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Chapter 23

After Ages of toil and war and destruction and rebuilding, finally Arda saw peace. The Spring of Arda, King Manwë named it, and finally the Ainur knew what it was to rest. Melkor the Enemy had withdrawn beyond the Walls of Night, taking his darkness and his wrath with him, and the earth filled up with living things, both flora and fauna. Aulë and his Maiar had begun the task of constructing two great lamps which would light this new world from the far north and far south, but even they now had time to enjoy the leisure of this new era. Many of the Maiar, and some of the Valar, fell into deep, restorative sleep, while others explored the new wonders and pleasures of this new time of peace in Almaren.

The marriage of Tulkas and Nessa – the first such official binding together of two beings – was a celebration such as the Ainur had never known before. There was feasting and music, laughter and dancing, and many the weary fëa was able to finally lay aside the burdens and despair of the many years of war.

Though Tulkas and Nessa were the first, there were many who followed in their footsteps, Valar and Maiar alike. Though many – such as King Manwë and Queen Varda – had been destined for one another since the beginning, there was great joy in making the bindings official and in celebrating these new unions. And for the first time, many of the Maiar were able to notice the fair fánar of their companions, and thoughts and feelings such as they had never known before began to stir in their hearts. Romance was in the air.

Mairon took little notice of the lovesickness that seemed to have struck many of his companions. There was work on the lamps to do, and in addition, he had found an enamorment of a different kind. Now that Melkor was no longer hurling Arda into chaos and destroying every work of the other Valar upon which he could lay his dark hands, the shaping of the world was complete for the time being and there was no longer any need to mold the raw elements into a habitable world. The Children had not yet awoken, but the world was ready for them when they did. And thus, Aulë the Smith had erected his first forge, the great Forge of Almaren in the middle of Yavanna's Tuiletarwa, and Mairon was learning the art of smithcraft.

It became quickly apparent that he had an aptitude for the subtle art, and he took great pride in it, not only in Lord Aulë's affirmations and his new position as the Smith's chief apprentice, but also in the work itself. He loved the feeling of a well-balanced hammer in his hand, the heat of the forge on his face, the smell of burning charcoal and molten metal. Under his lord's tutelage, he quickly mastered the ability of combining his smithcraft with Song, imbuing each trinket he made with his Maiarin powers. It was intoxicating, that feeling of a Song on his lips and his power flowing through his fëa. He had loved the shaping of the elements and the making of Arda, but this! There was something so deeply satisfying about the physicality of the task: the way the muscles of his fána ached and the sweat drops that beaded on his brow and the weight of each new trinket he had created lying warm in the palm of his hand. It was the perfect marriage of fëa and fána, and his joy in his work was like a newly awakened fire.

And yet, for the joy of peace and the passion of his new talent, there was one thing which rankled him, deep in his heart. Now that Arda was finished and the Ainur had made a home for themselves, it seemed in Mairon's eyes that they all were becoming complacent, content to feast and flirt and rest and little more. But if anything, Mairon's desires to push boundaries, to explore, to test the limits of his own abilities and powers had only grown now that the threat of Melkor's destruction was gone. But he seemed alone in this desire. And so while the others celebrated and rested, Mairon continued to hone his sharp mind and his keen powers and his ever-growing skill.

And thus, the very beginnings of a shadow began to creep over the fiery young Maia, winding him around its dark will and whispering secrets in his ears that would eventually lead him down into a darkness deeper than Mairon could ever have imagined.

But as it turned out, not even Mairon the Admirable was completely immune to the headiness that had taken hold of his friends and companions.

The first time he saw her, she was standing in a grove of rhododendron, deep in the Gardens of Yavanna. He had been gathering gems to bring back to the forge for his newest endeavor when he had heard a tinkling laugh like silver in moonlight, and he had automatically looked up, searching for the source. And there she was: delicate and beautiful and enchanting. As he watched, the Maiarin woman had spun in a circle, her burnt orange tunic almost glowing in the darkness, and spread two great purple and gold wings which brushed against the rhododendron flowers as she spun.

But they were not flowers. The bushes came suddenly alive with a myriad of wings, swirling up and around the Maia, whirling about her as she continued to dance, mimicking her movements in their own enchanted waltz. The Maia threw back her head, tinkling laughter once again on her lips, as the butterflies fluttered around her, landing on her bare arms and in her brown hair.

