Ah, the creation of one beautiful thing can lead to so much despair. When will we learn to take pleasure in the Nature of a thing; we must gather up all our skill and wring from Her bittersweet strands of sublime beauty, and forever after languish when they have passed. Woe that ever the Silmarils were wrought, but more woe if they had not!

Chapter Six, Another Fellowship Broken

It is finished.

Durin thrust the garment at me, dismissing me and the marvel he had just completed, his mind now only on thoughts of departure. Hadhodrond lay far to the south and he was ready to get him back there, for many works he had left unfinished when he had accepted this commission.

I lingered, unable to phrase my gratitude for his trust in me and his rough humour and strong hand that had helped us all survive. He cursed and bade me be gone, but as I turned with the shirt clutched to my heart, he stayed me with a hand on my arm.

He indicated me to kneel, and I did so with puzzlement. From an inner pocket he drew a thin wire ring wrought of mithril, such as was woven into Eärendil's coat. He took my chin firmly in his great callused hand and pinched the wire so that it bit through my ear, piercing the flesh to bind itself into an unbroken circle. Then I was propelled out of the room and the door closed behind me. I felt the blood trickling down my neck and it was as if I had been crowned; my heart swelled with pride. More than a treasure of armour had been wrought in the sweltering workroom of Durin.

Not long did my sense of elation last, for in the corridor beyond I encountered a woman who had waited for me. She clutched me with hands like pinching claws. Of the kindred of Haldor she was, Morwen named herself, and begged tidings of her son Turin who had been in Nargothrond at the coming of the Dragon.

"I knew him not, Lady," said I to her. "I dwelt not in the fortress nor came there for many long years, and I did not witness the fall." My arms were full of Eärendil's coat, so I raised no hand to ward off the blows she rained upon me in her desperate anger.

Nienor came forward and contained her mother. Slight she was, slender as an elven maid, but strong was her will and she restrained the sobbing woman who grieved for news of her son. "I beg pardon, Lady," said she, but I forestalled her, saying,

"Do not apologize for thy mother's distress. If my flesh were torn and taken from me, I, too, would be aggrieved. But in truth I say, I have not seen thy brother." Tears of blood glided down my cheeks, and Morwen repented her own deed and gently wiped the cut she had made on my face.

Thus disheveled and ragged I appeared before Celebrimbor, who had asked for tidings of the progress of the crafting. He looked at me with wonder.

"How many servants of the Enemy did you slay to obtain such wounds, Morlothiel? I have seen you shed less blood after a skirmish against ten!"

I laughed and held out the bundle of cloth wherein Durin had careful placed the coat in concealment. "It is complete, my Lord Celebrimbor. I must now find a way to return thither to fulfill my task."

"So soon. And I once had hopes to journey with you but now my place is here, guiding my people. I am taking them down the Sirion when winter is past, to find Cirdan the Shipwright and join his folk. Then I will go on to Hadhodrond where Durin has promised me an exchange of craft and lore. I will make a kingdom there with those who would accompany me." His eyes did drift from my face then, and I knew he saw golden hair and fair skin rather than my own plainer features.

I knew that he was sore of heart that Galadriel refused him her favour, and that dwelling in Doriath would bring him no peace. "I would that you might meet Rog of the House of the Hammer of Wrath," I said. "Great is his lore and strength and yet more mighty is his heart. You might find forgetfulness in the Flower of the Plain."

His face was sad and full of light, and I saw about him like a garment a shadow of fate; my eyes seemed to trick me and look beyond time and distance, revealing a destiny glorious and terrible to behold. My tongue was cloven to my mouth so that I could not speak.

He raised my hand and kissed it, then touched my ring that glowed against my raven hair. "Durin has bid you farewell, I see. No grand gift have I to give you for your friendship and aide. I hope beyond foresight that we might meet again. I am for another Age, when madness is spent and lore and craft are again celebrated. This war is not for me, nor for you. Will you not come away from here to Beleriand? I fear for you, journeying north."

I cast down my eyes. My vision hung before me and I could not speak of it. "I have my errand before me, lord. And my heart dwells in the north. Perhaps someday we shall meet again, for I know that Lothengriol will not always flower. But when and how I may come there is unknown to me."

His smile returned, and he stroked back an errant lock of my hair. "Yet we are both Eldalië, are we not? If not in Beleriand or some other fair land, we shall meet beyond the sea; that is one journey that one day all must embark upon. We cannot hope to escape each other forever." And with these gentle words spoken with laughter, we parted.

Long in my dreams did the fate of Celebrimbor play for me, and often did I stave off sleep to escape that vision.