The Master Athradir gave me a staff of yew, and told me to take care of it, for there was a power in it. It seemed to me very ordinary, being nothing more than a plain-looking, rough stick shod with iron on both ends. Later, he observed me dragging it across the flagstones as I walked by. He called me to him, and said that only the stupid would take such a gift and treat it as worthless; but as I told him, the staff is sore heavy, and my arm is tired, for it is unused to carrying such a thing around. Then he pointed out the leather thong attached to it, and strapped the staff over my back, and why I did not think of that before, I know not, but he should have shown it to me earlier. Then the Master proceeded to lecture me, and he told me of the blacksmith, and how he stands at his forge to make a sharp tool, and he must pound and shape it with all his might, and his work makes him hungry and weak, and it makes him thirsty and faint, yet still he hammers the anvil, and I should be more like a blacksmith. I replied that I would much rather work cloth, and I did not wish to become a blacksmith, but if this was his wish, I must do it.
Master Athradir frowned, and said that he did not wish for anything of the sort. He said that he wanted me to think like the blacksmith. I stood there in silence as the Master talked on and on about how the craftsmen encourage each other, and each helps the other in his work, and a great many other things which I do not recall, for I was thinking of how I was to turn my mind into a blacksmith’s, when I had never done any smithy-work in my life. I looked over at Gilbor the Weaponsmith, and furrowed my brow, as if trying to bore a hole through his skull with my thought. He glanced up from his work, noticed me looking at him, and hesitantly raised his hand to make a half-hearted wave, so I had to wave back, out of politeness. Master Athradir then snapped at me for not paying mind, and then he made a great sigh, and told me to go away for a while, as he was quite weary of me.
Today I sat melancholy upon a stone, looking down upon Celondim, wondering why Lord Elrond would choose to send me to this desolate place, so far from any singing or good company. There are many crumbling ruins throughout this land, a perfect nesting place for rats and other pesky vermin. Where all the people have gone, I do not know, but I think they may have taken leave of the world, and have sailed away, and it is no surprise, with crabby folk like Master Athradir down in the town.