Mairon stood frozen, his arms full of gems, but his stomach suddenly felt as full of butterflies as the air around the Maiarin woman.

Wilwarien was her name, he had learned, and suddenly the preoccupation of his companions seemed neither as strange nor foolish. He could not get the image of her out of his head, spinning in that grove, wings flared, surrounded by those living, fluttering flowers.

In short, Mairon was truly and utterly infatuated.

And so Mairon had returned to his forges and begun a new labor, and after a long passing of time and many themes of a new Song, he held it up to the firelight.

A brooch shaped from a single amethyst gem, carved into the shape of a butterfly with outspread wings and imbued with the new flaming emotions and desires stirring for the first time in his breast.

~o~o~o~

When Sauron entered the Great Hall and saw the pair of folded purple and gold wings of the Maia sitting with her back to him, he knew it was going to be a long hike up to the quarry.

He was frankly surprised that she hadn't caved yet and begged the Valar to release her of her duties to him. He still wasn't sure why she'd been assigned to him in the first place; he could hardly imagine her asking for the position, and he was sure that the Valar knew nothing of his brief but ridiculous lapse of all reason during the Spring of Arda. Then again, perhaps there was no reason behind it at all, and Wilwarien had simply been unluckily available and thus been chosen for the unenviable and more-than-a-touch ironic task of escorting her lover-turned-dark-lord to carry out his daily punishment.

He curled his lip, the sour taste that always rose in his mouth at the sight of her making him scowl. Their…association…had been brief, but still all these years later, the memories made him sick. What a fool he'd been.

Since their reunion, that third day of quarrying, they had not spoken again. Their trips up the mountain side since then had been marked by cold silence and little more. Even taunting the slim butterfly-winged woman had lost most of its appeal after the first day or two, and Sauron had grown bored with watching the shiver of her wings and that uncomfortable scrunch of her shoulders at every biting remark he made. She was so predictable, it made him sneer. How had he ever thought she was different from the rest, that she might in some way be like him, he now had no idea.

The only scant pleasure her presence brought him now was the knowledge that seeing what he'd become scared and scandalized her. It was a perverse pleasure to be sure, but nowadays Sauron took what he could get.

She ignored him as he ate his breakfast and collected his bag, and then they set off together for the hike across the meadows towards the spur of the Pelóri, where Corimendturë was located. Not expecting any conversation from his winged companion, he let himself sink into his own thoughts as he walked.

The vivid bruises on his wrists had finally healed, the last tinge of yellow-green having faded, and he had once again chosen to don a shirt-sleeved shirt. After the last several weeks of trudging around and laboring in wrist-length garments, he found himself enjoying the soft breeze against the skin of his arms. For the second time that morning, he found himself musing on how far he'd fallen to take such scraps of pleasure as fresh air on his bare skin.

"You do know I did what I did because I cared about you, don't you?"

Sauron startled out of his thoughts and looked at his companion. She was staring straight ahead, back stiff and dainty fingers curled in fists, and for a moment he thought he might have imagined her voice. But then her wings gave that subtle shiver that meant she was distressed, and he knew he hadn't imagined it. As soon as he did, any measure of good mood vanished. He scowled.

"Did I ask for your care?" he answered sharply.

"I thought that's what one typically seeks when courting another."

Sauron's scowl and ill mood deepened. "Who says my intention was to court you?"

She did look at him now, her delicate brows drawn together, her lavender eyes angry. "Oh, don't give me that. You were infatuated, I saw it in your eyes. And…and so was I. I thought being noticed by you was a high compliment. You were handsome, mysterious, talented, but you were all but married to your work. Not that any of us had guessed the true reason why."

A memory flashed through Sauron's inner eye: himself standing before an open fire and an anvil, a great dark shadow crowned with iron at the edge of the light, a cry of sudden fear… He tore his thoughts away, anger beginning to sear at his heart. How could he ever tell her even half of what he had felt? The secrets that had already begun to weigh on his fëa and the growing isolation he'd felt from all those around him. The desperate need to share at least a fraction of the double-life he'd begun to lead with another of his own kind who might understand what he was doing and why. Someone who might share his own grand vision for Arda.

What a fool you were, Mairon.

