5th hrívë, present days
Clear blue sky gradually lost saturation the more north they travelled. The little convoy formed by helpers of Histealdo’s household made good time on their destination of Athrad Amdir, stopping only for a few rests on the way. As much as Earcalie was happy to have something to do, the eventless journey left her rather bored. In winter, Lindon’s bright green grasslands did lose a bit of their beauty, not just the sky became a paler blue than usual, but the grass blades too. When finally the scouts ahead called out they were in sight of the little hamlet, she spurred her horse to a gallop and raced them to the tall archway that made the entrance path.
The first impression she had of Athrad Amdir was that… it felt very familiar, oddly familiar. She was immediately reminded of Lin Giliath, the little elven outpost in the Meluinen region of the North Downs. A few elves walked to and fro, sparing only fleeting glances at the convoy, going on their business. A small cluster of homes, in the style of Lindon dwellings, at first glance, but looking more attentively, Earcalie could discern embellishments… or rather, ruined embellishments, cracks here and there, the white stone faded and slightly eroded surface testament of how long ago this settlement was founded. Not far from the houses and to the West was the ford, one of river Gelion small tributaries and to the East the woods that grew on the slopes of the Ered Luin. Also unlike welcoming Lin Giliath, this place felt… cold. Silent. Wary.
End of the War of Wrath uncle said… and it is not in ruins. For once.
She turned around at the sound of horses and carts filling the entranceway. The scouts went to help making camp and she waited Histealdo to reach her. He made a wide gesture encompassing the little hamlet and smiled. “What do you think?”
“It’s… well… not what I was expecting… The atmosphere here feels so dour, and rugged, like it has stopped in time and the time it stopped at wasn’t a happy one. Nobody came to greet us and I see no forge anywhere. Where is this fabled smith?”. She whispered to him to not be heard by the villagers. She also tried her best to not sound disappointed.
“Hm… it reflects the time and reason the Eldar here decided to settle down. Remember when I said Athrad Amdir dates back to the end of the Wars in Beleriand? The founders were survivors of both Laiquendi and Noldorin heritage, who set up watch against a possible escape of the Enemy forces through this land. Hence the name Ford of Hope. Fortunately such a thing never happened, and while the original inhabitants sailed their descendants stayed. They carry on both ancestries and memories in a way that is rather unique in this late age. These people are hardened by time’s passage yes, yet not unkind”. Earcalie made a dismissal sound from her throat.
“Sooo… where is this “Maeth” smith? Where is this smithy at all actually, I don’t see any…”
“His house is at the back of the village. It might be that he is busy… or not there. In any case, be polite and do not pester him” he heavily remarked the last few words. With a scoff and throwing her hands up in the air, the elleth wandered off in search of the house.
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She found it not far from the ford, a little house of white stone and red tile roof that really, really looked inconspicuous, with no indication of it being the house of a smith and she wouldn’t have given it any attention if it wasn’t for one of the older elves pointing her in that direction. There was no forge outside, no ovens, no smoke coming out the chimney.
Is he not at home? Of course, my usual luck…
Still she approached the door and knocked, thinking she had no will to immediately turn her heels and go back whence she came.
Once, twice, thrice she knocked, hearing no sound from inside the house. The fourth try, she lost her patience and not minding what her uncle said, she slammed her fist on the door and shouted “IS ANYBODY HOOOOME?!”
Nothing. Sighing and muttering words definitely not polite under her breath, she turned around… and collided with some sort of boulder that magically appeared behind her, losing her balance and landing flat on her back on the gravelly ground.
“OW! Nahtas!” *
She sat on the gravel massaging her neck for a moment, then looked up to see if what she collided with was truly a boulder or…
“Oh”
No it wasn’t. Standing in front of her was an elf. Tall, broad shouldered, dressed in woolen tunic, leather trousers, heavy boots and carrying a stack of chopped oak logs, staring down at her with bemused expression. She noticed soot stained the sleeves of his tunic. The elleth swiftly rose, dusted off her clothes and even offered a bow. “Greetings! You must be Maeth the smith? I was directed here by someone from the village”
The ellon kept staring at her for a while more, as if deciding if he should bother with an answer or go about his way. “Nice to meet you! My name is Earcalie, I know about you from my uncle, Histealdo, you know him?”
At that, he nodded. “I do… he sometimes helps with carrying wood and other goods down the coast to Mithlond. And he sometimes mentioned having a relative… but by how he described you, I thought you to be a hardy fighter… not a little girl who cannot even stand on her own legs. What are you doing here?”
Earcalie blinked. Then tilted her head, then frowned greatly. Politeness be damned, she introduced herself nicely, and that was the treatment she should receive?
“Well excuse me, “great smith of the First Age”, are all of you old elves so cranky? I didn’t come all this way to be insulted, the least one can say when introduced to new people is saying back nice to meet you too!”
“Do you say that to all new people you meet?”
