He looked up from the sprawl of dusty pages that lay strewn over the desk in front of him, rolling his shoulders to loosen his tired muscles. He let out a small, mirthless laugh as he registered the unconscious action; even reading could hurt him now. He reached for his glass then realised that it was empty.
Thoughts raced through his mind as he contemplated what he had read. Cursed Naugrim and their secrets! The smiths of Imladris had been guarded, but eventually had revealed how they had re-forged the shattered form of Narsil. They had told him how the steel of Nogrod was as sharp as the day it had emerged from the Ered Luin and as hard as granite. It was imbued with the stubborn nature of the Naugrim and had endured through the years untarnished and unwilling to rest. Therefore forming it into a new sword had been simple enough work, for it was almost as though the blade wished to be restored.
Yet there was no information on how Narsil had been forged. He had trawled through the library and found nothing. He had traded with Naugrim from Nogrod, Belegost and Casarrondo, and still he knew none of their smithing techniques. He did not know if the broken swords of the Firstborn could be re-forged as Narsil had been.
Forodhir had learned his craft under Aulë himself and had taught Estarfin all that he knew. The most important lesson had been that a smith must never force metal into a form it was not meant to be. Such an endeavour could produce armour that would fail when it was needed, or a sword that would betray it's owner when they needed it most. Yet it was not clear what form a broken blade should take, for it had already been something, still was something and could be something else in future. He did not know if a singular form could be forged from such a confusion and be relied upon.
Perhaps Alassento had been right, the work could not be replicated and the old swords should be returned to the depths of the armouries. He knew of no smiths within Imladris that had experience of re-forging Noldor blades, and he could no longer attempt such a thing himself. He stood and walked to a cabinet with a half-empty bottle of unremarkable red wine upon it and refilled his glass. He took a sip and frowned slightly. But maybe another had the skills required for the task? If so, Estarfin could provide the materials required. He had carried the rarest tools and metals with him from the ruins of Beleriand and had traded his work for valuable items throughout his long years in Mithlond. He had even had a little mithril in his possession until he had used in to create the greatsword for Anglachelm. He looked at a locked steel strongbox and frowned slightly. There were few reasons that would make him unlock his greatest treasure of Formenos steel, fewer still that would allow hands other than his to work it. If Danel truly wished these swords re-forged, perhaps he would allow it.
He drained his glass before speaking quietly to himself. "Perhaps."
