Daughter of Arnor - Servant of Fate

Chapter Forty: Morgul Visitors (under Edit)

"I'm wearing a Mithril shirt, you fool. That dagger is hardly going to make a dent in it."

The visitors remained for a few days and on the last morning as the visitors prepared to leave, Aragorn asked Thorwen to ride on ahead and accompany him to Rodon's grave, so that he could pay his respects. It was a cold, crisp morning with the previous night's frost still on the ground, when at last they reached the grave. Thorwen and Aragorn halted, then dismounted. Aragorn patted Calithiliel. "She is a fine mare. You are very lucky that the King would gift her to you."

"He had little choice. Calithiliel chose me and would let no one else close. Now she is my closest companion."

"I thought that was the King," said Aragorn and they both laughed. "Perhaps she is a Maeras, the horses of Rohan ridden by the royal house. If that is the case, the fact she chose you to be her rider is an honour indeed."

"Did Grandmother not have a grandmother who was of the Rohirrim?" asked Thorwen.

"Aye, she did, perhaps Calithiliel sees that in you." Thorwen watched as Aragorn walked over to the grave. The Athelas were no longer flowering, but the plant itself still covered the grave. He knelt, placing his hand upon the grave while in silent reflection.

Once he had finished, he rose and returned to Thorwen, but his face looked mournful. "I must take my leave of you now, Anberenien."

Thorwen looked at him curiously. He was saying goodbye to her, and she knew he was preparing to face his doom. "You are going to the south, aren't you?"

"Aye, and I do not know if I will return."

Thorwen knew what he meant, they had briefly discussed the matter on his last visit.

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

"Run, both you and Thranduil must flee. Sauron will come for you, try and take you alive if he can. You must not let him, neither of you. There is no hope for our people if I fail. Go to your father if you can, he will get you to sanctuary in Lindon."

Thorwen shook her head. "We shall not flee Aragorn. For if you do not fulfil your destiny and Sauron reclaims the ring, then I must fulfil mine."

"I do not understand, if Sauron claims you as his queen, the free peoples will have failed and all hope extinguished."

"No, I am the last of all hope," replied Thorwen. She stepped away from him, her mortal form melting away to reveal her true self.

Aragorn fell to his knees in wonder. "Anberenien, how can this be?"

Thorwen then spoke to him in a voice both soft and powerful. "Aragorn son of Arathorn, I am no child of man."

"I do not understand. You are Anberenien, daughter of Beren, my late cousin and his wife Naerien. You are a Dúnadan of royal lineage, as I am."

"I am their child in that I was born of Naerien and I carry the blood of Beren, but my eyes have always betrayed my true nature. I am Almárie the Blessed a Maia sent to Middle Earth by the Valar to be their last hope should the free peoples fail. Unlike my kinfolk, who came as old wise men, they sent me to be born into this world and grow to womanhood. But you must swear to me to speak nothing of this, for if Sauron knew my true purpose, all hope will truly be gone."

"Then I shall swear it upon my sword, the blade once known as Narsil. The blade that I foolishly swore upon to your father. It has now been forged anew, Andúril it is called." Aragorn drew the blade from its scabbard and held it aloft as he made his oath never to disclose Anberenien's true nature.