[Durelin]

Maegisil watched as a bird fluttered its way through the deep green leaves of the holly to perch on a branch. The tree grew just to the right of the small balcony on which the elf stood as he watched the eastern sky to his left grow pale as the sun inched its way up from behind the Misty Mountains. The bird remained all but perfectly still on its branch for some time, and Maegisil did the same, keeping his eyes on it. The sight of it as he perceived every slight movement brought to his mind thoughts of a time and a place where birds could speak to men and men could speak to birds. But soon he no longer really saw the creature, and his mind traveled to somewhere that he knew must be only a small distance away. There were Orcs to the east. The threat of Sauron weighed upon his mind and heart in the ghastly forms of fear and despair.

“Fly away, little bird,” Maegisil said softly, watching the bird’s beady little black eyes search the sky, “This you may do, and no one shall think any less of you for it. Not so is the case with me. I must show a face of bravery to the eyes of many, particularly those whom I love…”

“Whispering your worries to the birds again, my love?”

Maegisil was startled by the soft feminine voice from behind him, and abruptly spun around to see who it was that spoke, though he knew it to be his wife. His sudden movement startled the bird and caused it to fly quickly from its perch, seemingly taking the advice of the elf. Maegisil regretted its departure, and cursed himself for being so on edge. At any other time, had he not been so deep in thought and thus separated from most anything that went on around him he would have heard her approach. And such a familiar voice would never have surprised him had he meant for her to hear anything he said. By the look in her eyes, it seemed she had heard all.

“Why not whisper them to me? You do not have to be brave for me…”

“O my dove, but I do,” he cut her words short, his sharp and quick speech, full of frustration, contrasting and easily overcoming her soft, slow words, which she spoke in pure love and concern. “I cannot trouble you, nor anyone, with my cowardice. I must be strong for you, and not be so weak that you must hold me up.”

“Many a time have you held me up, my dear Maegisil,” she quickly responded, while still remaining unrushed with her words. “Will you so disgrace me as to not allow me to do the same for you in return?”

“There should be no need for you to do anything in return, Sairien.” He always felt as if he said her name to a song in his heart that resonated through his whole body when he thought the unspoken words ‘I love you’. Actually voicing these words was unnecessary, as they were clear in his eyes and his voice, and had been said so many times before.

“You know that my heart would want me to say the same to you, and yet you would not accept this if our roles were switched.” Sairien’s eyes searched his with a meaningful stare, piercing him and seeming to find exactly what they were looking for, and bringing this to his attention.

Maegisil sighed heavily. “Forgive me, my dove. I do need your help; I need it greatly. And I will ask you for it.”

Sairien stepped forward to place a hand to her husband’s cheek, softly saying, “Thank you,” and kissing him. They embraced for several moments, Maegisil sighing once more, but this time much more lightly and contently. Then, pulling his wife away from him to look into her eyes, he said, “We will speak more at length tonight, my dear. Now I’m afraid I must be away to attend to my lord.”

The elf woman sighed, looking away from her husband for a moment, sadness creeping into her eyes and her expression. “Yes…well, send the Lord Celembrimbor my greetings. And tell him that I miss happier times when I accompanied you to his house and we talked of lighter, more blessed things than war, death, and fear.”

“I shall,” Maegisil said. “Farewell, my love. I will return as soon as my lord does allow me.” After one final kiss he broke away from his wife’s tightening grip upon his arms, as she wanted to pull him back to her.

“I shall miss you,” Sairien said quietly, turning as he began to walk away. He stopped only to say, “And I shall miss you.”

Departing from his house, he entered the street with his mind even more full of worry than before when he was speaking only to the little bird. The weight of despair that the thought of Sauron brought upon his heart was made even heavier by the troubling concerns he had for his wife. Being a husband as well as a faithful servant to a lord was nearing impossible for him in these disquieted times.

But even in all the clutter in his mind, he resolved to do one thing. It had been some time since he had taken even a moment to truly show gratitude to his wife. He wished now to give to her a gift of materialistic beauty that might symbolize her own, which to him was beyond comparison. For several years now Maegisil had spent very little time at all in the forges, and though he dearly missed the beauties and the wonders of the art of crafting, he knew he did not have time to spend with tongs and a hammer in hand. But he recalled one craftsman – or really, craftswoman – in particular, and who he knew to have worked with his lord Celembrimbor. Knowing that she must be a true master jewelsmith to have done so, he thought her the perfect person to go to for such a commission as he had. Also, though he would never have admitted it to anyone, he assumed he could count on an elf woman knowing what he should give to the elf woman he loved.

The sun had now slipped two-thirds of the way from behind the Misty Mountains, but he still had time before his lord would begin to demand his presence. So Maegisil headed east across town to the jewelsmith’s forge, thanking the Valar that he had always in the past noted where most every notable craftsman or craftswoman had his or her own small forge and shop. The greatest elvensmiths did not have any real need for a simple ‘shop’, but could be commissioned, Maegisil knew. He only hoped that the mutual connection with Celembrimbor would help him in gaining the master craftswoman’s skill for the making of his wife’s gift.

Coming to his destination, Maegisil was thrilled to find that there was in fact some activity within. He read the small sign above the door. Narisiel Mirdain. Entering into the small forge, he found Narisiel with her back turned to him, working meticulously on a sword: a long, curved blade of astonishing magnificence. He silently watched her at work for a few moments, hating to disturb her when she was creating something so beautiful, and yet wishing to speak with her as soon as he could. At last he felt the strength and urgency enough to speak.

“Excuse me for my disturbance,” he began in a loud voice, though he nowhere neared shouting. When she looked up from her work and turned to him he made a small bow of respect before he continued. “I wish dearly to speak with you, if I may, to commission your skills, though I know you to be a master of your craft and thus perhaps above my concerns. But I have worked alongside the Lord Celembrimor as you have.”

Narisiel seemed to smirk at him, not unkindly, but appearing simply in some way amused. “And if you have worked beside the greatest of the Mírdain, why then do you need my skills?”

Maegisil was almost taken aback by the quickness of her response, as well as its sharpness. Hurriedly he collected his thoughts, responding with the truth. “Much to my sadness, I no longer spend my time with my lord in the forges. In these times, it is spent only in counsel and disparaging conversation with him.” He paused to briefly consider whether he should say more or not, deciding after a moment to add, his voice full of kind sincerity: “In all truth, I envy you.”