The Test of Crafting

A week had passed since Aurion's arrival at Himlad, and he had spent every moment immersed in the art of forging. He and Celebrimbor had become inseparable in the smithy, creating intricate armors, rings, and necklaces for the Noldor elves under House Fëanor. Their shared passion for the craft was like a fire, each new creation fueling the other's creativity. The forge had become their sanctuary, and the clang of metal against metal was a constant rhythm in their lives.

One afternoon, as Aurion was carefully shaping the edge of a blade, Curufin entered the smithy. He moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the room before they settled on Aurion. There was a subtle tension in the air—Curufin was known for his skill, but also for his fierce pride.

"Aurion," Curufin's voice was deep and commanding. "Celebrimbor is busy today. I've sent him on an errand to speak with Caranthir. But that doesn't mean you'll be left idle. I've decided it's time to test your skills."

Aurion looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. "A test?" he asked, intrigued but cautious.

Curufin nodded, a glint of challenge in his eyes. "Yes. You've worked closely with my son, and I've seen your talent. But I must see for myself. We will forge three items today—swords, spears, and rings. Each of us will craft one, and we'll see who is truly the superior smith."

Aurion's heart quickened, but he smiled. "I am ready."

Curufin's gaze held a mixture of respect and something sharper, a desire to prove something to himself. They moved to the forge, gathering their materials for the first challenge: swords.

The air grew thick with heat as both master smiths went to work, the rhythmic strike of hammers on steel echoing through the room. Aurion focused entirely on the blade in his hands, his every movement deliberate and precise. He shaped the steel with the same care his father had once shown him, feeling the power of the metal beneath his touch, shaping it into a deadly weapon.

When the swords were finished, Curufin inspected his work. The blade was sharp and perfect, as one would expect from the son of Fëanor. Aurion's sword, however, gleamed with an unusual brilliance. The edges were flawless, the balance perfect, and the metal shimmered with an almost ethereal glow. Curufin didn't need to say a word—the sword spoke for itself.

But when the contest was judged, Curufin's sword was chosen as the superior. "The balance is finer," Curufin admitted with a nod, his eyes flicking to Aurion's sword with a faint smile. "But it was close."

Next came the spear. Curufin and Aurion forged the long, slender shaft with deadly precision, the metal head gleaming as it was shaped into a lethal point. This time, the tables turned—Aurion's spear was lighter, but stronger, and it cut through the air with an ease that even Curufin could not deny. He examined it carefully, a flicker of respect in his eyes.

"This time," Curufin said grudgingly, "you've won. This is a fine weapon, Aurion."

Then, they turned to the final challenge: the rings. They worked in silence, focusing intently on the delicate gold, shaping it with the utmost care and attention. When the rings were finished, they were both masterpieces, delicate yet strong, but Aurion's ring shimmered in a way Curufin's did not. The engravings were intricate, the design perfect, and the magic of the piece seemed to hum with life.

Curufin stood back, inspecting it carefully. His brow furrowed slightly, and then, with a slow nod, he spoke.

"You've won," he said, his voice low with surprise. "This is more than just skill. It's something else—something… beyond what I expected."

He looked at Aurion, a strange expression crossing his face. "You are more like Fëanor than even I. You have his talent, his vision. Perhaps even more so than me."

Aurion, breathing heavily from the intensity of the work, smiled faintly but said nothing. It was a strange feeling to hear his talent compared to that of Fëanor, but he could feel the weight of the compliment.

Curufin studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing as if making some decision.

"Follow me," he said finally, his voice gruff but with a hint of something like respect. "I have something to show you."

Aurion nodded and followed Curufin, his heart racing with curiosity. What did his uncle have in mind?