[A hand traces runes on a pale slab of stone, nestled in the deep forests of Rivendell. 'Gilraen', it reads. 'Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim.' (I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself).]

[The hand reaches out, pulling a clump of moss from the grove of a letter, wiping leaf-litter and mud from an edge of the stone, pulling free entwining branches gathering over the smooth, stony hands of a statue.]

[Aragorn, kneeling, lifts his head. He gazes into the solemn eyes of the statue, a woman in a cloak and hood. Aragorn touches her face.]

Elrond: "Anirne hene beriad i chên în. Ned Imladris nauthant e le beriathar aen." (She wanted to protect her child. She thought that in Rivendell you would be safe.)

[Elrond appears, walking towards Aragorn through the trees.]

Elrond: "In her heart, your mother knew you'd be hunted all your life. That you'd never escape your fate."

Elrond: "The skill of the Elves can reforge the sword of Kings, but only you have the power to wield it."

Aragorn: "I do not want that power. I have never wanted it."

Elrond: "You are the last of that bloodline. There is no other."