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As Kael dismounted from his carriage, an Elf gracefully stepped forward to see to his horse and cart. After a nod of thanks, Kael walked over to Gandalf with a smile.

"Gandalf."

"It is good to see you well, Kael," the wizard replied warmly. "It seems you have already met Lord Elrond, so I need not make introductions."

Elrond inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Wizard Kael's command of magic is extraordinary," he said, his voice carrying a note of praise. "While we were hunting Orcs, he had already dispatched hundreds of them, along with their Wargs. I think it will not be long before the title 'Orc-foe' spreads throughout the lands of Eriador."

"Lord Elrond, you flatter me," Kael demurred. Countless Orcs had fallen to the Elven lord's own warriors; he felt he had no right to such a title.

After exchanging pleasantries, Elrond turned his attention to Thorin, his demeanor polite and courteous. "Welcome, Thorin, son of Thráin."

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replied, his tone questioning and slightly hostile.

"You have the bearing of your grandfather," Elrond explained amiably. "I knew Thrór when he was King Under the Mountain."

"Really?" Thorin's response was laced with scorn. "He never mentioned you."

Gandalf rolled his eyes. Kael, too, was momentarily speechless. It was just like Thorin to offend his host within moments of arriving.

Elrond, with the grace of his long years, did not seem to mind. He turned and gave instructions in Elvish: "Light the fires, bring out the wine. We must entertain our honored guests."

"What is he saying? Is he speaking ill of us?" the dwarf Glóin grumbled, ready to start a fight. The other dwarves shifted, their hands moving toward their weapons.

"No, Master Glóin," Gandalf explained, a weary sigh in his voice. "He is inviting you to a feast."

The dwarves, only half-convinced, huddled together, whispering amongst themselves, debating whether it was a trap. After a brief, muttered conference, Glóin declared with a self-important air, "In that case, lead the way."

At the banquet, Elrond, Gandalf, Kael, and Thorin sat at the head table, while the other dwarves and Bilbo were seated at another. Kael glanced at the table laden with an array of green, leafy dishes—not a sliver of meat in sight—and then at the bewildered dwarves, who seemed at a loss as to where to begin. It seemed the Elves were not without a sense of humor. This was a subtle, immediate retaliation for the dwarves' gruffness, and Kael found himself caught in the crossfire.

At Kael's table, despite Thorin's stony silence, the atmosphere was pleasant enough. Bilbo's table, however, was another matter entirely. Kíli, the youngest of the dwarves, was staring intently at an Elf playing a harp, even winking flirtatiously. His companions roared with laughter when they realized the beautiful musician was, in fact, a male Elf.

Halfway through the meal, Gandalf showed his sword to Elrond, inquiring about its origins.

Elrond recognized it instantly. "This is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer, blade of Turgon, King of Gondolin. It was forged in the First Age for the war against the Orcs." His eyes held a hint of surprise. "I did not expect you to find such a treasure. Your luck is good."

"This was not my luck," Gandalf said, shaking his head with a warm smile. "It was a gift. Kael found it and gave it to me."

Elrond's gaze shifted to Kael, his expression growing warmer, more benevolent. "That is a precious friendship indeed."

Kael felt a flush of embarrassment at their words and turned his gaze away.

Subsequently, Elrond identified Thorin's sword, Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver, and wished him well in its use.

At the other table, Bilbo saw this and hesitantly drew his own short sword. The dwarf Balin, sitting beside him, immediately scoffed. "Don't even think about it. A sword only earns a name through great deeds in battle. If you ask me, that's not a sword at all. It's a letter opener."

Disappointed, Bilbo began to put the blade away.

Kael happened to see the exchange. "Bilbo," he called out, "bring your Elven sword over. Perhaps Lord Elrond will know its history as well."

"Oh, I… I don't think that's necessary," Bilbo stammered, his confidence in the small blade shaken. After all, compared to the gem-inlaid, masterfully forged Foe-hammer and Goblin-cleaver, his own sword seemed plain and insignificant.

But Elrond, his interest piqued by Kael's words, looked at Bilbo expectantly. "If there is another Elven blade among you, may I see it?"

With all eyes upon him, Bilbo nervously stood and placed his short sword before Elrond. The Elven lord, with a flicker of curiosity, drew the blade from its simple leather sheath. As he examined it, a look of profound surprise crossed his face.

The entire hall fell silent, their curiosity piqued. Could this simple dagger truly have a special origin?

"Lord Elrond," Gandalf asked, leaning forward, "do you know this blade?"

Elrond's gaze was complex as he nodded slowly. "This sword—or rather, this dagger—has a most extraordinary history. It once belonged to Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin."

"You mean this is the dagger that slew the Balrog?" Gandalf asked, his voice filled with astonishment.

Elrond nodded again and began to tell its story. Glorfindel was a noble of the Noldor, a lord of one of the twelve houses of Gondolin. During the fall of the city, as a small number of survivors fled through the mountains, they were ambushed by Orcs and a Balrog. Glorfindel fought the Balrog alone, allowing the others to escape. In the struggle, he was dragged over a cliff by the creature's fiery whip, but as they fell, he plunged his dagger into the Balrog's belly, killing it. He perished in the fall.

And the short sword in Bilbo's hand was that very dagger.

A collective gasp went through the hall. Everyone stared at the simple blade with newfound awe. Kael, too, was stunned. He had never imagined Bilbo's sword, Sting, had such a legendary past.

What was even more fascinating was that Glorfindel, the dagger's former owner, was not dead. He had been reborn by the grace of the Valar and sent back to Middle-earth, much like the five Wizards, to aid in the fight against Sauron. And he currently resided in Rivendell.

An interesting situation had arisen. Both the former and current owners of the dagger were in the same valley. Should it be returned to its original master, or should it remain with its new one?

Even Elrond seemed uncertain. After a moment of thought, he decided there was only one way to resolve the matter: they would seek the counsel of Glorfindel himself.

(End of Chapter)

***

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