[Child of the 7th Age]

Lindir hung back, reluctant to come inside and confront the Old Elf. He remembered hours spent over Nelyafinwe's forge with his master urging him to stay the course, to do and redo work should even the tiniest blemish be detected. It was because of the Old Elf's tutelage that he had become such a master in shaping metal. His own skills had been considerable but they were sharpened under the unrelenting pressure of one whose craft was second only to that of the mighty Fëanor and to Celebrimbor.

What would the great craftsman say if he knew that his poor student no longer even plied his hand at the forge? Lindir doubted that the Old Elf had heard of the Elven Rings or the foul deeds of Sauron that had led to the slaying of Celebrimbor and the ravaging of Eregion. In any event, Lindir was not about to tell him what had happened during those dark times in the Second Age or how the events had turned Lindir away from being a craftsman or even how things were fast deteriorating now on Middle-eath. He rarely talked of such things to others, his great sadness at what had happened and his feeling of responsibility, remaining quiet even among his companions.

Lindir leapt back as a great plume of flame went up from the forge and illumined the faces of all those standing in the room. He would rather be anyplace but here. He did not want to be discovered, to have to explain why Lindir the Great Craftsman was now Lindir, the simple scout. But there was something more to his reluctance. Although Lindir had always respected the Old Elf's skills with metal, he had never totally trusted him. There was something about the gleem in Nelyafinwe's eye when he worked with a chunk of iron or gold, coaxing and pressing the metal to bend to his will. There was a reckless greediness, a desire to have things his own way, to make the world bend to his desire, that Lindir found objectionable.

If truth be told, Lindir had been the first of the lesser craftsmen to be suspicious of Annatar and even of Celebrimbor's secret actions in those days long past. His suspicions had been stirred because he had seen a similar look on the face of this craftmaster from Himring many years before. No, whatever Endamir and the other companions might think, however much they might ply the Old Elf with questions, Lindir would not believe or trust him in the slightest.

The craftsman turned scout reached out with his mind, his thoughts blocked from others but extending towards his companion Endamir. Be careful, my friend. Do not trust this one, nor put faith in his answers. For I know him well. Take care less we be worse off than when we began. "