Spring was sweet and crisp in the hidden valley of Tumladen. Summer was short and cool in the streets of Ondolinde. Autumn was just a passer-by for the cold winter season. Sinilatamo did not like the sudden changes of climate characteristic of Echoriath, remembering the mild temperatures of Vinyamar near the sea. He preferred to spend as much time indoors as he could when the weather decided to be capricious, especially when it threatened rain. If he could. That day, he made an exception on behalf of a friend. Angamir, one of Lord Rog’s smiths had asked for his help in giving the finishing touch to his latest commission.
The great Forge-house of the Hammer of Wrath included a roofed terrace-workshop equipped with finer tools dedicated to the more precise, delicate branches of smithing: engraving, inlaying, gem cutting and polishing. Chisels, canvas-covered polishing wheels and instruments for inlays were neatly lined on a long marble table. Angamir was waiting for him with the recently forged blade at his side.
“Aiya, athmō” *. Angamir greeted him.
“Hantan tyen tulien” **
He held the blade for him to inspect. Not that Sinilatamo needed to. He knew Angamir’s skill, and was certain before even laying eyes on it that the blade was of excellent quality. Indeed, the Ondolinde steel was expertly folded many times, conferring the flat surface undulated veins like ocean waves. It must have taken the Hammer smith many days to fold the metal for such an effect.
If it was up to him, that alone would have been enough “decoration” for the blade. Angamir instead loved to fill his creations with details hence why, Sinilatamo thought, he called upon him for counsel. One reveled in complexity, the other simplicity; one loved intricate figures, the other simple shapes. Together they complemented each other’s work. The blade had been commissioned by an officer of the House of the Golden Flower thus the finished product had to be the perfect balance between practicality and beauty.
Nodding at his friend, he moved to set the blade between the pliers, picked up the chisel, and began engraving the first half with a single line of Tengwar. The sky outside tinged pale gold and rose as dawn broke and the last raindrops lazily fell around them. Luckily, the cold was mitigated by the fires of three small furnaces in the back of the terrace. By the time Sinilatamo finished his engraving the Sun rose well above the Crissaegrim, and the Tengwar on the blade read:
“Qualme orconnar” ***
That was enough, he did not want to cover the beautiful waves of folded steel. Glancing over to Angamir, he could see that his friend was working on the cross guard of the would-be-sword, indeed covering it with swirling golden inlays as was his wont, also adorning the center with the image of a celandine.
He was left with the leather band grip, which he did not decorate and the pommel, unadorned save for a concave slot where he should have placed a gemstone. When Angamir asked him to choose a gem apt for the commission, he pondered long about the best choice for someone from Lóter Kuluinai ****.
A stone that embodies strength, vitality, courage and passion, a gem reminding great courage and respect. A deep earth-green gem with spots of bright red. A bloodstone. Sinilatamo opened the satchel he carried attached to his belt, a perfectly round, cabochon-cut bloodstone slid onto the marble table. He polished it the day before and now all that was left to do was slotting it in the socket of the pommel.
Carefully he secured it with a gold band around it. Angamir then nodded, took the pommel, grip, cross guard and blade to another table near the small furnaces, where he was going to assemble the various parts into a compete sword. Last step: the scabbard.
Again, Sinilatamo did not wish to cover the beautiful colour and veins of seasoned wood so he simply carved a stylized celandine flower in the center. Once his work was done, he cleaned and meticulously stored his utensils away, waiting on Angamir.
They started at the break of dawn, and finished well into sunset, even with the parts of the sword forged beforehand, just in need of decorations. Finally, as the last rays of the sleeping sun hit the terrace, Angamir lifted their creation aloft.
“Ai! We did it ‘Tamo! Look at this, worthy of a noble Lord”
he nodded, smiling. “Indeed. Thank you for involving me in the process, for if it was you alone, you’d still be here another month covering the poor sword with needless squiggles”
“Squiggles! If it was you instead, this would be as plain as can be”. They joked and laughed, tidying up the terrace.
Tomorrow, he would accompany Angamir deliver the sword, and hopefully, with a sky devoid of clouds, dry streets and the sun shining bright over the peaks of the Encircling Mountains.
quenya words:
Angamir: name, Iron gem
*Aiya, athmō: hello friend/colleague
**Hantan tyen tulien: thank you for coming here
***Qualme orconnar: Death to orcs
****Lóter Kuluinai: House of the Golden Flower