"I trusted you with something important to me, and you betrayed me," Sauron snarled. The words came out automatically, but they were bitter in his mouth. He hated that it still had the power to make him angry, that stupid, stupid, long ago day, and he hated that this conversation was making him feel like a cornered animal. Defensiveness was not a part of his nature, and he hated how much those words sounded like a shield.

She laughed, not that silver, tinkling laugh that he had first heard and loved, but a short, bitter laugh that would have suited him so much better than her. "Well, you certainly evened that score as quickly as you could, didn't you?"

"You assume yourself to have been a much larger piece of my puzzle than you ever were," Sauron bit back. "Don't flatter yourself in thinking my choices had anything to do with you."

Her wings shuddered again, a flicker of purple and gold. "I must have meant something to you if you trusted me."

Now it was his turn to utter a short, harsh laugh. "You said it yourself: it was nothing but infatuation." She did not need to know the rest: the burden of his secrets, the longings to share his discoveries, the fear that had begun to creep upon him like a shadow in the dark…

Such a fool, Mairon.

She shrugged, trying to appear indifferent but clearly radiating the fact that she was anything but. "Maybe so, I don't care. I just wanted you to know that I had your best interests in mind and I did what I thought was right. But just as you say, it wouldn't have made a difference in the long run if I had spoken up or not; you said yourself my actions weren't part of your decision and you would have betrayed all of us regardless."

"You have a funny way of showing how much you care," Sauron said. "Perhaps I could say that I did what I did because I cared too."

She looked at him again, and there it was: that look of pure distaste and scandal. He could see the regret for ever having fallen for him stamped across her face. What a disgrace it must be for her, he thought sardonically, to have been the one unlucky enough to have an intimate history with a dark lord. How had he ever believed that she would understand him?

"We all mourned you," she said, still with that thinly-disguised disgust on her face. "I mourned you. There were so many of us who cared about you and it meant nothing to you."

Sauron just smiled, wolf-like and thin. "It would seem then that your care for me was every bit as misplaced as my trust in you, Wilwarien."

~o~o~o~

"What do you think? How…how did I do?"

Sauron stared down at the poor, mangled piece of gold on the anvil in front of him and off-handedly wondered what it had ever done to deserve such a fate. It was covered in dent marks, squashed flat in places and twisted agonizingly in others. Sauron was fairly certain that he had never witnessed such a dismal atrocity of forging in his entire life, even when he'd attempted to teach some of the orcs. Awful didn't even cut it. This thing was an indignity to the art of smithwork.

"Excellent work," Sauron lied through his teeth, plastering on a warm smile. "A very good start."

Erenquaro looked down at the pitiful excuse for a ring on the anvil, his expression conflicted. "Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, absolutely," Sauron responded, fake smile still impeccably in place.

Erenquaro managed a tiny smile, then looked back at his first piece of smithwork. "Well, if you say so. It doesn't quite look like yours though," he added, glancing at the plain yet perfect gold band that Sauron had forged for him as an example.

"I've been doing this work since before the rising of the Sun," Sauron responded coolly, "while you are just beginning. Your work is hardly going to look like mine anytime in the near future." Or ever, his mind added. "In order to improve, you must practice and learn."

Erenquaro nodded, seemingly mollified by this response. Sauron, on the other hand, was resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands.

Sauron had suspected that Erenquaro was never going to be a master of the art, but the young Maia was so much worse than Sauron had ever imagined. It had taken every ounce of Sauron's self-control not to wince every time Erenquaro slammed the hammer down onto the anvil without a hint of finesse or technique. Sauron had made several attempts to adjust Erenquaro's stance and explain that he didn't need to strike the soft metal with such brute force, but each time, Erenquaro returned to banging the gold bar with his full strength within ten seconds. Sauron had a lot of experience, and his expertise had deemed Erenquaro a hopeless case over an hour ago.

If circumstances had been normal, Sauron would at this juncture have informed Erenquaro that he just wasn't suited to this work and that he'd be better served trying something else. However, current circumstances were not entirely normal.

Even if Erenquaro was proving to be an abysmal smith, he was still an apprentice, the only apprentice Sauron had. And despite his show of arrogance before Curumo, Sauron was not delusional enough to believe that he'd have any more willing apprentices springing out of the stonework anytime in the near future. And a bad apprentice was better than no apprentice, at least for the time being. It gave him some measure of authority in the forges, and that was what really mattered to him for now.

