[Anguirel]

From the vast array of tools laid out on the rack and the shelves of oak against the wall, the Master Smith had selected a single, tiny hammer, gleaming sharply in the darkness. Sometimes the light it threw was reflected, revealing for a moment part of a vast, antiquated cuirass, the hilt of a sword, the long, bitter head of a lance, for those with the eyes to see. But no one who needed eyes had come here for a long, long time: of that the Smith had made sure. He knew that he was the only artist left here; outside there were lost, lone spirits, as he would have been had he lacked the focus of the armoury, to keep and to cherish. There were Trolls that made lairs in collapsing masonry, and far worse around the borders of the lake that was still slowly destroying the ancient craft of the Dwarves, seeping patiently and destructively...

He had no time to think of them. He was almost as busy as he had ever been. For some days the premonition had lingered in his head, the persistent voice of an Elven woman, he knew not, cared not, who.

"Six pupils are coming to you, Master Smith. Six pupils just for you. Gather them all and teach them, whether or not they wish to attend. Teach them everything you know, and do not let them leave your apprenticeship till the Lord himself comes back!"

Till the Lord himself comes back. That was a certainty, the way the elven woman had spoken it. And it was clear which Lord, too. Not the younger one, he was already here, anyone could hear that, and the forge had never interested him unduly. No! The true Master of Himring was returning to inspect his servants!

Whether or not they wish to attend. The Master Smith was a practical operator. Clearly there must be a forceful but not unkind means of restraint should the pupils choose to disobey their teacher.

Clink, clink went the little hammer on the slender, smooth rings of silver, knotting them through each other. And the Smith whispered lost Curufin's charm of mastery and intelligence as the fetters began to form, wriggling in a peaceable, but cogent life of their own.

Clink, clink...