Prolouge:
FA 42
Edoras on an early pre-dawn fall morning was to the most a study in serenity. Even with the growth and prosperity brought about by the policies of the current Rohirric monarchs, Eomer and Lothiriel. The city still maintained it's picturesque charm that could only flow from the mix of rugged independence and sense of supportive community that made the Kingdom of Rohan special in all the lands of Arda.
For 73 of his 88 years of life there was an unchanging routine that had gone little noticed by most save the craftsman and tenants of the passage by the city's east wall known as Forge Way. Every morning, just as the roosters bellowed their awakening cry, Hrafnir the metal-smith trodded his way from his sparse abode to the craftsman shop he had inherited from his father so long ago. The old, stout man with the mane of grey, usually tied back in a feeble attempt at a warriors braid would arrive to start anew exercising his craft, opening the shutters that provided the so much needed light for his work. Firing up his forge to provide the needed heat for making the swords, armour, shields and various other defensive items that were the backbone of the defense Rohirric nation.
But as the wise King of Gondor once stated during a famous speech, long remembered in lore: "but it is not this day".
The afternoon before Hrafnir delivered what those few close to him would later realize to be his last commission, a small boot dagger for the grandson and future heir of the king, a gift from the queen on his birthday. Yesterday, as he, with a flourish, presented Lothiriel with the intricately crafted, but deadly small blade, he had, with sadness hesitated for one last look at his handiwork. This morning, as the sound of activity from the nearby stables echoed in the quiet smithy, Hrafnir picked up the last of the journals he had meticulously maintained over the years. His two son's long since had moved to the westfold and with no one currently in apprenticeship or desiring to assume the business he so long maintained, he wished to have a detailed record of his work so that others could learn from him long after his passing. Written diaries of his life's work, no longer a rarity in Edoras but still uncommon, that was the final summation of his long life. He stood long and contemplating at his main workbench for a last survey of his own miniature kingdom of hammers, stakes, shears, polishers and his fire forge. He leaned back with a smile and considered himself blessed that he had filled his life with an enriching occupation that had brought him so much joy. Upon packing a few essential and rare pieces of equipment, Hrafnir, along with his journals made for home.
As he made way to his place of residence, the city was slowly coming to life, activities of preparation to the upcoming harvest festival were in full swing. The populace had much to celebrate this year, after few, rare, occasions, it now appeared that Rohan was now in a position to be an exporter of grain on a permanent basis to Gondor, Arnor and Dale. An occurrence that showed Hrafnir just how much the world had changed during his lifetime. Upon his arrival home, he chose to make himself comfortable by the kitchen window. The scene provided ample view of the main gate of Edoras, and of the new settlement building occurring on the plains in front of that gate, another cause for reflection of the changing world. Looking down, he noticed some minor undoing of his journals binding, he opened the cover to more adequately ascertain the damage to be mended. He could not help but read the long faded lines of his father: Commission of a spear from Thengel King, for his son FA 2965………………