More personally, giving up on Erenquaro would mean giving up his rise over Curumo. Sauron was fairly confident he could endure any number of mangled rings if it meant he got to enjoy Curumo's helpless fury. The other smith had not reappeared yesterday after his abrupt exit, which Sauron surmised meant that Curumo's conversation with Aulë had gone exactly as he'd hoped and the Vala had put his new head smith back in his place. Afterwards, Sauron had no doubt Curumo had found some place to sulk rather than return and face Sauron's victorious smugness.

Curumo had been in the forges when Sauron arrived this afternoon to begin prepping for his first true lesson with Erenquaro, as yesterday had ended up being merely an introduction to the basics and tools of smithcraft. As Sauron had begun setting up, Curumo had attempted to haughtily ignore him, but Sauron could sense the simmering rage radiating off Aulë's head smith. Sauron soaked it up like the warmth of a sunny day.

Yes, continuing to teach Erenquaro would definitely hurt Curumo more than it would Sauron, and Sauron considered that an entirely fair trade.

Curumo had raged silently underneath that slick façade during the first half hour of Sauron's lesson with Erenquaro. When Erenquaro had actually begun his first work of forging under Sauron's tutelage, Curumo had stormed out with several of his cronies, all of whom kept glancing over at Sauron and muttering scornfully to each other. Sauron was unconcerned. He was acting under Aulë's direct request and he knew the Smith would back him up if the others attempted to cause any trouble. And Sauron did not care what their opinion of him was. Everyone in the room knew he was a master smith in all but title and that he could out-forge any of them that he chose. Let them talk and sneer all they wanted.

Despite all this though, Sauron couldn't help but wonder why Erenquaro was learning smithwork in the first place. He clearly had no aptitude for it. Perhaps he was merely curious and wanted to try something new, but that didn't make much sense to Sauron. Curiosity wasn't a quality that Sauron had come to associate much with Erenquaro in the month and a half that he'd known him. There was the possibility that he was jealous of his older brother's talents, but that didn't feel right either. Jealousy seemed about as foreign to Erenquaro as curiosity.

Sauron put aside these thoughts and made sure his pleasant expression was still in place as he turned back to Erenquaro again.

"If you are to master the art of smithcraft, you must learn control. Control of the hammer, control of the fire and heat, control of your arm. And perhaps most importantly, control of your will to shape the metal into what you desire. It all begins here." He tapped the side of his own head. "You must envision the finished piece and then bend the rest of your body to your will to make it take shape. I would like you to try again, but this time I want you to make every hammer strike deliberate, each blow carrying out some part of your will and your inner vision."

Erenquaro's shoulders visibly slumped and he all but sighed as he picked the hammer back up, staring dolefully at the new rod of gold that Sauron had placed in front of him. Sauron watched Erenquaro's body language with keen interest. He'd already picked up hints that his apprentice was not particularly enthusiastic about these lessons or smithcraft in general, which would explain his rushed, haphazard job with the first ring. But there was no hint about it this time. Erenquaro was blatantly miserable. But if Erenquaro had not requested to learn smithcraft and did not even particularly want to be here, then why was he here?

Erenquaro might not be the curious type, but oh, Sauron definitely was, and at this point he was determined to figure out this minor mystery. He sensed that he was missing an important piece of the puzzle that he had yet to put his finger on, and he would keep at it until he did, regardless of how many mangled rings it took to get there.

Erenquaro began working on the new rod, and Sauron was pleased to see that he was at least trying, if poorly, to follow Sauron's instructions. His hammer blows were at least slightly controlled, and Sauron estimated he was only using ninety-nine percent of his strength, rather than the full one hundred. He was not headed towards the position of a master smith anytime in the near future, but Sauron was used to working with what he was given. With enough work and practice, he was sure he could transform Erenquaro eventually into a passable smith, though that would be a greater reflection on the teacher than the student. Nearly anyone could learn the technicalities and become proficient at a skill, and Sauron had resigned himself to the fact that this was what he was going to have to settle for.

For the next half hour or so, Sauron watched Erenquaro work, occasionally stepping in to adjust something about Erenquaro's form or give him further direction. He sensed that dumping too much on him at once would only frustrate the younger Maia even more than he already was, and he wanted Erenquaro to become comfortable with his presence and guidance. He needed Erenquaro to trust him, and he wouldn't accomplish that by pushing him past his limits.

