Posted with the permission of the DM….
After helping Curunauth and Gwaelur reforge his sword, Thoroncir gladly partakes of the strong Imladris wine which the Elven-smith offers them in celebration. When he goes to bed that night, however, his sleep is deeply troubled until at last he begins to dream.
He finds himself long ago in the main hall of the house of Vanimelde, a great lady of Arnor, chief of House Kanotir and ally of Arthedain. The house is filled with beauty and grace, but feels lived-in and welcoming, and Thoroncir has a bittersweet sense of what a treasured home it was for Vanimelde and her family before the long and tragic fall of the North-Kingdom. He knows, somehow, that three children are playing happily nearby, and he seems to hear Elven music coming from another room. He is filled with deep sense of peace and contentment. Oddly, though, the house feels like it is in both his distant past and some half-obscured future.
Then silence falls. Vanimelde appears to him, clad in a gown of forest green, a golden circlet set with gems at her brow. Once again he is struck by her strong resemblance to Gilraen, although she is both older and more careworn than in the portrait he saw. He bows, and she nods regally. She holds up a sword in a scabbard, and he recognizes his Numenorean longsword and the well-fitting sheath he got from the tomb at the base of this very house when he and his friends received their gifts a few days earlier.
The lady says sternly, “O knight-errant of Gondor! The sword you now bear was forged in Numenor, and came to these shores with the fall of that ill-starred isle. It was once the weapon of my son Celebruth, but he lost it, and his life, in the great wars against Angmar. It has passed through many fell hands to reach you, but already you have done much to redeem it, and for that I commend you. Know, then, that its name is Cirist, Ship-Blade, and with the enchantments now laid upon it I am sure your foes will find it more terrible than ever. The scabbard Kalthalion, Holy-Strength, was also my son’s, and I am greatly pleased that sword and sheath have found each other once more, as they were destined to do. Now I charge you anew to guard and protect my distant kinfolk, scions of this noble house, and most especially she whom you love more than any other. This you must do, even at the cost of your life if necessary. For Kkosal awaits, dark and brooding, and if I see aright he may yet feel the edge of this keen blade. Thus by your strong arm, and with the help of your brave companions, we of this house may yet be avenged.” She raises her hand in a blessing. “With Cirist and Kalthalion at your side, may you strike hard blows and true for your King, your lady, and your realm.”
Thoroncir kneels humbly, bows his head and says, “Thank you, my lady; I swear I shall do my best.”
“Of that I have no doubt, my gallant champion, the love of my life,” she softly replies, and Thoroncir looks up to see that it is Gilraen, more beautiful than ever, who now stands smiling where Vanimelde was. Her eyes are ablaze and she is dressed all in white, an exquisite tressure of mithril and pearls upon her dark silken hair. The princess takes his hands in hers and raises him. She girds him with the sword and scabbard, and kisses him. It is a kiss quite unlike any she has ever given him in waking life, a long, lingering, yearning kiss that leaves him breathless. Finally she pulls back, smiles shyly and touches his cheek. His heart leaping, he tries to speak.
Then it is nighttime, and moonlight pours silver-white through the window. He realizes that he is awake now, and still abed in Elrond’s house. All is quiet but for the soft snoring of Deor nearby. Thoroncir settles back under the covers, clasps his hands beneath his head, and muses on his dream for a long time before falling back to sleep.
In the morning he finds, happily, that he remembers it all, and he cannot help but smile…