Centuries ago, Forlindon
“Come now ‘Calie, try again!”
the little elleth laughed merrily, she looked towards her uncle, who was standing next to her holding a quiver and toy arrows. He had gifted Earcalie a toy bow for her begetting day and as her family got together to celebrate for a few days, he agreed to teach the child how to use it. Her uncle moved up a rank on her list of favorite kindred because of the gift. Her own begetters would not have allowed her to own a bow yet, not even a toy one… well maybe if she bothered them enough. Still, her father’s cousin solved her problem. He did not mind her playing with what her mother defined “tomboyish past-times”. She liked dolls and frills as well as any other elleth yes, but those things were not as fun to her as pretending to be the protagonist of one of the many epic stories she dreamt about. That day, she wanted to be like Duilin of the Swallow, and so, Histëaldo set up an archery butte in a corner of the garden in front of their house, at a comfortable height for her to practice.
Earcalie’s results however were… less than stellar. The arrows she let loose were all scattered on the ground, and the butte was still immaculate. But she was having fun, and that’s what was important. Differently from her father, her uncle really did not mind her liking a toy bow more than frills and pretty dresses. “She comes from a line of warriors, that’s what we’ve always been. What are you surprised about?” that’s what he used to say to his brother all the time. At that, father always chuckled and answered “Oh fine, fine…”. Earcalie knew him and mother were not going to stay in Middle Earth for much longer. They were old and weary of the world. But for the time being, she cared little. They were there, and she was carefree.
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Summer, present days, Forlindon
It had been some days since Earcalie journeyed from Imladris to Falathlorn in the company of a small party of elves from the Valley. They stopped to take care of some business for Lord Elrond, while Earcalie continued onward to Forlindon, to attend her own family affairs. It had been not too long a time for the elven reckoning since she left her family's estate in the grasslands, but she did miss it, and more she missed the presence of her uncle, whom transferred in the estate since her begetters sailed. She would have visited sooner, but he wouldn't have liked her to travel alone. The right opportunity presented itself that summer.
She smiled, looking around the familiar gardens, the fountain spilling water merrily, the myrtle trees (her mother's favorites) all in bloom, the house itself, white and enameled of gold.
"Uncle!". A tall figure by the entrance gate waved at her. She called him uncle even though he was a distant cousin of her father. She cared little for this detail and he never minded the oddity.
Earcalie dismounted from her horse and literally jumped in his arms. "I missed you!". Her uncle laughed a roaring laughter. "So did I, young lady. You could have sent me notice of your coming earlier you know. I barely had time to prepare the house".
"Do not mind it! I will stay here for most of the summer so are you not happy?"
"That I am. This place feels... empty at times. But I am glad you finally found the time to visit"
"Yes, well... I could have made the journey on my own… but you would have worried, so I waited to tag along a party of travelers...”
Her uncle raised an eyebrow. he could not reply however as Earcalie was dragging him in the house, chattering away in her usual unceremonious way.
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"What is that you have to show me?".
They walked down the large corridor from the main hall to the bedroom that once was her parent's. Nothing was out of place, as Earcalie remembered the last time she saw the room. Deep blue covers on the bed, the walls painted azure so pale it seemed almost white, the furniture made of poplar wood didn't have a single spec of dust. Her uncle opened a drawer, and took out a tiny, velvety box.
"What is that? And why I never knew it was there?"
"Because your mother bade me keep it secret from you until the right moment. Which is now. The box contains something for which you should be grown enough to understand its value".
Earcalie barely let him finish and opened the box. Her expression turned from ecstatic to disappointed. Inside it were a black pearl, the surface opaque and cloudy and a brass key with its chain snapped in half. Not at all what typical precious treasure would look.
"Uncle. Are you mocking me? A dull chain, a broken key and a pearl that looks like it was hosted in a swamp?"
Her uncle sighed. "Don't let me take my words back and call you ignorant. The key belonged to your father, the pearl, to your mother. Why do you think they look so battered and old?"
".......... because... they had them in their youth?"
He nodded. "These relics withstood the life and fall of Gondolin, they saw the rise of Lindon and the fall of Eregion, and your begetters exchanged them as declaration of their love when they met. At the time, they were resplendant. Now they are battered and bruised, but they endured. Endurance, this is the message they hoped to convey you, ere they sailed"
Earcalie stared at the trinkets, silent, for a while. Then she raised her head and looked at her uncle.
"If so... then these should not be in this state. They should resplend and be remade, so I can show everyone how strong and deep their legacy is. How about having them reforged into a sword, or a shield?"
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Autumn, Present days, Imladris
They were not there anymore. Earcalie had been staring at the heirlooms for most of the afternoon. She hoped that mother and father were rested and well in fair Valinor now. What to do with these trinkets now though? She wished them to be included in a surprise for her begetters, once they would be reunited across the sea. Encasing them in a sword or shield seemed like a good idea, but who could take up the task? Imladris had plenty smiths, but she did not want just any smith. She needed someone learned in the crafts of old, knowledgeable in the techniques craftsmen employed in the elder days. Frustrated, she slid the heirlooms in her belt satchel, letting out a long, drawn out sigh and scratching the back of her head, muttering to herself:
"Wherever can I find someone capable to help me?"
