Danafinwe Feaelenion Feanorian (Book 1)

A Day in the Smithy

1489 YT

"Careful, Tyelpe," Curvo mutters. He's fantastic at encouraging his son. And an even better teacher. "There it is, no, no, keep going,"

I figured the smithy would be a great place to work today since Father's been dragged to a high courtly event. Thank Varda, Grandfather gave me the night off. I was hoping to get some work done on my gift for Nanwe. His begetting is coming up, and I wanted to make him something special.

His parents have the notion that we're courting and have been this whole time. This gift will not help our claims that we are not. Besides, I make gifts for all my friends—even the ones I don't see often. The only person who does not receive a gift is Agies. He will never receive a gift. Plus, he's banned from entering Tirion and its surrounding lands.

I wonder what became of him? Was he able to find work in Alqualonde or Valmar? Or did he find a roadside inn to work at? Perhaps he went to Lorien to work out his troubles. 

Oh, and Teluco. Another male who threw himself at me. On the other hand, he is allowed in Tirion, but I'm not sure how much work he gets these days, at least in a smithy. I did destroy his reputation. Whoops, I did warn him how bad it could get. 

That is what happens when you don't listen. 

"Ow!"

That didn't sound good. Last I heard, Curvo was teaching Tyelpe to strike hot metal on an anvil. I think he missed the anvil.  

"Are you okay, Curvo?" I look up from my slowly taking shape ring. It needs to be heated again. The added-on elements, not the ring part, that's circular. It's looking good. 

I get a pained "yeah." Followed by a pause. Then a "....no,"

"Tyelpe, can you help me with this?" I call for my nephew. Curvo, much like Father, does not like letting his children see him in pain. The only exception is on the anniversary of Grandmother Miriel's day of death. That day, we all get to be sad.

Even grandfather joins us.

"Auntie Dee,"

"Ah, Tyelpe. Can you grab me a pair of tongs?"

"Yep," Tyelpe rushes over to the wall of tools. He uses the step stool father made for me when I was Tyelpe's age. "But Father said you don't need tongs,"

"He's right. They're for you,"

"Oh," Tyelpe's eyes go wide.

"Yes," I smile and guide him to a small mock ring I made the other day. "Now I want you to pick up the ring,"

Tyelpe nods vigorously. Like he was taught, he picks up the ring. Expertly. A true master. When he is grown, he will surpass Curvo, maybe even his grandfather.

That would be a feat.

"Now what?"

"Place it in the small vessel over there,"

Tyelpe waddles over and plunks it in. Then I instruct him to grab the vessel with a larger pair of tongs and hold it over the flames I create. My nephew does as instructed. With ease. A true master in his early stages.

As the metal slowly melts, Curvo waddles over and crouches beside his son. "Tyelpe, are you having fun with your auntie Dee?"

Not taking his eyes off the melting ring, Tyelpe answers yes.

"Good, perhaps you could help me after the metal melts in the vessel you hold," Curvo persuades. "That is if your aunt has no objections to losing her assistant,"

"I have none, brother,"

'Plus, I have to finish my gift sometime this week,'

'Just marry the male already,'