See to Your Steel {Sirion, Spring 538 F.A.} [One-shot]

Beside Ruivo, there was a glint of hot steel; of shining metal, catching Ruivo's eye. An elleth, dark of hair who had been there each day. Some time back she had worked in the far corner of the smithy, nearest the river; though it seemed day by day she took up an anvil nearer him. Today she was working directly beside him. Her hammer strokes falling upon a steel blade of sword, for she was Celleth, the daughter of the forge master, and could craft whatever she pleased.

His own hands were working wrought iron, as were the other smiths of the forge; making links of chain for the ships of Cirdan. The task was below Ruivo's skill, and it bored him. It was not long since he had come to the forges of Sirion, three weeks past, and he had taken what work he could quickly garner to keep his mind and his hands busy since leaving Balar.

Ruivo's heart pained at the thought of Balar, and who he had left behind. He had not known Mithiel long, but she was so engraved within him that no matter what Ruivo had done to busy himself; he could not get her, and his broken promise to her, off his mind. He felt unhinged at just the thought of her, and his hammer fell too hard on the link he was working, causing it to shatter upon the anvil.

Groaning inwardly; the sound exited him as no more than a huff of frustration, and the Celleth working beside him chuckled while at her work.

“I have not seen you do that before. Is something distracting you today, Ruivo?” she wondered aloud; a cheeky tone to her voice.

Ruivo twisted his head to see her and said nothing other than, “Hn,” before plucking the broken fragments with his tongs and tossing them into a barrel. He took a new rod of iron and began to heat it in the red flames, while the elleth beside him began to hammer again at the sword she was working.

Glancing upward while he twisted the metal to soften it, Ruivo watched the strokes of the smith-maid fall against the steel. The rhythm of her maneuver was not even, and with sharp eye the flame haired smith could see that her strokes came at the wrong angle. She was impatient in her work trying to mold steel too quickly. Close to ruining her own work; Ruivo could tell by a glance she lacked skill in the art of sword crafting. Better would she be here making links, while he worked the gentle process of lengthening steel.

He said nothing and moved back to his own anvil as he hammered the new link more gently. One more to the heavy chain, and once again he took a rod of metal to his forge; glancing at her again. Celleth caught his glance and grinned at him before back to work she went. Ruivo's iron grew red hot and again he crafted another link, looking down to the length of his chain. There were still fathoms yet to go; and then a new chain would begin.

Aside him, Celleth was pulling her sword in progress again from the yellow flames. “Hot work in here today, isn't it?” she commented. “I wish I could work bare as the rest of you.” She referred to her shirtsleeves, which were rolled up as high as they could go beneath her apron, the lean muscles of her arms bared and tensed as she began to turn the sword and hammer again, while remainder of the elves in the forge room wore only skin beneath their heavy leather aprons, Ruivo alike.

“Hn,” was Ruivo's acknowledgment, though nothing else passed his lips, for her comment had been without reason. She was an elleth, and though she might take to the forges in breeches and a shirt as the ellyn would, there was a limit to the likeness of elleth and ellon and it ended there.

Ruivo and Celleth continued their work. Link upon link was bent for his chain, and the un-even din of Celleth's hammer fell sound in Ruivo's ears, disturbing his rhythm of labor. Yes, he was distracted today; though it was for no fair thought on her as her tone had implied. His eye flicked up and he saw the way her hammer struck the metal; drawing extra sparks. She was sliding it as it hit. She was sliding the hammer along the steel; as if to draw and lengthen out the steel even more rapidly than before. Sliding the hammer. It was no chisel! Ruivo huffed beneath his breath, annoyed, trying to ignore the inferior work of the master's daughter as he heard her scraping. Too impatient to be a smith. She had the hammer in a death grip.

At last, Ruivo could take it no longer. Laying aside his tongs and the iron rod he had been working, and gripping hammer in his fist, he walked briskly aside her where she was working, and a grin returned to Celleth's features as she watched him open his mouth to speak, though the words were not exactly what she had imagined.

“Grip the haft more lightly, and take your thumb off it. It should give more control,” Ruivo instructed her. His voice was soft, yet firm. “It is an alloy. You need to slow, or you will ruin the whole piece and waste the steel. It will be too brittle to use if you need to re-melt it.”

“Show me? If you know so much of steel,” Celleth challenged, as if a new hired link maker could master her in skill. Great was her pride.

Ruivo frowned, glancing back to his links, though he exchanged hammers with Celleth, and she took a few steps back to watch as Ruivo set expertly to work. A thousand swords or more had he made in his days in Formenos and in Celegorm's fortress in the north in his days. He thrust the sword back into the fire, heating in the glow until it was ready, then back to the anvil he took it, his arm rising above his head and making steady, rhythmic blows, the sparks flying around him. “You need to hit it square on the metal,” Ruivo said in a breath between strikes. “The sliding you were doing… wrong. You will ruin the metal that way. This takes longer, but hitting it square you will not weaken the sword.”

