A/N: Not my characters. This drabble took second place in a Tolkien's Realm contest on LJ, appropriately enough.
Silver was a soft metal; weak, some might say. It bent and flexed almost as easily as the sable cloth she sewed it into. The steel scissors snapped through the thin line with but the softest squeeze of her hand, and the knot held tight. While it sparkled the same as mithril, the silver thread would never stop an arrow. Even if she were to add dozens of layers, it was so soft under the knife that it would never shield the body. Arwen did not mind so much. Right now, she was making a shield for her king's heart.