"Erenquaro," he said, stopping the other Maia with a hand on his shoulder, "you've been working hard. Instead of shaping the metal into a band, why don't you try simply beating it flat. Try to make it as uniform as you are able. Once you have accomplished that, we will conclude the lesson for today."

It was the right choice. With an end in sight, Erenquaro instantly brightened, and ironically, his work improved minutely, his strikes becoming more deliberate and controlled. Within twenty minutes, he had completed Sauron's directive at least passably.

Sauron walked Erenquaro through the steps of finishing his session – smothering the fire, cleaning his tools and anvil, and putting away all his equipment – and then he released his apprentice for the day.

They walked out of the forges together. As they emerged back out into the afternoon sunlight, Erenquaro visibly relaxed and sighed in relief. "I don't know how you do it," he said, "spending all those hours in the dark and smoky heat."

Sauron glanced sideways at him. He had meant to head off on his own, probably to read some more until supper time, but Erenquaro's comment gave him a subtle opening to a conversation he'd been hoping to at least start. Ever wary of whom his words might be repeated to, he made sure to keep his tone casual and his words simple. "I've actually always found it comforting," he replied. "The heat and the firelight have always suited my nature well." He paused, making sure he didn't sound overly interested or concerned. "I have noticed that the same does not appear to be true for you, Erenquaro."

There it was: that slight shoulder slump that Sauron was beginning to recognize. Erenquaro shrugged without much enthusiasm. "I'd rather be out here in the open with a breeze on my face. I've always felt sort of stuffed and confined in the forges. I guess that makes me a sorry excuse for a Maia of Aulë." There was something hinting of bitterness in his voice underneath the dolefulness that caught Sauron off-guard.

"Not at all," Sauron responded. "Since the beginning, Aulë's domain has always covered far more than mere smithcraft. Yes, he is the Smith, and perhaps those of us who are gifted in forging are the most prominent amongst his Maiar. But all the ways of the earth and the stone are in Aulë's domain and have their place."

"But smithing is the most important," Erenquaro said. "At least, that's what my brother says."

"Ah yes, I'm sure he does. Curumo does certainly like to say many things."

Erenquaro actually snickered at Sauron's dry tone, but quickly composed himself again and cast a nervous glance at Sauron to see if he'd noticed.

"I'm surprised Aulë is having you learn smithcraft," Sauron said with casual ease. "He was always very supportive of all his Maiar from what I remember, and he loved all the areas of his domain. Have you spoken to him about your discomfort? I am sure he would listen."

Erenquaro shuffled awkwardly, head down. "No… I don't think it would make a difference."

Sauron feigned surprised innocence. "Why is that? That does not match my knowledge of Aulë's temperament."

"It's…it's not Lord Aulë." Erenquaro sounded embarrassed. "My brother is the one who wants me to learn smithcraft, and he'd be very disappointed in me if I don't."

Ah. The pieces clicked suddenly together. Of course it was Curumo. Sauron could have laughed at the irony of how sideways Curumo's plan had gone, that his brother whom he had requested to learn smithcraft was now learning it from his most despised enemy. In a way, Curumo had created his own torment, which was amusing to say the least. But it made sense now: Aulë's request, Curumo's fury, Erenquaro's reluctance and lack of skill.

"Perhaps," Sauron said carefully, realizing he was treading on thin ice, "but if I may be so bold, it seems that Curumo is disappointed in you one way or another, regardless of your actions."

Erenquaro didn't respond, but there was a defeated air about him and Sauron knew he'd struck a tender spot.

"You know," Sauron continued, tinging his voice with concern, "Curumo isn't your Lord."

Instantly, Erenquaro's shell came back up. "But he is my older brother. He's been here so much longer than I have, and he's much more knowledgeable about the way things work. He's always looked out for me and made sure I had a proper place amongst Lord Aulë's Maiar."

"And I have no doubt that he has. But perhaps he doesn't know all the ways that things work for you."

Sauron sensed Erenquaro glancing at him again, but he continued to walk, keeping his own gaze straight ahead.

They reached the colonnade. Sauron turned to Erenquaro. "I will expect you tomorrow at the forges to continue our lesson. You worked hard today, Erenquaro. I will be sure to mention it in my report to Aulë. I'm sure he will be pleased with you."

