Wow. From three to ten reviews with the addition of a single chapter. I'm rather—pleasantly—surprised.

To Iluvien: Thanks for reviewing, of course. The guy who came in first to order the double daggers/long knives (whichever you prefer to call them) was merely unaccustomed to speaking with people from the village. He was likely trained to be rather silent and stoic as a guard up at the halls. All of the elves who spent a lot of their youth in the woods were given or chose nicknames, not telling their true names. The narrator also goes by Tyran, but was called Wind by the others. In case you hadn't figured it out (personally, I tend to skip author's notes, and it was mentioned in there) Legolas is known as Leaf by those in their group. That will no doubt get to be a bit of dramatic irony before the end of this tale.

To AnneWithane: I'm sure you're probably right about my word usage, but though I try and catch what I notice… It's only what I notice. I also tend to really get turned off of stories that are really heavy into ''tis' and all the other things that Tolkien occasionally added to his works. Once in a while is okay, but too much I find very distracting, and so I tend to avoid using it in my own writing, because I know I can't pull it off without sounding awkward. After next chapter (where I think things will be cleared up, unless lightning strikes my computer and me at the same time) you'll have to tell me if you guessed right or not.

That goes to everyone else who has a hunch, just because I'm curious, and want to see if I managed to hint what I think I've hinted.

The vagueness and secrecy should be cleared up quite soon…

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was as I was becoming annoyed with my own lack of skill that one of the king's advisors stepped into the room. I happened to glance up in my frustration with my clumsy hands to see him craning his neck to see if Haradan was somewhere in the back room.

"My master is at lunch." With his grandchildren. For the rest of the afternoon. "Could I assist you?"

He looked down at me with a small sniff of disdain that made a few rather unkind ideas pop into my head of how to give him a bit of a rude shock back to the reality I lived in—no matter where you were born, to whom, or who you worked for, you're still an elf, an immortal, and you've got to deal with both things as best you know how… and looking down your nose at someone because they don't spit polish the ground at the king's feet wasn't it. "Is this the smith shop which has recently created weapons for the halls?"

"It is," I agreed, wiping my hands on a cloth in a more automatic than helpful fashion.

"I have an order for you," he stated, as if I should get on my knees to thank him for coming to me. "It is to be completed with the utmost secrecy—you are to tell no one of it."

To say this was a bit odd would be an understatement, but dwarves aren't the only odd beings on Middle-Earth, and this fellow proved it. I merely blinked and waited, suspecting he didn't need me to even be in the room to continue the conversation. In all likelihood, he had it all planned out long before he arrived at the shop, not including any prospect of protest on my part. But then, why would I turn down work?

"You are hereby ordered—by the King—to create a sword for the Prince to be presented on his birthday." The elf looked down at me again. A rather remarkable feat, since I was over two inches taller than him even when in bare feet—which I was, though my hatred of shoes sometimes made me curse myself when a stray spark caught one of my toes. "Something ornate, of course—befitting a prince."

"Uh-huh," I said in some form of general agreement. "And shall it be usable?"

"What?" He sounded stumped.

I quirked a brow. "I mean, shall I craft it entirely with the idea of decorating the prince's side, or should it be functional in case he decides to use it?"

He bristled as if I had out and out called him an idiot. Come to think of it… my tone had probably implied it a bit. But blast it all, the elf knew nothing about swords and was trying to tell me my business! "It should of course be something he can use, should the need arise—which it is doubtful it ever would, considering the guards assigned to him."

"Must be irritating," I murmured without thinking, mentally flipping through my sketchbook for something that could be altered slightly into something fitting for one of royal blood.

The elf let out a soft sound of malcontent at my impertinence which sounded damned silly, lifted his nose and marched out. His speech probably hadn't prepared for any retorts, any more than it had for rejection.

I was still shaking my head when Leaf came in.

"What's funny?"

