tink tink tink
The steady rhythm of the chisel echoed from the workshop, the sound carried far by the wind. Settled in an open, wide and round balcony attached to one of the highest levels of the Tower of Snow, the workshop provided not only all manners of utensils needed for silversmiths to practice their craft, but also a beautiful view of the night sky, obstructed only by the peaks of the Echoriath around Tumladen, protecting Ondolinde. hunched over one of the crafting tables was one of said silversmiths, chiseling away at something small held by pliers, his only source of light that of a blue lantern.
tink tink tink
He needed not much light, the lantern being more than enough. His trained eyes could make the light of the stars and moon above him suffice and in truth, he preferred to work at night rather than in broad daylight. It was more fitting for the kind of craft he was doing as well. With a sigh, he put away the chisel, straightened his back and rolled his shoulders, allowing himself a moment of rest. It was his plan to finish his work when the moon descended past the mountains but before the sunrise. Still held by the pliers was a circle made out of three bands of pure silver intertwined, from which other three bands twisted to form a pair of cormorant wings. In the middle was attached an empty socket. Crackling his neck, the silversmith moved to take a little wooden box from the next table, opening it and with delicate care removing a perfectly cut hexagonal sapphire, holding it high above his head so that the light of the moon could shine through it. All sorts of deep blue reflexes danced on the surface of the gem and the silversmith smiled, once again hunching over the work table to resume his work.
tink tink tink
He placed the sapphire in the socket, tying it up with more silver strands so thin to be taken for hair, strands that would have been irreparably broken in the hands of a novice.
Novice he was not although his previous crafts were never this complicated. He preferred simpler designs, trinkets that could be appreciated as a whole without need for the eyes to hover over detail after detail. Not this however, this was a special gift for a special occasion and he was determined to make a good show of his skill.
tink tink tink
The moon just above the lowest peak of the Echoriath, the silversmith went on to the final step of his craft, the most important. He picked another chisel, smaller, more refined, perfect for extremely precise carving and began chiseling tengwar runes all along the three main bands of the ring. As he did, he hummed softly, following the rhythm of the chisel. For each rune carved, a ray of moonlight danced upon it leaving an otherworldly halo. In the language of the High elves he wrote:
until each of the three main bands was covered with runes. When the last rune was carved, the last humming note sung, the last moon ray faded, came dawn and his work done. He smiled, tired but happy. He even thought of a name for the ring, rámainen isilmë*. All he had to do now was present it to his lady, and hope she’d say yes.
* on wings like moonlight