A little smile touched Erenquaro's mouth, though his brows were still drawn down, whether in thought or in some distress Sauron wasn't entirely sure. He opened his mouth slightly as if to say something, then closed it again and merely nodded instead.

As the young Maia walked slowly away towards the Halls, Sauron watched him go with a sharp, calculating gaze.

~o~o~o~

Sauron returned to his quarters to clean up from the forges and get a little reading in before supper time. He had created a secret compartment for himself by prying up one of the floor tiles in the corner by his bed, and he'd been stashing his notes and the Treatise in it when they were not in use. Even with all his notes coded, Sauron didn't like the thought of anyone stumbling across them, innocently or not-so-innocently. Even though he had never noticed anything out of place, he had little doubt that his quarters were being routinely searched. It's what he would have done in their place.

He retrieved his note stash and spread them and his books out comfortably across his bed. He'd found a particularly intriguing book in Yavanna's alcove a few days prior, a journal by a Telerin herbalist who spent part of his volume recounting the flora he'd encountered in Endor during the great walk to the Sea. The elf tended to ramble and much of the journal was of little interest, but Sauron had found a fascinating passage about one of Melkor's malignant creations that the elven group had encountered.

"We passed through a part of the forest where Darkness clung like webbing to the trees and the air grew hot and thick around us until it hurt to breathe. The trees were choked with many vines covered in thorns and strange black flowers that I had not seen before, and their scent was both beguiling sweet and sickening vile at the same time. A dark power clung to them, and some began to go mad from the dreadful scent. Some grew wrathful and sought to harm others in the party, while others fell into a deep despair and could not be convinced to continue the journey. These we attempted to drag, but they became as corpses and we were forced to leave them behind to their unknown fate. Some lost their way in the darkness and strayed we know not where, and only when we emerged from the forest did we realize they were missing. We have no name for this work of the Enemy, but some are calling it fuinë – nightshade."

Sauron was familiar with Melkor's nightshade – he himself had encountered small patches of it in Taur-na-Fuin after he had fled from Tol-in-Gaurhoth – but he hadn't known the extent of its powers. By the time he had come fully into Melkor's services, the Dark Vala had largely moved on from his experiments with plant-life to life with flesh and blood, which he found far more amusing, and so Sauron was not entirely sure of his former master's processes. It was evident he had infused the nightshade with some of his own power, but it seemed that he had also somehow bred and twisted it for his own particular uses, much the same as he had done with the orcs.

He opened another book, this one written by a Noldorin elf who had lived here at the Halls before he left with Fingolfin's train for Beleriand. It seemed to be a catalog of the flora that grew here in Yavanna's Garden, and though it was incomplete, Sauron had marked several entries of particular interest to himself.

"Tulníra – This thick-rooted herb has a strong and tangy flavor that makes it well suited for heavy stews, and it produces dark blue flowers in clusters up and down the stem. When heated, it releases a pale oil which, when consumed or placed in contact with the skin, greatly strengths the will of he who uses it."

Nárelót – The name of this vividly orange lily comes from its two-fold property. When crushed and applied to the skin, it produces a haze of warmth both inside and out, and thus can be used effectively to ward off the cold. However, it should only be used in small amounts, for it also enflames the emotions of those who use it. It is particularly heady when one steeps it in tea and breathes in the steam of it."

Each description was accompanied by a detailed drawing of the plant in question. Sauron studied the pictures carefully, committing them to memory, and jotted notes on his papers. He turned then to the end of the book, where the elf had created a detailed map of the Gardens and noted the locations of each plant cataloged in his volume. Sauron took mental notes of several locations, then returned his papers to their hiding place.

On the way down to supper, he returned the two books to their places in Yavanna's alcove then continued on to the Great Hall.

But that night, when all was silent and Sauron was sure that the other occupants of the Hall were asleep, he slipped out of his quarters and down to the Gardens, following the mental map he had imprinted in his memory. Afterwards, his second stop for the night was the dead forges, their clamor silenced, their fires extinguished. There, he melted down a single gold ingot. From his cloak, he produced two flowers – one delicate and blue, the other hardy and orange – and crushed them with a mortar and pestle until they had formed a soft pulp. He carefully added the pulp to the molten metal, made sure it was completely stirred in and dissolved, then he poured the metal back into an ingot mold.

Once it was solid again, he replaced the new gold ingot in the work cabinet that he and Erenquaro would use on the morrow.