Some minutes passed as Ruivo became lost in the old labor; concentration set upon his face. It was not jewelsmithing, but working steel was finer than working links, and he had missed the shine and glow of the hot metal.

Celleth nodded, giving the elf a perplexed look as she watched for a time. She set the hammer she was holding down, and settled herself back on a cold anvil behind her, using it as a seat and propping her leg upon it as she watched Ruivo work. She watched the way his hammer struck steel; and the way the muscles of his arms would stiffen and relax with each blow, smiling to herself.

“Where did you learn the craft? To work steel? You told me Nargothrond when last I asked of your trade; but I questioned my Adar after you. He said you already knew the trade when you came with the sons of Fëanor, and you were not there long. Did you work in Aman? Why not be truthful of it?”

“Yes, in Aman. Tirion,” Ruivo lied quickly, not bringing his eye to meet those of Celleth's as he tried to formulate an excuse within. He had told her he had learned in Nargothrond, on his first day working; yet he had not known then that she was the daughter of the master smith whom he had known there; who knew he was from further afield.

“Tirion?” Celleth repeated, her brow raising. “Adar did tell you were of the jewel smiths of Tirion also… Yet 'twas not the smithies of Tirion where you learned to work the metal of sword. None of Tirion fashioned weapons in the time you would have lived there...”

Ruivo did not answer and Celleth looked after him with a wry smirk. Ruivo's hammer continued to fall, stroke after stroke falling in his own rhythm. Hot metal slowly spreading. Lengthening and thinning with each din of the hammer. What else had her Adar told her, he wondered.

“Where else might you have learned the craft such as these?” Celleth questioned again, though already she knew the answer. Simply did she wish the ellon to admit he had lied to her. She followed Ruivo as he turned back to the hot yellow flames and thrust the sword within the heat, the roar of the furnace the only sound heard above the far off clanging metal of the other smiths.

When Ruivo answered not, Celleth told him what she knew of him. “Adar said you followed Fëanor when he departed Aman. It was his Naneth who knew you there in Tirion; and she here told him that you left. That you learned your skill with steel in Formenos.”

“I did,” Ruivo answered hesitantly.

“Twice you lied then, why distort the truth?” Celleth asked.

“I am ashamed of myself in those days,” Ruivo admitted. “I learned steelwork by one who should not have taught. It is nothing to be proud of.” Morgoth, who had learned the craft by Aulë himself in trusting times. Morgoth had deceived them in Formenos, and it was nothing to be proud of.

“Yet you should be not ashamed of your skill now. Skill of craft is skill of craft, no matter where you have learned it. No matter who were your tutors. Seems a pity that the long years of your skill are wasted on making chain link,” Celleth said flippantly. “If I had a word with my Adar, it is no doubt he would find your hands back upon steel.”

Ruivo's fingers rested, and he looked up, one eye trained on Celleth. “I have no pride in the work I did in Formenos.” He took in a deep breath though, at the thought of working steel. The feel of it in hand after days of bending iron rods into chain was a fine thing. “I would not mind to work steel again,” he answered honestly. “I would owe you my gratitude.” His gaze flicked back over to the anvil he had been previously working upon.

“I need no gratitude,” Celleth scoffed. “Yet if you would but return favor by favor, I would not mind to learn a few more things about the making of swords. I would not mind to learn what you did in Formenos. Swords may have been crafted in secret in those days. They may not have been needed though now times are different. We need the best steel. My Adar would agree. Ever elf in Sirion and on Balar should be armed by it, even while the ships are being built. We know not what may come.”

“Is that then what you wish for favor?” Ruivo asked. “To learn to work swords?”

“That will be your favor for my Adar,” Celleth smiled. “Yet for me, something different.”

Ruivo eyed the elleth; not keen on the coy tone of voice which came from her lips, though still; he offered due respect in pausing to listen.

When Celleth saw that she had the attention of the flame haired smith, she continued. “My Adar has been busy; since we left Nargothrond has he been engrossed in his work here overseeing the forges. Once Sirion is re-built he will open again a craft shop for jewels. He will need craftsmen there...”

“That sounds more a favor for me than for you,” Ruivo offered hesitantly. He could not deny the way his fingers tingled at the thought of working jewels once more.

