The air was hot and the sparkles that were cast from the forge fires and from the hammers of the master smiths seemed small fiery stars. Turuviel looked around for her host. He just rose his eyes from his work and,seeing the young elf, straightened his back and stepped forward to welcome her. She could not but respond to his fatherly smile with a small smile of her own.
"Child! It's been some time! But not that long..thought you changed so much! "
The smith looks just as young as she does, as all of them do, but she knows better. He is old, very old compared to her, and his old age gives him often a way to see under the shell of things.
"Your eyes.. they seem older, wiser, stronger. You have grown indeed, Turuviel!" the smith joked.
"Maybee I did!" she jokes back,but her smile had a hint of sadness that had not escaped him.
"Well...It was about time! So,what brings you to me? I understand you decided to replace those Greenwood toys with something more serious?" he rises his chin pointing arrogantly with it at one of the daggers at her hip.
"Do not be mean..they served me well and for a long time. They are from my parents too..so they are twice as dear to me. But,see,the blades got some chips on the edges" she says as she takes both Celaircant and Celebiphant from their sheaths with ease,simultaneously, and shows them to the smith.
"The weapons that they hit against were crude but massive" she says. "They need a bit of fixing and they will be as good as new..for hunting in our woods. For the game that I hunt for nowadays..there, no, they are no good indeed.. I need another pair, master smith. Make them sturdy, because my arms got stronger and they can handle more weight. I care less for their beauty, for I don't intend to give my prey time to admire them, nor are they for the admiration of others of our kindred. Make the blades simple, because I anyway ruin the blade adornments when I harshly sharpen them on makeshift sharpener. Make the hilt covered in soft wood or leather so that it sucks sweat or blood if need be."
The elf nods, also reaching for the thin silvery daggers in need of repair. He inspects them slowly, they are not bad, just too tiny for his big hands, and their blade show fully the signs of use. Of plenty of use!
"It will be done. The blades I will forge for you, they will be truly worthy of your skill, Pilindisil! And these old toys will be prepared and ready for the child's hands you will gift them to.."
The smith adds the last phrase less seriously and grins teasingly while he rises his glance again from the weapons to look at Turuviel, whom he just called by the new nickname that she acquired in the Moors, He then rises a brow inquisitively as the young elf seems to want to add something.
"Please make on the flat end of the hilt a sun on one dagger and a moon on the other, for their names will be Areyello and Loriambe -the triumph call of the day and the shout in the night."
"Powerful names for powerful weapons", smiles the smith "The call of triumph be yours and the shout, if it has time to yell it, that of your prey, always, day or night!"
He notices now that she has been playing for some time already with a ring on a chain, one that she probably produced out of some pocket when the smith was inspecting the old daggers. She now just stopped from balancing the ring at the end of the chain wrapped around the index and the middle finger of her right hand. She lets the chain slip in the palm of her left hand and carefully opens its small clasp. She pulls an end of the chain up and around her right hand index until just the ring remains and then holds it for the smith to take.
"Use this. Split it in half and melt it. It should be enough for the moon and sun buried in the wood. I rather it gathering dirt than scratching" she nods to herself as if pleased of her own indications."
The smith takes the ring with respect and nods.
"You have chosen well, child. This is the way, the best way to handle such things of the past. To create something new from the old, never forgotten or lost, so it will always be with you and serve you better than it ever could before. It will certainly become a beautiful ornamentation for the weapons. "
It's a silver ring, too sturdy for a lady's ring, with a strong, white, shine to it, like it was recently crafted or cleaned.He knows what ring this must be and he thinks that it's strange that she kept it this long already. It's a bethrothal ring, one that has been returned. Tradition is to melt them when the decision is taken, always, and then let it go, heal, not wear your sorrow and anger adorned on your neck with a chain. But it's none of his business to comment or to gossip about. A sun and a moon it will be, shining white and cold on the dark hilts of a good pair of deathly knives, a work that he will be proud of and that will serve her well.
