Kindred Spirits in the Forge

A week had passed since Aurion's arrival in Himring. The Avari soldiers who had escorted him safely to the fortress had bid their farewells, returning to the Avari realm with messages of his safe journey. The Sons of Fëanor, who had gathered to greet him, had likewise dispersed, returning to their own strongholds. Now, the halls of Himring felt quieter, though no less imposing.

Aurion had settled into a routine, splitting his time between conversations with his grandfather Maedhros and hours in the fortress's forges. The warmth of the fires, the clang of hammers, and the scent of molten metal were a comfort to him—a space where he could shape his thoughts and ideas as much as the steel in his hands.

One day, as Aurion finished inspecting a blade he had been perfecting, a servant approached him.

"Lord Maedhros requests your presence in the great hall," the servant said, bowing.

Aurion wiped his hands clean on a cloth and nodded. He made his way to the hall, his boots echoing on the stone floors. When he entered, he found Maedhros seated at the head of the long table, but he was not alone.

Standing beside him was a elf with a sharp, curious gaze. His dark hair framed a face that seemed familiar yet distinct. The elf turned toward Aurion, and his eyes lit up as if recognizing a kindred spirit.

"Aurion," Maedhros began, gesturing toward the elf, "this is Celebrimbor, the son of my brother Curufin. He has come to visit Himring, and I thought it fitting you two should meet."

Aurion inclined his head politely. "It is an honor to meet you, Celebrimbor."

Celebrimbor smiled warmly, stepping forward and offering his hand. "And an honor to meet you, Aurion. I have heard tales of your skills—both in the forge and beyond. Perhaps we might put those skills to the test together?"

Aurion's curiosity was piqued, and he couldn't help but grin. "It would be a pleasure."

From that moment, the two elves became fast friends. Their shared passion for crafting and smithing gave them endless topics to discuss, and they quickly found themselves deep in conversation about techniques, designs, and materials.

The forges of Himring became their shared sanctuary. They worked side by side, each pushing the other to refine their skills. Celebrimbor, whose craftsmanship was already remarkable, taught Aurion techniques he had learned from his father Curufin and grandfather Fëanor. Aurion, in turn, brought a fresh perspective with his own blend of artistry and practicality, honed in the forges of the Avari realm.

"You have a natural talent," Celebrimbor remarked one afternoon as he watched Aurion etch intricate designs into the hilt of a dagger. "I can see the influence of your father's house, but there's something more… something unique to you."

Aurion looked up from his work, his grey eyes bright with pride. "It means much to hear that from you. My grandmother says I remind her of Fëanor, though I can only hope to live up to even a fraction of his skill."

Celebrimbor chuckled. "Skill is not inherited, cousin. It is earned. And from what I see, you are well on your way."

Their friendship deepened as the days turned into weeks. They spoke of more than smithing—of their families, their dreams, and the weight of the legacies they carried. Celebrimbor, who had known the darker side of his father and uncles, found Aurion's perspective refreshing. Aurion, who had only begun to understand the complexities of his mother's kin, appreciated Celebrimbor's honesty and insight.

One evening, as the fires of the forge cast flickering shadows on the walls, Aurion paused in his work and turned to Celebrimbor.

"I am glad we met," he said sincerely. "It is rare to find someone who truly understands the joy of creation, of shaping something with your own hands."

Celebrimbor smiled, his hands resting on the pommel of a sword he had just finished polishing. "And I am glad as well, Aurion. In these dark times, it is friendships like ours that remind us of what we fight for—the beauty we can create amidst the chaos."

Aurion nodded, his heart swelling with a sense of purpose. He had come to Himring seeking to honor both his father's and mother's houses, but he had found something more—a bond that would shape him as much as the forge itself.