It was hard to be out of the way when one stood holding a ten foot ladder. Derufin pushed open the door and went out toward the stable. He found a small leather pouch and filled it with nails for Rie. And there, lying on the head of a barrel, was one of the hammers the farrier used when he shoed the horses.
He picked it up and hefted it in one hand. Heavier than a regular hammer, he swung it in a downward arc above the barrel’s head, feeling the pull of its weight as it raced to met the wooden surface. With a satisfying thunk it hit the head, leaving an impression. ‘Should take no time at all to drive the nails home.’ he thought as he secured it through the loop on the leather apron.
Derufin braced the ladder against the eaves and climbed up with a sure step to the roof. He stepped gingerly on to the shingles, leaning into the pitch of the roof for balance. A few quick steps and he was at the place he had seen the shingles blow upward in the wind. He knelt down, testing the shingles as he went along, and placed nails in those that were still sound. The others, brittle and cracked from weathering, he sailed off the roof with a practiced hand. He would cut more shingles in a little while, once he knew how many were needed.
He was well into the job, working methodically, when he heard the sound of someone climbing up the ladder . . .
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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