Danel

I had taken an early ride upon Arhel, out along the tree shadowed lane towards the Hobbit lands. Not that I had intention of going further than the stone bridge over the stream. But I was light of mood, and Arhel was restless, and it seemed a good way to start the day. 

And as I rode on to the East, there came a faint song to my ears, and the sound of a flute. A female voice, sweet and yet not the most skilled. To me it sounded as if she were sad. So I halted on the path, sliding off Arhel's back, and looked around. 

'I asked my parents to let me train with Forodhir,' I said. 'They refused.'
'Too dirty'? teased Estarfin, with a grin. 

I shook my head, and blushed a little. 'They knew I wanted to train for the wrong reason. I am a Jewel Smith, not a Metal smith.' I held out my hands for him to observe, small hands, meant for fine and delicate work. 'And I only wanted to train there to be closer to you'.

"Shall I make a necklace for your lady?" I asked Parnard. 

I was eager to start work again on my craft, and Parnard was missing Brasseniel. I thought it a sensible option. My Wood Elf friend brightened of mood and looked thoughtful. 

"For her wedding?"

"If you think she may like such? I am a Mirdan, after all."

Parnard pondered my offer for a few moments, then bowed deeply before me. "I know it. Perhaps once her father has agreed to the betrothal?"

Danel had returned from Duillond with artist materials. Her intent was to make more sketches of jewellry that she again set up her crafting and reestablish her good name in Mithlond as a jewel smith. Barahirn came from the stable to greet her, and take Pelorian's head. The horse was a touch skittish, unlike her normal self. 

"Has she been like that on the trip, Lady?" the stable master asked, looking at the mare's fetlocks, her hooves, her legs. 

"No. Just since we rode in."

Estarfin let out a small exclamation of frustration as he examined the shining metal in the palm of his hand; another flawed attempt after a long day spent before the forge. The alloyed steel was beautiful, but it was still too soft, too liable to be harmed. The delicate inscribing chisels he had created for the task cut too deep, splitting the grain of the metal apart. He held it up to the light once more, wondering whether such a flaw mattered. He shook his head slightly, then tossed it carelessly back into the heart of the forge. Any imperfection could not be tolerated.