Sparks flew from the white-hot metal as the dark hammer struck it, the sound echoing through the forge. Ruineth leaned against the wall of the smithy, sweat pouring from her as she tried to catch her breath. Estarfin beat the hard metal with the heavy hammer, trying to flatten it into a blade. The metal cooled quickly though, turning from white to red to orange. He shook his head, thrusting the unfinished blade back into the forge. Pushing herself away from the wall, Ruineth sighed slightly as she grasped the worn leather handles of the bellows, and began to pump air through the forge, the heat building in the smithy to an almost unbearable level. Estarfin began using the second set of bellows, and soon both of the Elves were dripping with sweat from standing close to the super-heated forge. Estarfin had never worked metal such as this before, and he was unsure what the result would be. The metal was dark, a type of steel that the Naugrim had brought to Imladris from some dark cavern that they called home. It was incredibly hard metal, and required all the heat that the great forge of Imlad Gelair could muster just to be able to work it. He had considered mixing the metal with a softer substance, but had decided against it. He had seen another Elf of Vanimar working this steel into very thin strands, the purpose of which was unknown. How many months must he have spent hammering the steel for his unknown purpose? Estarfin smiled slightly with pride, it would not take him months to finish his work, it would take but a single day.
Ruineth looked at Estarfin briefly, wiping a dirty hand across her brow to push her hair out of her eyes. They had been here for hours, since before the Sun had risen, and the evening was now upon them. They had not rested, had not paused since beginning, and she could not continue for any longer without rest. Estarfin showed no sign of slowing: his face, his posture, both betrayed a desperation to finish, and a manic energy filled him, though he looked tired. She had been happy to see him return of course; after months of absence from the Valley it was good to see him again. He had spoken little to her of what had happened, why he had left, but she could see he was moving stiffly, as if injured. He had never been loquacious, but he seemed more distant than she remembered. It must have been a hard road, she thought, and he had not seen the end of it. When she had asked what he worked on, his reply had been brief as usual.
"A sword. For….. for a friend." The word seemed to surprise him. Ruineth looked surprised at the reply.
"But Belegos already carries a sword of ancient lineage, he has no need of another!"
"This is not for Belegos, Ruineth. This is for Parnard, of Mirkwood. His blade lies broken, and I swore to forge him a blade worthy of his courage, if we ever returned. Now that need is great, for we are once again to march from the Valley, and I would not have Parnard armed with less than he is worth."
Ruineth laid a hand gently upon Estarfin's shoulder, expecting a reaction, but he simply continued to smash the hammer into the unyielding metal.
"Estarfin, we cannot continue like this. We must take a rest soon." she said, her voice hoarse from lack of use.
Estarfin looked up from the anvil that he worked upon, almost in surprise that she could think of resting when there was such work to be done. He looked at her, and could see that she was exhausted from a day in the forge, and nodded to her.
"Rest then Ruineth, and thank you." He pulled the blade from the forge, and began to hammer at it again, ceaseless in his movements. Ruineth watched him for a moment, and then shaking her head sadly, she turned and left.
***
The birds were welcoming the coming of morning throughout the Valley when Ruineth returned to the forge, and she could see at once that Estarfin had not left his work. The finished sword lay upon the table, and it was beautiful, a true masterpiece. The handle was wrapped silver wire and soft leather, the leather etched to show the wire beneath in patterns of leaves and twisting branches. The blade was narrow, but fairly long, a strange shape for a sword. Perhaps Parnard was a strange swordsman she thought to herself.
"May I?" she asked softly, and Estarfin turned in surprise to see her. He nodded, turning back to his work, trusting her to treat the sword correctly. She smiled at that, knowing how few he would trust with his work. She lifted the sword from the table and was taken aback by how light it was. Surely such a thing would shatter like glass if it came into contact with another blade? She shook her head at her own foolishness; she realised why he had chosen such a metal, and knew that nothing forged by mortals would ever damage this sword. She swung the blade through the air, smiling at the almost musical note that it made as it cut through the stifling heat of the forge. Looking closely at the blade, she saw traces of blood along the edges, frowning at the ritual that Estarfin insisted upon. A single word was engraved in Tengwar into the blade, and that itself must have taken hours with the hardness of the metal. Angnasse it read, and she smiled at the name. Steel Thorn would serve its master well.
Placing the sword back upon the table carefully, she looked at what Estarfin was working on now. As she did though, he turned with his creations in his hands, clearly finished in his long labour.
"Jack chains." he said, answering her question before she spoke it. "If he will not wear true armour, he will at least wear these. Under his robes or over them, and perhaps they will save his arms from further misfortune. Archers and scouts used to wear them in Thargelion." He broke off suddenly from his musings, as though the memories caused him pain. He laid a sheet of black silk upon an empty table, and placed the armour pieces carefully upon them. The sword was placed next to them, and then wrapped loosely. He picked them up and placed them under his arm, turning and beginning to walk from the forge into the morning air.
"Do not stay cooped in the forge all day Ruineth; enjoy the peace of the Valley while it lasts. I will miss it, and I will miss working with you. Namárië."
And then he was gone.
