𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖒 𝖔𝖋 𝕾𝖆𝖚𝖗𝖔𝖓

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔦𝔵𝔱𝔶-𝔉𝔦𝔳𝔢

"My lord Elrond," I bow my head in respect.

Why is he here? What's going on? Is something wrong stirring in Rivendell? 

"I come from behalf of love. Awren is dying." Lord Elrond says.

I draw back. My eyes widen. No...

"The light of the star is fading. The evil in Mordor is rising. She will not last long with the height of Sauron's eye upon Middle Earth. Awren's fate is now tied to the ring. You must win this battle." He says.

"What must be done?" I ask.

"There is something you don't know. Sauron is sending in secrete mercenaries from the rivers to flank Gondor. You will be overrun you need more men." He says.

"There are no more." I say.

"There are those that dwell in the dark of the mountains." His eyes turn. 

I hear the mountain's call.

"Them? You would call upon their cowardness to fight? They answer to no one. They are traitors." I say.

"They will answer to the King of Gondor." He takes out a sword.

The blade... the line. My line.

"The Blade of Narsil... forged by the flame of the west. Only to be wielded by the true king of Gondor." He says.

I take out the sword.

"I thought the blade was broken." I say.

"It has been remade." He says.

I examine the blade. It's so beautiful. It represents so much more than a mere blade. The Symbol of Gondor forged with masterclass even greater than the elves. I grip my hand on the handle. The blade... the line shall be remade. Once was broken now shall be remade.  

"Enough of this ranger, become the person you were born to be. Become the true king of Gondor." He says.

I nod.