grew into a smile. "I am sorry, my Khuzdul is a little rusty. I have not spoken it in a long time."

Glóin took a little time to compose himself. "No, no, my Lady it was perfect. It is just we have never heard it spoken so well before by a Non-dwarf. Especially a lady such as yourself. May I ask? Did Lord Elrond teach you?"

Thorwen shook her head and stepped down from the dais. She then dropped to Glóin's level, locked him in her gaze, and breathed into his ear. "Mahal was once my master."

The colour drained from his face, and he shook from head to toe. "At your service....., My Lady," he whispered and bowed low before returning to his companions, speaking to them in hushed tones. "Now lads, you must be on your best behaviour, especially for the Lady. She has friends in.... Deep Places."

Thorwen then returned to her place beside Thranduil. "What did you say to them? They look terrified," he whispered.

"Enough that they will treat you with far more respect in future, especially in my presence," replied Thorwen.

Thranduil grinned back at her. "A queen in all but name," he said, and kissed her tenderly on the cheek. While Thranduil and Glóin discussed the news, the Dwarves had brought from Imladris. Thorwen caught Calenamath out of the corner of her eye. His eyes were cast down and his face looked pained.

"Before the fellowship left for the South, Lord Elrond sent scouts seeking information on the enemy and their movements," said Glóin.

"Ah, yes, Legolas sent word that he, Aragorn and Gandalf have gone south with a halfling tasked with taking the Ring to Mordor."

"And my son Gimli is with them. There were four halflings in all, and a man from Gondor no less."

"So nine have gone in total."

"Aye, to match the riders that came after the Hobbits on the way to Rivendell. Lord Elrond asked me to warn you, especially."

Thranduil's eye narrowed, and his grip on Thorwen's hand tightened. "What riders are these?"

Glóin swallowed, lowering his voice as if he feared the Dark Lord was watching. "They call them...... Nazgul. The Dark Lord's most feared servants. Two came to Erebor over a year ago, wanting information on our friend Bilbo. They offered powerful rings in return. But King Thrain refused to give answer and sent them on their way. But they were powerful beings and warned us the Dark Lord would punish our arrogance. Thrain sent us to go to Rivendell for counsel and to warn our old friend."

Thranduil and Thorwen exchanged looks, and she shuddered at the thought of those vile creatures that had come for her in Dale.

But Glóin was not yet finished. "Bilbo's nephew was wounded by one. Stabbed with a Morgul blade and nearly died. But he was saved, thanks to Lord Elrond."

At these words, Thorwen felt a wave of pain pass through her and almost swooned. Calenamath rushed to the dais. But Thranduil caught her glaring at him as Thorwen regained her composure.

"Apologies, My Lady, I did not mean to distress you," said Glóin.

Thorwen shook her head. "It was not your words, Master Glóin." And she proceeded to tell him of her capture and the torture she had endured when Gollum escaped. Her words were strong and fearless. "I know what it means to defy Sauron and to suffer a Morgul blade!" She seemed taller and more powerful as she flung back the sleeves on her arms to reveal the dreadful scars that covered them. The Dwarves recoiled at the sight.

"My Lady, we had no knowledge of this. None spoke of it at the council," said Glóin.

"I have lived hidden among the Wood Elves for many years. Now there is no place to hide. Only to fight and defend all we love. Although my body may be marred, my spirit remains undiminished. Soon the enemy shall come to all our doors. But when they come to ours, I shall not run and hide. I stand beside my betrothed and my adopted people!" She covered her arms and glanced at Thranduil, who nodded with approval.

The Dwarves looked upon her with wonder and it was some time before Glóin felt the courage to speak again. "Aye Lady, you speak most true for already Easterlings gather on the eastern borders of Dale. Skirmishes between the Bardings and the Easterlings grow more frequent, but I fear this is merely a prelude for what is to come."

"You may well be right, Master Glóin, tell King Thrain and King Brand that King Thranduil does not forget his allies. And though I must increase my own defences, I will send what assistance I can."

At this, Glóin and the Dwarves were cheered at this news and showed much gratitude. Thorwen then reminded the king that their guests had travelled a long way and that they would be amiss in sending them onwards without rest and vittles. So the king ordered guestrooms and a feast to be hurriedly arranged. Much mirth was had that evening, and Glóin commented that the offering of hospitality had much improved since he was last a guest of the Elven king. Thranduil laughed heartily, attributing this change to the love of his lady, whom he toasted before all assembled.

Calenamath smiled and toasted as he watched his brother and his beloved Thorwen enjoying the festivities. Yet every smile and peel of laughter broke another piece of his grieving heart.