I own nothing, and some great Tolkien-lover than me might find a canon mistake here. Sorry about that if so, I tried. I greatly appreciate Tolkien and his works.

There were more elves than Melarbeth, who gathered obsidian wherever they found it and handed it over to Sarnhael their smith-without-fire. That became another of his names among them. He never did use fire among their trees in that green land of water, leaf, and song.

He used rock upon rock chipping away at one with the other to form beautiful, deadly blades for his adopted people. Soon, it seemed every elf in Ossiriand who wanted a knife at all had one made by Sarnhael their fireless smith. Even in Doriath, where elves had perhaps first formed weapons in Middle Earth, they heard of Sarnhael's blades, and when they saw them in their neighbors' hands, they were amazed.

Now Mablung of Doriath came to Ossiriand seeking Sarnhael one day. He was escorted by some Laegrim to Sarnhael's home once they learned who he was seeking. Sarnhael's house was a cave built into a hill, the roof of which was reinforced by great tree roots, for he enjoyed privacy. At the bottom of the hill was river with a sandbar upon which he would work to keep the shavings and chips of stone away from where he and others slept and walked. Melarbeth sometimes stayed in his home with him when they worked together on a particularly challenging blade. Lathwinn's other brothers sometimes stayed in his home too, and she and their aunt often visited him there as well, though he would drive them out eventually if they stayed too long.

He preferred, however, to work alone or just with Melarbeth on the sandbar. Most Laegrim knew to not disturb him there but waited with their offerings or requests on the shore of the river for when he waded it to return to his home. When he heard tidings of Mablung of Doriath coming to see him and knew the Doriath Captain had just been at a great meeting the sons of Feonor and others attended, Sarnhael left his sandbar and his work there and went to meet him. Some of the Laegrim were so surprised by this they quit singing, and a few of these followed him to see what would happen. When he saw Mablung, Sarnhael raised his chin and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Why have you come to seek me Captain and Marchwarden of Doriath?"

"I have come, because I have seen knives the like of yours, but made of metal, with some of the Noldor. Upon questioning those who had them, I heard their maker lived in Aman, came here, and fought with is kin against our common foe, but was sadly killed. They also say his brothers mourn him still. So, I wondered if I should give them good news or at least send others to do so."

"Do not, for there is no good news to send."

"Then you have never made a blade in Aman or in Middle Earth of metal nor have brothers here who believe you dead and mourn you while you live on the same shores as them still?"

"Whatever I used to be, the elf you ask about is dead. I am Sarnhael Celuant of the Laegrim, and that is all I am now, loyal to them an no Noldo. You and you and your kin will regret ever meeting them." With that, Sarnhael Celuant turned and marched away from the Captain of Doriath, who gazed after him sadly. Many of the Laegrim in the trees, who had watched stood open-mouthed, but there was one who was furious."

As Mablung made his way back to Doriath an elf leapt into his path and stood there. He eyes were bright with anger, and her voice was hard with it. "There are elves who mourn the one I named Celuant and think him dead? Are they certain he is dead, or do they only fear it?"

Mablung was startled back and open-mouthed, but then stepped forward again as he looked down to meet her gaze. "I only know what I was told. To his own kin, the maker of the weapon I saw, and which reminded of those I've seen with your kin, is declared dead. His brothers mourn him. They are not the same since his death. They are tighter-faced and tighter-lipped, less bright in the eye, and more bowed in the head since his death. Some were merry once, but now none are."

The elleth's voice was more strident and less heavy, but her eyes were intent as she gazed into the ellon's face. "How many?"

"Five, I believe."

"Where are they?"

"In Thargelion."

The elleth bowed her head. Then she nodded. "That makes sense. It is the land just north of here."

The ellon raised his brows. "Have a care if you go there. It is ruled by the hastiest to anger of all Feonor's sons."

She nodded in return. "I will." Then she turned and began to walk north.

. . .

She had left the trees behind her, so far back, they could barely be seen as a darker green strip along the grass by mortal eyes. Then the beating of hoofs came up behind Sarnin. She refused to turn back and look for its cause. She kept striding forward, her eyes locked upon the north.

A shadow fell over her, as the tall form of a horse along with its rider came between her and the sun. "Where are you off to in such a hurry, Aunt Sarnin?"

"To see Sarnhael Celuant's brothers and tell them he is still alive!"

The elf upon the horse raised eyebrows at the angry elleth. "Will it not incur the wrath of the one you named if you do so?"

Sarnin finally turned and looked the elf, who had followed her in the face. "Do you remember the time you were away from us Lathwinn?"

The elleth on the horse stopped it and nodded. All merriment had fled from her face. "I do."

"I do as well. I remember looking up into the stars in the night and wondering if Mawe could see you, Elbereth hear you, or if only the Father of All could comfort you. I wondered what those "things" that dragged you away were, and if they had eaten you, or if they had dragged you down past, where any light could reach you! I wondered how or if we would ever learn what became of you! I will never let anyone else go through that!"

She turned and continued to stride into the north. Then Lathwinn rode her beast into her path before stopping it. Sarnin stopped and looked up, eyes sharp, into her niece's smiling face. The elleth only grinned down into her expression. "Climb up Aunty. If you do not, my brothers and the ellon, who will not admit he is in love with thee might catch us!"

Sarnin grinned, reached up, and mounted up behind her niece. Lathwinn turned the horse toward the north and let it run. "When I was carried off, and lived so far away from all of you, for so long, Aunt Sarnin, I worried for all of you too. Let us reach the folk of Thargelion as fast as we may!"

Sarnin clung to her niece and laughed into the air whipping past her face.

. . .

Sarnhael had not long been inside his house, when there was a beating of a staff against his door-frame. He sighed and stepped out to face all four of Lathwinn's brothers. At the looks on their faces, he crossed his arms over his chest, and made his own face hard before asking. "Why have you come, brothers of Lathwinn, looking so? Do you wish to chide me for the way I talked to our recent guest from Doriath too?"

Lastannan spoke first. "Where is Sarnin, and Lathwinn!"

Sarnhael started. "You do not know?"

"No, it cannot be a coincidence, however, the very day you rudely speak to a visitor from Doriath the elleth that loves you and our sister both disappear!"

Sarnhael opened his mouth to reply, but the first words he'd thought of never reached his lips … Instead, he bowed his head as his mouth hung open and eyes seemed to go vacant. "Oh … no, no, she has gone to speak of me to my brothers!"

Lastannan straightened, where he stood, and his own hands grabbed his upper arms harder. "Why should that be bad?"

"Because to speak of me, where they live is death …"

What do you think now?

God Bless

ScribeofHeroes