“Of course, to those who don’t insult me back. I regret having said it to you in fact”. She crossed her arms and held her head high, to emphasize her sentence. Not that it would work with this elf who was significantly taller than her and by contrast had to bend his neck down to look at her. To her surprise, he suddenly snorted and gave into a roaring laughter. She was astonished. “I SAID TO STOP——“
“You’ve got guts, I give you that!”
“Huh…”
“What brings you here, then? Seeing the sights of Athrad Amdir?”
This elf was very strange, she decided. Still, he was a smith (supposedly) and she had a commission for him. “Uncle said you might be convinced to craft one of your swords if you think people worthy, isn’t it? Well, I have a different request. I want you to reforge the one I have here”. She pointed at the scabbard hanging from her belt, housing the sword she had been using so far. That drew from the old elf another bout of laughter. “Why ever would I do that? I have better things to do than tinkering with toy swords. In fact, I have given you enough of my time already. Nice to have met you, little swordsman”. With that, he moved to a little shack near the house, where he dumped the oak logs he had been carrying.
Oh she wasn’t going to let that go. In a few steps she reached him, unsheathed the sword and shoved the hilt it right under his nose. “Does this looks like a toy sword to you?”. Maeth picked it up, eyebrows raised. He looked at it from hilt to the tip of the blade, not saying a single word for a long time. Then, he finally looked at her, with a puzzled expression. “No indeed… this is masterful work, as it used to be in the Elder days. Why would you want it reforged? Swords like these never lose their edge, nor do they ever break”. Earcalie smirked, seeing how the sword piqued the smith’s interest.
“Well… a lot happened since I got that sword, I have been on a long journey and lived through a lot of troubles, I feel like I need a new one for a new beginning, a new chapter of my life. Perhaps it seems just a stupid whim to you, but I am serious. If you still think it is not worth your time… oh I don’t know, tell me how should I earn such worthiness, “master” Maeth. Ah! Also, I’d like you to remove that black pearl and broken key from the hilt and make a new design out of them. See, those are heirlooms of my parents. They are very important to me”.
It did not escape to her eyes that something in Maeth’s expression changed when she said the word ”parents”, but before she could ask him about it, he moved towards the house. “Wha… wait! At last tell me a straight up no if you refuse!”
He stopped in his tracks, sighed and turned around. “It has naught of the vastness of the sea. It is not refined as Imladris. It is not all aglow like Lorien. It has its own kind of beauty, wild and untamed and scattered of little gems to find. Solve the riddle, and I’ll reforge your sword”. With that, he marched inside his house leaving a dumbfounded Earcalie staring at the door. Well… she hated riddles. But if an answer he wanted, the answer she shall find.
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The very next day she left her uncle and the elves of the caravan sorting the goods in carts (with no small amount of rumbling and reprimands of his directed the elleth’s way, especially the “pestering of the poor old smith on her part” and he insisted that she shouldn’t venture too deep and be back by sundown) and went on a hike up the slopes of the mountain, where the woods were not thick and the sun filtered from the treetops. That at least she understood right away. The woods of Forlindon were surely better kept once upon a time, but now that so few remained, they grew wilder than those of the Hidden Valley and definitely had no golden halo like the Mallorn trees. There was not, to be fair, anywhere else that fit the description and she was certain Maeth knew is was the easy part of the riddle. What she didn’t understand is where she should find these gems. Valar knew how tired she was hearing that word, after scouring the woods since early morning.
She sat down on a flat rock near a babbling brook, chin on her hands watching her horse lazily munching some grass nearby.
Scattered little gems… did he scatter rubies and diamonds under the bushes? Sapphires in the ponds? I didn’t bring with me a plate for panning the brook! I’ll never find them all! What if he put them in a satchel and left it in some cave? But I did not see any caves…
Frustrated, she picked up a pebble and threw it in the brook with a PLONK. A scared fish bolted out of the way.
“I don’t understand!” she shouted, and the horse looked at her and snorted. “What? Don’t mock me, I’ve never been good at solving riddles, it is bothersome”. As an answer the dappled grey horse moved a bit further, having finished munching grass and chomping now on a patch of wildflowers.
“You are ruining those pretty flowers, you…” she blinked. The patch was formed by various kind of flowers: bluebells, violets, bellwort, mayflowers… all beautiful to see, and all… so tiny. Like pearls on the tapestries of Mithlond, like the gemstones dotting the tapestries of the Hall of Fire.
“I am stupid! Of course!” she jumped on her feet and rushed to hug her mare’s neck, but also drag her away from the flowers. She looked at the elf as if in protest for interrupting lunch. “I’ll give you a whole barrel of apples when we get back alright? But these flowers are not for eating, they are the riddle’s answer! scattered little gems… what gems would any woods or forests have, if not for those that naturally have always been there? These are delicate and precious, adorning this place with their beauty, I see… and I get what Maeth meant”. She picked one of each kind from the patch and some more wandering the thicket, until the sun rays grew dimmer and she knew it was time to return to Athrad Amdir. But first, she should stop by the smith’s house and hand in the “gems” he requested… in exchange for her new sword.
some names:
Nahtas: that hurts! quenya