I laughed lightly and turned back to my sketches. "Some advisor of the King's just ordered something," I explained quietly, half drawn into the world of possibilities lying before me. "He thought I was awful because of a few ideas I have which he sees as hardly fitting, of course."

"Like?"

"The prince must find it irritating to be surrounded by people looking to serve and protect him all the time. I mean, everyone needs a chance to just be alone with their thoughts… and it doesn't sound like the poor fellow gets a chance, or at least not often enough."

Leaf was staring at me for the length of my statement, then after it for such a long time I began to wonder what was going on behind his eyes—which for once I found I couldn't read. Then a small smile tilted his lips as the oddest mix came into his eyes. Ruefulness, joy, affection, and some sorrow to twist things up. I couldn't guess what it was all about, and his gaze dropped to the page I had absently stopped at before I could try. "A pendant?"

"Hmm?" I blinked and then shook myself back to the world of conversation, looking down at the sketchbook. "Oh… Well, it is now. Tara ordered one for some friend of hers."

"It's exquisite."

"It's also currently nonexistent—it's giving me the damnedest time of anything I've ever tried to create, though the design was simple enough and hasn't allowed me to make any changes."

Leaf lifted a brow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table. "It wouldn't let you change it?" he asked softly, the tones he used and the look in his eyes asking me if I was aware of what I had said and how close to insane it sounded.

With a sigh I debated explaining or not. I cast about in my mind for a good analogy, but couldn't think of anything for the longest time. I knew he had a thing for archery, but that wasn't a good one, nor was any other form of weaponry, and that was about all I knew about his current life. "Have you ever written anything?"

"Written?" he asked in surprise. Then the faintest blush touched the tips of his ears. "Er… yes."

I arched a brow, smiling as I interpreted this for myself—he was writing his own poetry. His blush deepened and his gaze slid away to study the design again as he saw me holding in a tease of some sort. "Ever write something, leave it and come back, beginning to change some aspect of it only to find it doesn't fit as well as what was there originally?"

He thoughtfully studied a spot on the wall, then slowly nodded. "I suppose you're right," he agreed. He tilted his head. "Do designs ever… run away with you?"

I laughed softly and flipped to some of my more recent inspirations. "You'd be amazed what one can create on little—"

"Rest?" he put in before I could. He smiled faintly. "There is a certain genius when the conscious begins to fade."

"Only to a certain point," I countered, mostly agreeing.

"True enough," he agreed, before leaning over to study one of the sketches a bit closer. He glanced at the other one on the page and discarded it with a twitch of his nose, turning his attention back to the first. "Is it completely finished?"

I looked down at it, saw a few lines that now obviously needed changing. I grabbed a quill and the small ink well from the shelf behind me, and quickly made the changes, darkening the ones I liked from my first time around. "Maybe," I hedged when I'd finished.

He nodded. "I like this version better." He shrugged and moved back, glancing around the room for anything new he had missed before. "There's something better about it."

I smiled faintly, knowing more precisely how it had changed for the better, but not about to get technical—a discussion of poetry wasn't something I was willing to get into in turn. I leaned back in the chair, setting my feet on my little desk. The drawing was better, but it still didn't scream for me to get to work just then to create it—a sign I probably wouldn't ever do it, unless I changed it farther into something that I just had to create. Instead of speaking or doing anything productive, I turned my eyes to the drawing, and slowly a spark of something settled in my brain. With a faint smile I dropped my chair down into place, beginning a new design before Leaf had recovered from his start at the abrupt and fairly noisy movement.

"Got an idea?" he asked softly, tilting his head at the page as I slashed a few lines onto it rapidly.

"Uh-huh," I agreed, half wanting to shoo him out of the room—I don't work well with someone hanging over my shoulder, especially at this stage of the creation.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he murmured.

"Bye," I murmured softly, only vaguely aware of him leaving and the sound of Haradan letting himself in the back a moment later, calling out a greeting that went unanswered as the sun fell into the west.