Celleth shook her head. “But for I would would like to be placed as the overseer there. I prefer to craft in gold, in silver, in gems. I should show you the sketches I've made. Though the time and materials now are short… I have much inspiration. Yet my practice for jewelsmithing is as ill warranted as my sword craft. I could use a mentor… someone who has the time. Without craftsmanship, inspiration is a mere reed shaken in the wind.”

“I will think on it,” Ruivo answered, his eyes moving beyond her to glimpse the window. He stilled in his hammering. He was unable to determine the tone of the elleth; if truly she wished to learn jewel craft; or if she were simply reasoning with him for a different kind of attention. Ruivo was no fool to the way she had been glancing upon him. The few lady smiths in Tirion and Formenos had been the same with him; with the other smiths. Ruivo had learned in past days that brazen was a smith-maid. Though there had been few of them in those days, and even fewer now, those who were as unabashed to work a labor that was usually reserved for males seemed just as shameless in their dalliance.

Ruivo had found it amusing an age past. He had perhaps taken advantage of the coquettish nature of those he had worked aside, and he wondered now upon the name of the grandmother she mentioned that he had known. In embarrassment he wondered which of the smith-maids of Tirion she may have been. The sword was now cooled and lay upon the anvil awaiting to be reheated, though Ruivo did not move to do so.

“Master Gaenir will be here soon,” he noted. Her Adar on his rounds between the forges of Sirion. “I should go back to my chain.”

“Do not,” Celleth told him. “Let my Adar see you working here. My word alone would not grant you access to steel by my Adar. He is of mind that one must ask if he wishes to receive. Let him see you working steel. He knows already of your work in Formenos, yet neither did you mention it to him. He will wait until you tell him, such is his way. He does not like to be lied to.”

Ruivo was silent, studying the sword below him.

“My Adar will only grant you an improved position if you take pride in your own work. Show him,” she repeated.

The flame smith's lips were pressed together as he thought on the idea, and he did not outright say no.

“When will my lessons in jewel craft begin?” Celleth asked, pressing the matter, and raising a brow. “I see you walking alone each night; why not spend after hours doing what you enjoy? We have tools, materials at my family forge.”

“A family forge? How many of you are smiths?” Ruivo wondered.

“Adar, myself. Two brothers, one of their wives… my Enwinamil. So also was my Enwinatar but he stayed too long at his forge in Nargothrond.” Celleth grew silent at the implication of Glaurung.

“Your family are all well… after...” Ruivo began, suddenly wondering upon the lot of them surviving together.

“My family are iron and steel,” Celleth answered firmly. “Dragon fire may melt us, but kinslayers who came upon our home forge met bars of hot iron on their entry.”

Ruivo did not think poorly on the elf maid for that. His mind trailed again to Balar; to Mithiel. If she had some defense; her family; but they were of the courts of Menegroth. None were trained in warfare as he had learned, not even her Ata; he had been a painter like she. She had no family of iron and steel to protect her; but needed someone beside her. Safely she was upon Balar now; yet also she was a kinswoman to the Lady Galadriel; a Lady of ambition, and Ruivo doubted how long they would stay upon the island when there were so many lands yet to the east.

If she were to depart Balar, Ruivo would know, for she would need come through the port. He was not certain what then would he do. He had told himself that separation from her was best; for certainly he was undeserving of one such as herself; yet she should have someone to… look after her. A sword to guard her. Even as he thought of it, he lifted the sword again and thrust it into the yellow flames to begin another round of lengthening.

“What relation are you to Mahtan Rusco?” Celleth asked watching him, suddenly seeming curious as she cut into Ruivo's thoughts, though she had wished to ask for several weeks.

Ruivo held his breath as the hammer struck, then sighed. Never could he deny his relation to Mahtan for the startling color of his hair. Nor truly would he wish to deny such relation to the elf who had once been a mentor to him. An elf who had stayed behind in Aman; who had regretted ever teaching his skill in steel working to Fëanor for the swords that had come of it.

“He was the brother of my Enwinamil. I learned much under his hand.” While Ruivo worked the hammer upon the steel, concentrating on his labor, Celleth went on to describe how it was that her kin too who were related to Mahtan. How they had come by the craft, and how Ruivo had likely once worked aside her own grandmother in Tirion.

“Then you are my fourth cousin, once removed,” Ruivo finally told her, having listened the while, wiping sweat from his brow as he stopped to breath. His thoughts moved briefly to her grandmother, and he noted the resemblance between the two before another moment has passed by, groaning inwardly.

“Far enough removed that we are barely related,” Celleth said aside, shrugging, a smirk upon her lip as she leaned back on her hands upon the cold anvil beside him.


“I shall go back to my chain, cousin. See to your steel,” Ruivo stated shortly. He dropped her hammer on the anvil beside her and it rang out, while he lifted his own again and returned to his own forge, to his links.