11. The Smith
Now it would have a new name, this broken blade. As the smith hammered and reshaped the metal he remembered the day Narsil was broken. He had been a mere lad of 35, a message runner in Elrond's following and the youngest elf present. His father and grandfather had been there too, for his grandfather swore allegiance to King Turgon in Gondolin, and the family kept faith with Elrond, Turgon's great grandson.
He remembered the long years in Mordor, waiting. He remembered the final battle, and the blood, and death, the pain of the dying. He remembered the High King Gil-Galad, his nobility, his kindness to the smith who was then but a mere lad. He remembered the mortal King, Elendil, a man of great wisdom and strength for a mortal.
He remembered the horror of the death of both Kings, and seeing the blade he worked on broken as it sheered off Sauron's fingers, wielded by Isildur, Elendil's son. He remembered thinking it a hollow victory with so many slaughtered, and he remembered the violence of his grief when he discovered both his father and grandfather dead.
As worked, he sang to the blade, sang the smith's working songs his grandfather who had been one of Maeglin's smiths in Gondolin had taught him. He sang of war, and death, and he bid the blade remember the death of he who borne it, and to remember he would bear it in yet another war. He sang to it to remember its enemies and its friends, and then it was done.
Anduril would be it's new name, and it would remember.
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